‘I’m afraid I have to report that Mrs Marcus has taken to visiting the hospital each day,’ Dr Gaskell had told her. ‘It’s a very sad state of affairs, but she is legally his wife and neither Matron nor I can prevent it. We are doing our very best to make sure that Lavinia and Mary Kate don’t bump into each other.’

‘Oh, no, they cannot meet!’ Mrs O’Keefe had stuttered into the phone, her heart racing. ‘Mary Kate is in no fit state to deal with that wicked woman.’

‘We quite agree,’ he’d replied. ‘She appears to take a perverse pleasure in watching Nicholas’s deterioration. However, Matron has come to the rescue. She has told Mrs Marcus that she must come in the mornings and for a few minutes only. Mrs Marcus is not the type of woman who would visit during normal hours anyway; she regards herself as somewhat above that, as though still being legally married to a doctor who is a patient gives her special privileges. Matron has also made sure that Nurse Brogan stands with her for the entire time she’s there and keeps an eye on her. I’m afraid Mrs Marcus has displayed no compassion, and in the circumstances Matron finds that very disturbing.’

To that, Mrs O’Keefe had had no answer. She could not ask that Mrs Marcus be kept away; there was no moral high ground for her to stand on.

She’d been overcome by a feeling of gloom ever since that call, as if a dark cloud had settled over the Marcus house. A shiver ran down her spine now, as she lifted the warmed dinner plates out of the oven and stacked them on the range.

‘Is Dr Marcus really going to live for years?’ asked Joan. ‘Because sometimes I think ’tis as plain as the nose on my face that the poor man is dying. Is he?’ She began to cry, as she so often did these days, and lifted her apron to her eyes to dry her tears.

Mrs O’Keefe crossed the room and put her arms around her. ‘Come on, Joan, I know this is hard, but we have a job to do here, and that’s to keep Mary Kate going. Unless I’ve got it completely wrong, he doesn’t have very long left at all, but for some reason he hasn’t been able to tell her himself. I expect he tried, but maybe he just couldn’t do it. Or maybe he wanted to shield her from the pain of knowing. I don’t know the reason, but we are all she has and we have to be here for her.’

Joan’s tears streamed down and she sat on her chair and buried her head in her arms on the table. ‘Oh God, I can’t believe ’tis so,’ she sobbed.

Poor Joan had loved Dr Marcus; he’d been a kind and generous employer. She had her own grief to bear.

Mrs O’Keefe tilted her head, listening for any signs of movement upstairs. There were none. Mary Kate was still safely in the bath and wouldn’t be able to hear. She’d made a decision and would have to act fast. ‘Stay here, Joan. I won’t be a moment.’ She dropped a motherly kiss onto the top of Joan’s head and moved into the hall to telephone her own home, a few doors further down the avenue.