The Orphan's Promise

by Jennie Felton

Genres: Family Life; Sagas

Synopsis

Orphan Sally searches for the truth about her mother in 1910s Wiltshire, in this heart-rending first novel in a brand-new series from the author of Rosie's Dilemma and The Coal Miner's Wife.

Readers love Jennie Felton's emotional sagas:

'I really enjoyed the mystery in this novel & didn't take long to finish it! . . . If Jennie is new to you I thoroughly recommend her books' ⭐⭐⭐⭐⭐

'War, love, heartbreak, courage, grief and honour all wrapped up in a story that will touch your heart' ⭐⭐⭐⭐⭐

'From the start of book to end it drew you in, first book I've read of Jennie Felton and not the last. Thoroughly enjoyed' ⭐⭐⭐⭐⭐

'Thoroughly researched with great detail of the war effort and characters that you will love, hate and everything in between!' ⭐⭐⭐⭐⭐

'This book was so lovely and I was very sad when I turned the last page. Really great read' ⭐⭐⭐⭐⭐

Release date: October 8, 2026

Publisher: Headline

Print pages: 368

Sample

October 1908

It was now six months since Katie had left for Steepleton. The trees in the fields around Yewston rectory had already been shorn of their leaves by the cold autumn winds and lay in drifts beneath them. In the rectory parlour, Esme Whittock, the rector’s wife, had drawn her chair close to the fire and was looking thoughtfully at Sally, who sat opposite her, a book laying open in her lap. But Esme hadn’t seen her turn a page in the last half-hour; she simply sat, staring down at it unseeingly.

Esme guessed she was thinking about Katie, and wishing she were still here. In the seventeen years since she and Walter had taken in Sally, a foundling of about three years old, Esme had come to love the young woman she had become as if Sally were her own child, and it tore at her heart to know she was lonely without Katie. She laid down the jumper she was knitting in her lap.

‘You still miss Katie, don’t you?’ she said gently.

At Esme’s words, Sally looked up, forcing a smile. ‘Mm. Silly of me, isn’t it?’

‘Not at all!’ Esme said staunchly. ‘It’s quite understandable. Katie is the closest thing to family you’ve ever had.’

‘And you and the rector,’ Sally protested.

‘Well, I hope so!’ Esme teased her.

‘You know Katie and I will always be grateful to you,’ Sally said with feeling.

‘I’m the one who should be grateful to you,’ Esme said. ‘You’ve brought me – and Walter – such joy. You’re like a daughter to me, Sally . . .’ Her voice trailed away.

The daughter I lost, she’d almost said. But the words remained locked behind the lump in her throat. She rarely spoke about the tragedy that had almost cost her her sanity, the reason why she and Walter had taken Sally and Katie in. But she’d been so grateful that she had been able to give them the love and care she would have given her own children. Margaret, the baby she had so cruelly lost at just a few weeks old, and the others, the ones who had never lived long enough to take a breath. After Margaret, the doctor had said she’d never have another child, and it had broken her, though with hindsight she knew it had been a blessing. She couldn’t have carried another baby only to lose it. The heartbreak on top of the strain on her weakened body would most likely have killed her. But at the time . . .

With an effort she pulled herself out of her reverie. ‘You’ll be fine, Sally. The future will open up for you – you’ll see.’

‘I just wish I could do an apprenticeship like Katie,’ Sally said. ‘Not at the drapery, of course – I don’t suppose they’d want two apprentices at the same time. But one of the other shops in Steepleton. We’ve always thought she was a year or two younger than me and it doesn’t seem right she’s out at work, earning a little bit of wages, and I’m still here, doing lessons, and not contributing anything towards my keep.’

‘We don’t want you to.’ Esme stuck her knitting needles into the almost-completed sleeve, reached for the ball of wool that lay on the rug beside her feet and wound the length of unravelled wool around it.

‘Shopwork isn’t for you,’ she told Sally. ‘Walter says you’re a clever girl, and worth far more than that. Don’t you ever wonder why he’s teaching you different things now that Katie’s not sharing your lessons?’

‘Well . . . yes,’ Sally admitted.

‘Has he never explained?’ Esme asked. Sally shook her head. ‘No, I suppose he hasn’t. I think he wants to be sure of your ability before he mentions it. He doesn’t want to get your hopes up only for you to be disappointed.’

‘Disappointed?’ Sally was puzzled. ‘What about?’

