‘There has been a change. The mother, she—the mother is no longer living and will not want the baby back at the end of three years. It will need to be fostered for longer, till it is six or seven, maybe. If I could have it myself I would but I cannot. I have a position …’

‘The cost will be more,’ said Mrs Flowers, and this, probably, was her reply to any change in circumstances.

Alice stared at her helplessly. ‘I do not have it.’

But this was no barrier, it seemed. ‘When will you have more?’

‘I do not know. In a few weeks, months … I do not know.’

Mrs Flowers nodded. ‘It will have to do.’

‘It is my sister’s child,’ Alice said, though she had hoped not to say this. ‘Shall I be able to go out there to visit, if I wish to?’

‘Not at first. The baby must be allowed to settle in for a time. They will write to me, for they are educated people, and I will forward the letter to you if you have a mind to read it.’

This was as sentimental as she got, Mrs Flowers; this was the limit of her compassion. Now she was brisk, businesslike: ‘Give me the money. Quickly now. Three pounds. And it is ten shillings every month after that. You must pay it to the post office at Pitt Street. Do not miss a month and do not be late; I cannot answer for the baby’s welfare if the money stops.’

The flare of the gaslight struck the blank discs of her spectacles and bounced right off, unable or unwilling to penetrate further.

It did not quite make sense to Alice that the baby’s welfare would be in jeopardy if she was late with the money—had Mrs Flowers not said the people were a good Christian family?—but everything came down to money, in the end, didn’t it?

Alice pushed her fears aside. She would not let them in. There could be no suggestion of danger, despite Mrs Flynn’s warnings, despite what she herself knew of the world. If she let in even the possibility of danger it would all collapse in a heap and that could not be allowed to happen. It could not.

She reached into her pocket and pulled out the money. It was a significant sum—but it was a significant transaction.

She pushed her fears down.

Mrs Flowers took the money and counted it quickly, peered at the notes, holding them up close to her short-sighted eyes, biting each coin with her few remaining teeth. And then the money was gone, inside the capacious black coat. ‘Hand it over then.’

She meant the baby. Held out both hands to take it.