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A pril’s pity for Mrs . Robb drowned any sense of triumph in her discovery of the woman’s origins and behaviour.

How much harder than being born into a wretched life was being thrust into it from relative prosperity?

Mrs. Robb would not have been rich, but she would always have had enough .

Until her husband died young and left her with nothing but a new baby to care for.

With neither experience of work nor someone to care for her child, how was she to earn money?

In such circumstances, April understood being lied to. She needed to consult with Piers, and confront Mrs. Robb—in that order, for they had to think what was best for the baby and his mother.

She should have turned for home immediately, yet on impulse, she walked up to the front door of the house next door to Mrs. Robb’s old residence.

The lady of this house remembered her old neighbour well, thought it terribly sad, but had no idea where poor Mrs. Robb had gone. Neither did the lady on the other side.

It was on the fourth house she tried that she finally found someone worried about the evicted widow. A young woman called Mrs. Carter had been Amanda Robb’s friend and missed her terribly.

“Do you know where she went when she left her old home?” April asked.

“Of course I do. I’ve been to see her often, only she stopped writing and I haven’t found the time...” Mrs. Carter lowered her eyes.

“Could you give me her direction?”

Mrs. Carter glanced up again with determination. “I’ll do better than that. I’ll take you.”

This, April felt, was best of all.

As she had presumed, Mrs. Robb had not moved to a salubrious area, but to a room in a tenement building near Whitechapel.

“I know,” Mrs. Carter said ruefully, though April had said nothing. “But the neighbours are mostly decent, and she’s got the whole room to herself.”

April, who would once have sold her soul for such a privilege—or even for the roof—appreciated the point. How would she feel now, going from Petteril House and Haybury Court and Sillitrees, to such a room? Not so long ago, it had been the height of her ambitions.

As Mrs. Carter raised her hand to knock on the door, a baby cried, surely somewhere else in the bowels of the building? The door opened, increasing the volume of the crying, and a middle-aged woman with white hair regarded them in surprise.

“Yes?”

April’s gaze darted beyond her. There was a child’s cot in the far corner and the blankets were being kicked around by unseen little legs. What on earth...?

“Oh,” Mrs. Carter said. “I was looking for Mrs. Robb. Does she not live here anymore?”

The baby gave a particularly imperious wail.

“Of course she does,” the woman said. “I’m just minding my grandchild. Excuse me.”

The woman spoke well and politely, like Mrs. Robb herself. April was totally confused as she watched her march across the room to the cot and pick up the kicking, squalling baby.

“This is Esther, Amanda’s daughter,” Mrs. Carter said to April, smiling with relief.

The baby smiled back, for not only was it a girl, it must have been at least six months old.

***

A PRIL TOOK A HACKNEY as far as the sellers’ stalls at the corner of the square, for she had just recalled that Gussie would be gracing them with her company this afternoon and she should brighten up the best spare bedchamber with some flowers.

Before she confronted Mrs. Robb in private.

At first, she thought the flower-seller had gone, then she glimpsed her with only a few hot house flowers drooping in her barrow, half-hidden behind Jack Newly the pie man who greeted April with a smile.

The flower girl smiled too, shivering in her hood. “Sorry, ma’am, don’t have much,” she said apologetically. “The hot house flowers cost so much, and I can’t get the variety.”

“They’ll perk up indoors,” April said optimistically. “I’ll take them all, since I have visitors.”

The girl’s eyes widened as if she couldn’t quite believe her luck, and with a little grunt of excitement, gathered them all together. April paid, with thanks and turned away, because the girl made her feel uncomfortable in her new privilege.

Her arms full of flowers, she still managed to drop a coin into the baker’s apron. “Have one of your own excellent pies,” she murmured. “Did any of your fellow stall-holders see anything of the baby my husband asked you about?”

“Sadly not, ma’am,” Jack Newly said, looking her in the eye. “I asked some of my regulars, too, but no one saw anything. Suppose no one’s very awake at that time of the day.”

April sighed. “Thank you for your help.”

Piers had not yet returned, but she barely had time to inspect Gussie’s room, arrange her flowers and place another coal on her fire, before she heard the unmistakable sounds of arrival.

“I timed it well, did I not?” Gussie greeted her. “Just in time for tea.”