‘The sort of life you can expect,’ Esme said, regarding Sally seriously. ‘Walter believes that at the very least you could be employed as a governess by a well-to-do family. But he intends to explore other options when he’s sure where your talents lie. But listen . . .’ She raised a warning hand. ‘You mustn’t let Walter know I’ve told you. I shouldn’t have really, but I don’t want you to become so fed up here without Katie’s company that you do something rash and scuttle his plans for you.’

Sally was staring at her, dumbstruck.

‘You must be patient,’ Esme went on. ‘You can’t learn everything you need to in the space of a few short months. Students study for years to achieve their full potential and you must do the same. Your whole future depends on it. Now –’ she tucked her knitting into a canvas bag and slung it over her arm – ‘I’m going to bed. I have to be up very early in the morning. Polly’s mother has been taken ill and she has to look after her.’

Polly wasn’t a full-time maid. At one time she had been in service in a grand country house somewhere in the Cotswolds, but now she was married with two children, she was back in Yewston, and came to the rectory most days to give Esme a hand at the busiest times of day.

‘I can help!’ Sally said. ‘Why didn’t you ask me?’

‘My dear, I don’t want to distract you from your studies.’ Esme nodded in the direction of the book lying idle on Sally’s lap. ‘You’ve got some way to go before you finish A Pilgrim’s Progress from the look of it. Live the dream, Sally. Make the most of your talents. Night night. Sleep tight.’

‘You too,’ Sally said. ‘But I will help you out with breakfast in the morning whether you want me to or not.’

‘We’ll see about that.’ Esme sounded almost amused. The door closed after her and Sally was alone.

For a little while, she remained where she was, thinking about what Esme had said. Never for one moment had she imagined a future for herself beyond the shop floor or in service.

Every day since Katie had left, Sally had expected the rector to tell her he’d made arrangements for her to take up some position or other. A lady’s maid, she’d rather hoped, though she’d feared that would only come in time, and she would have to start as a lowly housemaid and work her way up through the ranks. But every day had found her at her desk in a corner of the rector’s study.

She had been curious but glad about the direction her lessons had taken since Katie had left. She’d become bored with the seemingly endlessly repetition of reciting the mathematic tables and learning no more than basic facts in history, her favourite subject. By then she’d known the order of the kings and queens of England backwards, and the dates of important events: the Battle of Hastings, the Wars of the Roses, the Great Fire of London that had started in Pudding Lane, but none of it in depth.

Sally had hated herself for thinking it was because Katie was less able than she was, but deep down she’d known that was the reason. While learning came easily to her, Katie had struggled badly with anything beyond the most straightforward subjects. Sally had tried to help her out with the homework the rector had set, but when he had found out he’d frowned. ‘The only way for her to learn is to understand what she’s doing,’ he’d said.

Now that he was teaching only Sally, however, the Reverend Whittock was going into things far more deeply, and engaging her in discussion about the causes and effects of such events as the Peasants’ Revolt. Sally found it incredibly satisfying.

He’d begun teaching her Latin too, and she was enjoying that even though it was back to rotes, learning to decline verbs and where they went in a sentence. It provided her with a much-needed challenge. But she had wondered what use it would be when nobody spoke it any longer, and it was not even used in the Church of England service. When she’d said as much, the rector had told her that besides exercising her brain it formed the basis of many words in other languages, not just English, but French, Spanish and Italian too, and could be useful should she ever visit those countries.

At the time, Sally had thought that was about as likely as seeing the cow jump over the moon, but now a little twinge of excitement sparked deep inside her. If she worked hard at her lessons, was it possible that she could better herself? Did the rector really believe she was clever enough to become a governess to the children of a wealthy family? ‘At the very least,’ Mama Esme had said. But what could be better than that? Sally had not the slightest idea. There was a schoolmistress at St John’s C of E school in Yewston, and she had risen to be second-in-command to Captain Brooks, the formidable headmaster. But Sally wasn’t sure what her duties were – she and Katie had only attended the infants’ school for a year before there had been a falling-out between Captain Brooks and Rector Whittock and the rector had taken the two girls out of the school and begun teaching them himself. From a conversation she’d overheard between him and Mama Esme it seemed he wasn’t satisfied with the standards of teaching in the school, and when she was old enough to notice Katie’s problems, Sally had wondered if he’d thought she wouldn’t get the attention she needed.

Now, however, she wondered if it hadn’t only been for Katie’s benefit. Perhaps the rector had spotted a potential in her she hadn’t been aware of and wanted to nurture her. She could scarcely believe it, but the very possibility made her glow with pride. Not bad for a girl who was not only an orphan, but a foundling.

Nobody had known who she was or where she’d come from. But when she was old enough to ask questions, Esme had sat her down and told her the whole story.

