The Complete Ravenscar Trilogy: The Ravenscar Dynasty, Heirs of Ravenscar, Being Elizabeth. Barbara Taylor Bradford

will be a document that we can have printed later, to use if any other children are found on the streets and brought here. However, I cannot encourage that, since we are not an orphanage but a safe house for destitute and battered women, as you know.’

      ‘I presume Mr Codrill is also preparing documents for us to sign, Fenella?’ Stephen asked. ‘In other words, proper legal adoption papers?’

      ‘Exactly, and they will be as watertight as he can make them.’

      ‘And when will you have the documents, Fenella?’ Vicky asked, her eagerness and excitement apparent.

      ‘Within the week, but now that Hugh has done his legal research he just advised me that you may take Rose today if you wish.’

      On hearing this news tears came into Vicky’s eyes, and she gave Fenella a faltering smile and said, ‘Thank you! Oh, thank you, Fenella,’ her voice thick with emotion.

      Her beaming husband put his arm around her shoulders. ‘You see, my darling, everything has worked out perfectly, after all.’

      ‘I must say, it’s a wonderful relief for me, too,’ Amos murmured, his face also ringed with smiles. ‘I’ve worried about the little bairn for weeks now.’ He smiled at Fenella and said, ‘Thank you, your ladyship. Little Rose owes you a lot—well, we all do, really.’

      It was Vanessa Barnes who took charge of the tea in the great room, with Vicky and Fenella helping her. As the women busied themselves, setting up cups and saucers and other accoutrements on the trestle table, Amos and Stephen Forth sat and talked for a few minutes about the mysterious circumstances surrounding Rose.

      ‘I just can’t understand it,’ Stephen said, sounding astonished. ‘How anyone could push a child like Rose out onto the streets, abandon her in such a way, staggers the imagination. It’s frightening to even contemplate such a thing, never mind knowing it’s actually being done.’

      ‘There are a lot of monsters passing for human beings out there, Mr Forth,’ Amos said in a sombre voice. ‘Take my word for it. Long before I became a private investigator, working for myself, I was a copper on the beat, right here in Whitechapel.’ He shook his head sadly. ‘I can’t begin to tell you what I’ve seen in my day—the most hair-raising things you could possibly conceive.’ He gave Stephen a long look, and continued, after a moment, ‘How any person could throw Rose away like rubbish I’ll never understand. She’s such a beautiful child.’

      ‘Very, I agree,’ Stephen was quick to say, and then asked, ‘How old do you think she is, Mr Finnister?’

      ‘Please call me Amos, everyone does. I must admit, her age is hard to figure out. I don’t think she can be any more than five, do you?’

      ‘Isn’t she a bit tall for five?’ Stephen asked. ‘My wife thinks she’s four, though. And I suppose we’ll never know.’

      ‘I believe she’s more than four, she’s very bright and intelligent, but not more than five, I’m certain of that. I tried to find out how long she had been on the streets, but she wasn’t able to tell me. She doesn’t have any sense of real time, very few children do as a matter of fact. But she was very dirty, and her clothes were unusually filthy, so I can only think she was out there living in cubby holes and corners, scavenging for herself, for at least three or four weeks, possibly longer.’

      An involuntary shudder passed through Stephen and he closed his eyes for a moment; when he opened them there was a strange look in them, a mixture of sorrow and pain most acute. He made no response to Amos’s comment, just sat there looking sickened.

      Finally, after a few seconds, Stephen said, ‘When we saw her earlier this afternoon she was bubbling over with happiness that we were here. There’s something quite lovely about her personality, when she’s not so tense.’

      ‘I know exactly what you mean, Mr Forth,’ Amos replied. ‘She’s full of life.’

      ‘That’s a good way of describing her. Yes, Rose is full of joie de vivre.’

      ‘Amos! Amos!’ a child’s voice rang out, and a moment later Rose was rushing across the floor to greet her friend.

      As he watched her draw closer Amos thought she had never looked bonnier. There was a big white ribbon tied on top of her auburn hair, and she wore black stockings, a navy wool dress and a starched white pinafore. He knew they were clothes Vicky had bought for her.

      As she drew to a stop Amos grinned and picked her up, and swirled her around. And then he placed her on the floor, noticing at once how steady she was now, not wobbling the way she had when he had first found her.

      ‘Hello, Rose,’ he said, giving her a broad smile. ‘You look beautiful in your new clothes.’

      ‘Fank yer,’ she said, and bobbed. ‘Mrs Vicky give ’em ter me. She’s like me Mam.’

      Amos took hold of Rose’s hand and led her across to the sofa, where he sat down, and brought her close to his knees, looked into her bright blue eyes. ‘Rose, will you do something for me, please?’

      ‘Summfink ’ard, is it?’ she asked, looking at him keenly, her head on one side.

      ‘No, no, it’s not hard. It’s easy. I want you to go to Mrs Vicky and ask her to unlock the special cupboard, so I can take a look at your things in your cloth bag.’

      ‘Wot yer wanna look at me fings for?’ she demanded, frowning, suspicious all of a sudden.

      ‘We want to try and find out how old you are. It’s possible something in the bag will tell us.’

      Reaching inside the neck of her dress, Rose pulled out a piece of black ribbon on which hung the key. ‘Mrs Vicky put the key ’ere ’cos I cried for me fings wen she took ’em.’

      ‘Isn’t she a nice lady? Well, come along, little one, let’s go to the cupboard.’

      Smiling up at him, taking his hand in hers, Rose led him across the floor to a series of cupboards built along the wall facing the trestle table. She pulled the ribbon over her head, and opened the cupboard. Then she reached inside for the cloth bag.

      Rose was careful to lock the cupboard, and put the ribbon around her neck, before they went back to the sofa. When Vicky saw what they were doing she hurried to join them. She and Amos sat down on a sofa, and a moment later Stephen walked over, carrying a cup of tea for Vicky. After handing it to her, he said to Amos, ‘Would you like a cup?’

      ‘Not at the moment, thanks, Mr Forth. I want to concentrate on these items here.’ He indicated the cloth bag with his head.

      Rose looked at Amos and asked, ‘Wot yer wanna see?’

      ‘What about the photograph you showed me last time?’

      Without a word Rose took the photograph out of the cloth bag and handed it to Amos. He stared at it for a moment then stared at Rose, and asked, ‘Is this Mam?’

      She nodded several times and said vehemently. ‘Yeah.’

      ‘She always says that,’ Vicky volunteered.

      Amos studied the photograph. It had been taken in a studio, no doubt in his mind about that, and it was by a good photographer. So it had cost money. Poor people did not have cash to spare to have their photographs taken.

      Did this young woman in the picture come from money? She looked as if she did. Her hair was swept up on top of her head, with all the curls coming forward to the front. This was the current fashionable style, one favoured by the society women, who copied Queen Alexandra.

      She wore a dark dress, and the lace collar was beautiful, came across her shoulders and chest, and it had the latest stylish high neck. Matching lace cuffs trimmed the long sleeves. As he peered at the photograph he noticed the young woman was wearing a star-shaped brooch which looked as