As soon as they were alone in the drawing room, Gussie said in a rush, “Sorry about Mama. Anyone else jumping to the wrong conclusion would have blamed Piers.”

“They already do, I’m sure.”

“Mama has never been able to see his attraction. Or she pretends she can’t. It’s grief, you know, because Piers survived and my brothers didn’t.”

“Neither did Piers’s brother,” April pointed out.

“She’s not good at considering other people. She only knows how to love her own children. But believe it or not, there are signs of progress. If you care, and you really don’t need to. To better gossip—how is the baby from your doorstep? Have you found it a home? Or a mother?”

April sighed. “No. Not yet.”

Piers did not come home for tea. Although Gussie chattered away in her usual style, April could see she was flagging and took her up to her room for a lie down, leaving a scattering of novels for her.

“How pretty everywhere is since you married Piers,” she said sleepily.

April left her to it. She wouldn’t have minded a lie down herself.

At the top of the stairs, she paused, looking toward her own rooms, wondering whether to speak to Mrs. Robb now.

She certainly had much to say, and to ask, and she was conscious of quite a powerful urge to see the baby.

It was not an urge she should give into.

The baby was not hers any more than it was Mrs. Robb’s, though at least the other woman could feed him and look after him.

The choice was taken out of her hands when she heard a familiar voice in the hall below.

It belonged to Dr. Gilbert Laine, an old friend of Piers’s, who had stopped the constant bleeding of Gussie and encouraged a regime of healthy food, rest, and fresh air.

April liked him and so hurried downstairs to greet him at the drawing room door.

“Come in,” she said warmly, signalling the maid for fresh tea. “Though Piers is not home yet, I’m afraid. Or have you come to see Gussie?”

“Miss Withan?” He looked surprised. “No, I didn’t know she was here. I am not due to see her again until Friday.”

“Ah, Lady Petteril left in a bit of a rush and must have forgotten to inform you. She has gone to her other daughter in the country to greet her first grandchild, and Gussie has come to us for a few days. Though we did want to ask you if she would be fit to travel next week...”

Over tea, Dr. Laine told her that he and his betrothed had set a date for their wedding, and he’d called to ask Piers to stand up in church with him. And of course, he hoped Lady Petteril would attend the wedding breakfast.

April met his gaze. “Are you sure?” she asked bluntly.

“Quite sure.”

“Then I would love to,” she said, touched.

Dr. Laine finished his tea and set the cup in its saucer. “I shall have to catch Piers another time, I think. But you will pass on the message?”

“I will.” She took a deep breath and appalled herself by making a decision. “Dr. Laine?”

About to rise, he paused, his hands resting on the arms of his chair. “Yes?”

“Might I...consult you? Professionally, I mean. Privately.” Meaning she did not want Piers to know. She cringed inside.

“Of course,” he said, his eyes widening. “Do you mean now? Or would you like to come to my consulting rooms in—”

“Oh, no, I would lose courage long before I got there. It had better be now.”

He leaned back in his chair again, his hands loose in his lap. “Then please, tell me how I can help.”

April twisted the fine muslin of her gown between her rigid fingers and forced herself to let the fabric go. “Piers and I have been married since the summer, and I know he wants an heir.”

“That is not so long,” he said reassuringly.

And in fact it was less long if one considered that it had been September before there had been any chance of her conceiving. But anxiety over the length of the time was only an excuse to ask the question she needed answered.

“I’m afraid my body was damaged,” she blurted, “in a childhood accident. Is it still possible for me to bear children?”

A frown of concern flickered across his face. “May I know the nature of the accident? Which parts of your body were affected?”

Her hand strayed to her hips and she gestured lower. “I don’t recall. I think there was damage...inside.” God, why did I begin this? Can I just walk out?

“Have your monthly courses always been normal? Regular?”

“Oh, yes.”

He nodded. “And about the accident, do you suffer pain still from what happened?”

April shook her head.

“The human body can heal itself quite efficiently, though of course I can give you no certainties.”

She nodded, wiping her palms against the sides of her gown.

“Would you like me to examine you?” he asked gently.

She jumped to her feet. “God, no! That is, no thank you, I don’t believe that is necessary at this stage. As you say, it has only been a few months, and you have quite reassured me. I am so sorry to have kept you.”

As though he quite understood her excruciating embarrassment—he didn’t—he rose to his feet.