Mr Freeman frowned and seemed undecided. ‘All right. There’s one chance. You can write a letter to the McBrides, apologising for any offence you may have caused and saying that you realise now that you must have been mistaken and that, of course, their daughter cannot be the child you cared for in the workhouse. I will give you the address.’ He looked in a ledger on his desk and wrote something on a notepad. ‘Here you are, and here is a piece of our headed notepaper and an envelope. Don’t seal it, and bring it to me as soon as you have finished. I will have one of our messengers deliver it. Then we can only hope for the best.’

Back in her room May sat and stared at the blank sheet of paper. Nan was dozing in her usual chair, oblivious to what had taken place. May was glad of that. It meant that at least she didn’t have to explain herself again. Her difficulty with the letter was not the need to apologise. She seemed to have been apologising for one thing or another for most of her life. It was not that she was required to lie. She had not been mistaken. Mrs McBride’s adopted daughter was Angel. She was convinced of that; but she had told small lies before, to escape punishment or help a friend. That was not what stopped her from putting pen to paper. Angel was not happy; she was sure of it. The child had trusted her, and the denial seemed like treachery.

May sighed and shook herself. If she wanted to keep her job the letter had to be written. How would it help Angel if she got the sack? Nothing she could do was going to alter the position. She dipped her pen and wrote as Mr Freeman had required, signed the letter, addressed the envelope and took it back to his office. He glanced through and nodded.

‘Very well. I’ll see that Mrs McBride gets this at once. Meanwhile, I think for the time being it will be best if Nan deals with the customers and you keep to the back room.’

It was a slap, if not in the face, at least on the wrist. Biting her lip, May bobbed a curtsy and left. As soon as she got back to the house at the end of the day’s work she went to her room and opened the box containing all the bits and pieces she had used in her life as a maid of all work. Underneath her best fancy apron she found the rag doll that Angel had left behind at the workhouse and which she had kept as a memento. She held it to her face and wept softly, unable to banish the image of those tear-filled blue eyes. That night, for the first time in many months, she took the doll to bed with her.