‘That’s a habit you’ll have to break her of,’ Smithy commented.

‘Where has she come from?’ May asked.

‘Who knows? The porter found her outside the main door when he opened up this morning. Dumped there, sometime in the night, without so much as a note or a change of clothes. Lucky she didn’t freeze to death.’

‘Poor little mite. What’s her name?’

‘She doesn’t have one – or if she does, we’ve no way of knowing.’

‘Can I give her a name?’

‘I don’t see why not. What are you going to call her?’

May looked down at the golden head on her shoulder. ‘I shall call her Angel. Don’t you think she looks like a little angel?’

‘That’s not a proper name and she’s more like a little devil, if you ask me. What a temper! No wonder her mother wanted rid of her! Anyway, you can look after her while you’re here. You’d better see if you can get her to take some food. She’s turned her nose up at everything I’ve offered her.’ She reached over to a nearby table. ‘You’d better have this – she seems very attached to it.’

‘This’ was a rag doll, stained and frayed but obviously once very beautiful and as soon as she saw it the child stretched her arms for it and clutched it to her with little grunts and murmurs of pleasure.

From then on Angel became May’s special care. She bathed her and changed her clothes, and persuaded her to take milk from a feeding cup and gruel from a spoon. But she could only be with her in the afternoons and the women told her that when she was not present the child screamed and refused to eat. May longed to be able to look after her all the time, but she knew it would be useless to ask to miss her lessons. All she could do was hurry to the nursery every day as soon as she had swallowed her dinner.

May dreaded the time when her spell in the nursery would come to an end. Until then she had not enjoyed working there. It was messy and smelly and the wailing of the babies upset her, but now it was the only place she wanted to be.

The next lessons were in needlecraft, something she normally enjoyed, but the thought of leaving Angel to Smithy’s mercy was almost unbearable As the end of the month approached, she plucked up her courage and knocked at the door of the matron’s office.

‘Well?’ Matron was an angular woman who seemed permanently harassed.

‘Please, ma’am.’ May struggled to prevent her voice from trembling. ‘I’ve been looking after little Angel …’

‘Looking after who?’

‘Angel, ma’am.’

‘You mean Angela? The child has been baptised Angela. Angel is not a proper name.’