“Soon.” Alice’s smile tightened, and she turned her attention back to her book. Yes, she had a daughter, and she needed to focus her mind and decide what she was going to do next to find her. Miss Swift had already shown her that there were other avenues to pursue; the National Adoption Society, Dr. Barnardo’s Homes and the foundling hospitals, but they would all take time—time she didn’t have. The National Adoption Society was known for sending children overseas; Dr. Barnardo’s Homes were also committed to fostering older children, so it would seem obvious that she should keep looking at the foundling hospitals. But Alice sensed the exercise was pointless; Eadie was in the hands of baby farmers, and trying to track her down through other avenues was just a waste of time. She’d lain awake most of the night growing more upset and frustrated at why her mother hadn’t given Eadie to one of these more trusted institutions—at why she’d given her to the least legitimate of them all. And placed her in unnecessary danger. That was why she needed to talk to Olive Melville Brown: the most obvious place to try to find out about the baby farmers was with the journalist who was following their story.

As the train hurtled through the tunnel, wheels scraping along the track, Alice kept rereading a sentence before she finally gave up. The light spluttered as the train slowed on its approach to the next station, and the mother stood, steadying herself on the handrail as she waited by the doors. Alice watched as she stroked her daughter’s back, whispering soothingly into the blanket. When the doors slid open, the woman glanced up at Alice and smiled. Alice smiled back, then watched her progress along the platform until she disappeared through the white tiled archway, feeling the simultaneous ache of longing and relief that they had gone.