Molly had no intention of backing off just because of a bit of flattery. ‘Then tell me what fault lay in Charley?’

Evelyn hesitated, biting her lip.

‘Go on, spit it out,’ Molly insisted.

‘He was homosexual,’ Evelyn blurted out. ‘We didn’t want to tell you, but it isn’t right that you keep blaming yourself.’

Molly’s eyes almost popped out of her head. She was utterly astounded. ‘Surely not! I can’t believe it. What makes you say such a thing?’

Evelyn explained what had happened the day that Ted had gone over to Whitechapel to tell Charley that Molly was in hospital. She recounted it carefully, making sure Molly fully understood that there had been no mistake. ‘There was no doubt about it,’ she ended up. ‘I’m terribly sorry, Molly. It isn’t an easy thing to tell anyone, especially someone you care about.’

Molly had turned pale. Her eyes were wide and glassy, and she ran her fingers through her hair distractedly, as if trying to think up a reason why it couldn’t be so.

Evelyn waited. She wanted to embrace the girl and take away her hurt, but that would be like trying to put a plaster on a broken leg.

‘I can’t believe it! Surely you’re wrong!’ Molly exclaimed, and tears came into her eyes. ‘But I know you and Ted wouldn’t tell me this unless you were absolutely sure.’

She paused, taking deep breaths as if trying to calm herself. ‘Poor Charley!’ she finally burst out. ‘What a terrible thing for him! He can’t help how he was born, can he? And I’m sure he didn’t know what to do, or who to turn to.’

Evelyn was moved by Molly’s ability to feel sympathy for Charley even when she was so hurt. ‘That’s very understanding of you,’ she said. ‘I think I’d be tempted to stamp my feet and ask why he’d led me up the garden path and talked about marriage. But you must always remember he did the right thing by you in the end, and that was because he was genuinely fond of you. Both Ted and I have met quite a few men in the hotel trade that are that way. They have to hide it, of course, but they’re usually true gentlemen.’

Molly began to fold some napkins. She looked very pensive for some time. Evelyn got on with the seating plan, but she kept glancing over at Molly, afraid she might break down when the reality of it hit her.

But, to her surprise, Molly suddenly looked up, bright eyed again, as if she’d given herself a mental shake.

‘Then it was for the best,’ she said. ‘Imagine how awful it would’ve been if we had got married and it was all a sham? It doesn’t bear thinking about.’

‘No, it doesn’t, and I’m sure Charley is feeling as bad as you are about it,’ Evelyn assured her.

‘I don’t feel bad exactly, just rather foolish,’ Molly said. ‘I don’t seem to be any good at working men out. Am I going to make a prize fool of myself with George, too?’

Evelyn smirked. ‘Hardly – the man is nuts about you.’

‘But the distance between us?’ Molly said.

‘You’re putting the cart before the horse.’ Evelyn laughed. ‘Go home for a weekend, see how it goes, and if it’s meant to be the pair of you will come up with solutions to the problems.’

Molly frowned, deep in thought. ‘Of course, we’ll both be witnesses at Miss Gribble’s trial. Maybe I could wait and see how it goes with him there, up in London, where no one is watching. It would be easier than back home in Sawbridge.’

‘A brilliant plan,’ Evelyn said, delighted that Molly was finally being positive about the situation with George. ‘London can be very romantic, especially at night. Walks along the Thames Embankment, an intimate Italian restaurant, or St James’s Park in the moonlight. Ted and I had some lovely times there.’

Molly smiled. ‘I’m not sure the Old Bailey could be thought of as romantic, especially as we’ll both be put through our paces by the barristers.’

‘Yes, but think of the relief when it’s all over.’ Evelyn sighed. ‘That’ll be the night for romance and looking to the future. I know I’m sick of people talking about the case in the bar, asking me questions, giving their point of view, which is mostly inaccurate. And it must be a hundred times worse for you, Molly.’

‘It is tiresome when people stop me in the street or outside the school gates – they do it even when Petal’s with me,’ Molly said indignantly. ‘I really hate that they haven’t the sense to realize she shouldn’t be hearing this stuff. I suppose they’ll forget about it as soon as the trial is over, though.’

‘I believe the only thing holding it up is that the police are still waiting to get a statement from Christabel Coleman. One of the local bobbies told me she became hysterical when she was told Miss Gribble killed her daughter. She hasn’t been fit for questioning since, and they’ve got a lot of loose ends to tie up that only she can help with.’

‘How could she have not known? Or that Miss Gribble was ill-treating Petal? They were all in the same house, for goodness’ sake! The woman is a total loony!’ ’

‘Perhaps, or maybe it’s just years and years of being conditioned into accepting her housekeeper’s views and behaviour.’

‘Do you think the she-devil will hang?’

Evelyn shrugged. ‘She should – she’s an evil woman and no mistake – but so many people are against hanging now, she might just get life.’

‘I wonder what will happen to Christabel. I do wish she’d find her voice and tell us all her side of the story. I’m quite sure that Cassie would never have wanted her mother to end her days in an asylum.’

At the time Molly and Evelyn were discussing Christabel Coleman, DI Pople and his sergeant, Brian Wayfield, were waiting in a small room at Hellingly Hospital near Hailsham in East Sussex to see her.

Christabel’s ward sister had reported that her patient had become much calmer and had been talking about Miss Gribble, and this was passed on to the police.

Both policemen had visited other mental institutions, most of which were very grim, but Hellingly had been built as recently as 1906 and was not only in a rather splendid building which had its own railway, hairdresser’s and beautiful grounds, but it also had a reputation for taking good care of its patients.

The room they were in was on the ground floor and had a big window looking out on to the grounds. It was decorated in an attractive pale blue with a darker blue chintz-covered sofa and armchairs. If they hadn’t observed a few patients shuffling about, talking to themselves, the two policemen could almost have imagined it was a private hospital.

Christabel was brought in by a plump, middle-aged nurse. ‘I’ll be outside if you need me,’ she said to the patient. ‘But you’re well today, aren’t you, Mrs Coleman?’

Christabel nodded. She looked quite attractive. Her fair hair shone and curled around her face, she was wearing a little lipstick and a pale-grey pleated skirt and baby-pink jumper. She certainly didn’t look insane, only nervous, as she sat down in one of the armchairs and folded her hands in her lap.

‘I understand that I must talk now about what happened when we took Petal away,’ she said, her blue eyes fixed on DI Pople. ‘But I hope you believe that I really didn’t know Gribby, I mean Maud – sorry, Miss Gribble – had killed Sylvia.’

DI Pople was surprised to find her so articulate. From everything he’d been told, he had expected her to be simple and for this to be why Miss Gribble had been able to manipulate her.

‘You can call Miss Gribble whatever you feel most comfortable with. And yes, we do believe that you didn’t know she killed Sylvia,’ he said. ‘But weren’t you suspicious when you got back to Mulberry House and Miss Gribble imprisoned Petal in an attic room?’

‘She said it was because people would talk if they saw a black child and, when I kept going up to see Petal, to read to her and play with her, Gribby got cross with me.’

‘But surely you could have insisted that Petal was brought downstairs and treated properly? Also why weren’t you concerned that Sylvia hadn’t turned up to get Petal?’