Amelia picked up the book and settled Lizzie more comfortably on her lap. Out of the nursery window, she could see coils of smoke drifting up from the chimneys of the houses opposite, thin lines of charcoal against a slate-grey sky. The snow which had so delighted Lizzie on Sunday was long gone, and the only trace of its brief existence lay in a corner of the yard, a small mound of muddy white with twigs and buttons and one of Jacob’s old pipes sunk pathetically into its heart. Her daughter wriggled impatiently on her knee, keen to get on with the story; Amelia kissed the top of her head and dutifully found the right page. ‘They were indeed a queer-looking party that assembled on the bank,’ she began, ‘the birds with draggled feathers, the animals with their fur clinging close to them, and all dripping wet, cross, and uncomfortable. The first question of course was, how to get dry again: they had a consultation about this, and after a few minutes it seemed quite natural to Alice to find herself talking familiarly with them, as if she had known them all her life.’
As the last of the daylight drained from the world outside, Amelia read on, enjoying the sense of transporting the two of them to another place—a private, imaginary place, far away from Hertford Road, where adventures could be safely contained by the closing of a cover. Eventually, the warmth of the room and the comforting sound of her voice had its customary effect: Lizzie slept soundly, and Amelia slipped the book gently on to the bedside table. She looked down at her daughter, and wondered again what sort of life she would make for herself; she had always expected motherhood to bring with it a new sense of responsibility, but nothing had prepared her for the intensity of being relied upon by a child, the fear of failure that kept her awake at night. It was time that Lizzie had a brother or sister, she thought—she was so withdrawn at times, so self-contained, and they could afford to try for another child now. Surely Jacob would see that? There had been an uneasy truce between them since the argument last week, but perhaps another child would bring them closer together; perhaps it would be the one dream which could remain untainted by the money that made it possible. With a stab of regret, Amelia remembered how happy they had been when they were first married; now, she felt like a stranger to him. It might be her imagination, but it seemed that new alliances were forming in this house which no longer included her.
As if on cue, she heard Edwards’s footsteps on the stairs, disturbing her peace. The girl knocked loudly when she got to the nursery, waking Lizzie, and, when she put her head round the door, she looked flushed and excited. ‘There’s a policeman downstairs, Ma’am—says he wants to talk to you. I asked him what it was about, but he wouldn’t say.’
Suddenly, Amelia found it difficult to breathe. ‘I didn’t hear anyone,’ she said defensively, as if this could somehow refute the truth of what Edwards was telling her. In her arms, Lizzie started to cry and Amelia realised that she had been gripping her daughter’s hand so tightly that she had hurt her. She kissed her and wiped her eyes, then lifted her gently on to the bed. ‘Look after her,’ she snapped at Edwards. ‘I won’t be long. Is Mr Sach home yet?’
‘No, ma’am, not yet.’
That was something, at least, Amelia thought as she hurried downstairs. With a bit of luck, she could clear this up before Jacob got in and he need never know about it. She had expected a uniform, but the man who stood in her parlour wore an ordinary brown suit. He hovered awkwardly in front of the fireplace, turning a bowler hat round in his hands; she smiled confidently at him when she detected his unease, but any illusions she held about having the advantage were dispelled as soon as he opened his mouth. ‘Mrs Amelia Sach?’ he asked, and she nodded. ‘I’m Detective Inspector Kyd from the Metropolitan Police. I’m afraid I have to inform you that we arrested a woman earlier today on suspicion of the murder of a baby boy. The woman was caught with the child’s body in her possession, and we have reason to believe that he was born in this establishment. What is your connection with a Mrs Annie Walters of Danbury Street, Islington?’
Amelia could have laughed with relief. If Walters had been caught with a baby today, it couldn’t possibly be one of hers: the child who had left her care on Saturday would be long gone by now. Walters must have let her greed get the better of her and started working for someone else as well—she had long suspected as much; there was no shortage of opportunities. ‘I don’t know anyone by that name,’ she said boldly, buoyed up by the knowledge that it was another woman’s luck which had run out today. ‘I’m sorry, but I can’t help you.’
The inspector was not so easily deterred. ‘Mrs Walters says you employ her, Madam.’
‘Then Mrs Walters is lying. I’m a nurse and a qualified midwife, Inspector. I take in ladies to be confined. They receive the very best of care while they’re here, and I assure you that when babies leave these premises, they are most certainly alive and well.’
He smiled, and, for the first time, there was something in his expression which made Amelia afraid. ‘I wasn’t suggesting otherwise, Madam, but if I could just refresh your memory a little—Mrs Walters is in her mid-fifties, sturdily built …’
Amelia interrupted him. ‘I don’t know her, Inspector, and I certainly haven’t given her any babies, if that’s what you’re implying. I have a reputation to maintain and I’m very careful about who I invite to work here.’
‘So, to your knowledge, Mrs Walters has never been here?’ She shook her head. ‘Funny that—she’s given me a very fair description of this room, but no matter. I believe a baby boy was born here on Saturday?’
‘That’s right. Dr Wylie attended the birth, as there were a number of complications. I’m sure he’ll confirm that.’
‘I don’t doubt it, Madam. The mother and child—where are they now?’
‘They’re upstairs, Inspector,’ Amelia said, her voice faltering a little.
‘I’d like to see that child, Ma’am, if you don’t mind.’
‘I’m afraid the mother is far too ill for social calls. As I said, it was a difficult birth and they’re both still very weak. I can’t possibly allow anyone to disturb them.’
She had known as soon as the words were out that aggression was the wrong line to take. When Inspector Kyd spoke again, his voice had lost any trace of courtesy. ‘I
Amelia said nothing as he left the room and opened the front door. She heard the sound of voices outside and went to the window to see what was happening. To her horror, she saw the inspector in the small front garden, talking to two uniformed police constables who must have been standing outside all the time. As she watched, one of them turned and hurried out to the street; the other came back into the house with his superior, and the three of them stood in silence in the parlour. Desperately, Amelia ran through a series of stories in her head; Dr Wylie only lived round the corner, and she didn’t have long to come up with an explanation for the missing child. Why hadn’t she done something about Walters sooner? She had known the woman was a liability and was furious with herself for allowing it to come to this; clearly Walters had told the police all about her, and now she would have to admit to their association and try to find some innocent explanation for it. After what seemed like only seconds, she heard the click of the front gate again; the policeman was back with Dr Wylie, and she was shocked to see that her husband was with them.
‘What’s all this about, Amelia?’ Jacob asked as soon as he entered the room, but Kyd gave her no opportunity to answer.
‘Mrs Sach, please take Dr Wylie here up to the woman’s room,’ he said, and then, turning to Wylie, ‘I just need to know if the baby is safe and well, Sir.’
The doctor stared uncomfortably at Amelia and, as he turned to leave the room, she could bear it no longer. ‘There’s no need,’ she whispered, so quietly that she could hardly hear the words herself.
‘Sorry, Madam—what did you say?’ Kyd asked.
‘There’s no need to go upstairs. The baby isn’t there. It’s been taken away. But it can’t be the same child,’ she cried, looking pleadingly at her husband. ‘It just can’t be.’ She repeated the words again, trying to clear up the confusion in her own mind. The baby had left the house on Saturday evening—she could never bear to have a child in the house for long after its birth—and now it was Tuesday; why would Walters have kept it for three days, rather than getting rid of it at the earliest possible opportunity? What was the woman thinking of? ‘Whatever child you’ve found,’ she said at last, ‘it isn’t the boy who was born here on Saturday.’
Inspector Kyd nodded at the constable, who handed over a child’s robe. ‘Do you recognise this?’ Kyd asked. It