The rector had been in Yewston, visiting a sick parishioner, she’d explained, and when he’d returned to the town square where he’d left his pony and trap he’d seen a little girl, alone, shivering and distressed, sitting on the pavement nearby. He’d asked her her name, and through her tears she’d told him she was called Sally, but he couldn’t get another word out of her. He’d taken her by the hand and made enquiries in the Cock and Hen pub on the other side of the square, then knocked on the doors of nearby houses only to be met by blank stares and shaking heads. The rector had put her in the trap and driven to the police station, sure that someone must have reported her missing. But once again he’d drawn a blank.

When the constable on duty suggested making up a bed for her in the cells while he instigated some enquiries, Walter had been horrified, and said he’d take her back to the rectory and look after her until her parents had been found.

‘I was so shocked when he arrived home with you,’ Esme had told Sally. ‘Couldn’t believe my eyes. Shivering, you were. Trying not to cry, but the tears were streaming down your cheeks though you never made a sound. I filled a hot water bottle to warm you up, and got you something to eat and a hot drink.

‘You were traumatised, I could see that. So I put you to bed and made you comfy, and stayed with you until you fell asleep. And I told Walter straight – if anyone came for you they could jolly well come again in the morning. I was that furious. But nobody did come.’

‘So you kept me,’ Sally had said, wide-eyed.

Esme had nodded, smiling that warm smile of hers. ‘Yes, we kept you. And we love you so much. It was a lucky day for us, Sally.’

‘And Katie?’

‘Yes, of course, we love Katie too.’

‘Did Papa Walter find her in the street like me?’ Sally had asked.

‘No, my love. Walter found her in the orphanage where he’s one of the trustees.’

‘What’s a trustee?’

‘The people who are in charge of running it. Poor Katie never had a father, and her mother died, so she was all alone.’

Esme had fallen silent, and Sally had no inkling of what she was remembering.

When no one claimed Sally, Walter had made a suggestion that had horrified Esme, who had grown very fond of the little girl. ‘I’m beginning to think she’s going to have to go you-know-where,’ he had said.

Esme’s reaction had been instantaneous.

‘The orphanage? Oh Walter, no!’ she had protested. ‘She doesn’t belong there. Just look at the quality of her clothes – she’s not like other waifs and strays.’

‘She’ll be well cared for there,’ Walter assured her. ‘Trust me, the place is clean, well run, and I’ll be able to keep an eye on her. What alternative is there?’

Esme had swallowed hard. ‘Couldn’t she stay with us?’

It was only long afterwards that Walter had admitted it was what he had wanted too.

After the loss of Margaret, the only one of her babies to be born alive, Esme had been drowning in grief, and it was breaking his heart to see her in such a state. When he’d brought Sally home with him he had dared to hope that having a child to care for might throw his wife a lifeline and help her to escape the dark depths that were consuming her. But at the same time he’d wondered if it was wise. If someone from Sally’s family turned up and took her away it could simply make things worse, send Esme back to the bleak place where she’d been since the loss of her last baby. And she still had not regained her physical strength. Could she cope with the extra demands that would be placed on her?

‘Are you sure it wouldn’t be too much for you?’ he’d asked anxiously, and Esme had assured him she’d be fine, and couldn’t bear the thought of the little girl going into the orphanage, so that eventually he had agreed. Sally had stayed at the rectory.

They’d taken Katie as company for Sally later, when she had settled in. Esme loved Katie just as deeply, and the two little girls had forged a lasting bond.

Through the years, Sally had learned the details that had been too complicated for Esme to explain to a six-year-old, and now, mulling over what she had just confided in her about her education, she wondered again. Who was she really? Why had she been abandoned in a small town where nobody knew her?

After a few moments’ reflection, Sally told herself it really didn’t matter. What was important was that she mustn’t let Papa Walter and Mama Esme down. Her fingers closed over the leather binding of A Pilgrim’s Progress and she made a silent promise to do her best to live up to the vision Papa Walter had for her. It would go some way to repaying all the kindness they had shown her over the years, for taking her in when she’d been lost and frightened. Not only into their home, but also into their family.

Where the extra lessons would lead her, she had no idea, but the prospect of what might lay ahead caused a tingle of excitement to shimmer inside her as a rainbow sparkles in the light of the sun.

Sally banked up the fire and set the guard in front of it. Then she turned off the gaslight and climbed the stairs to the bedroom that was now hers and hers alone. She undressed, climbed under the covers, propped herself up against the pillows and opened A Pilgrim’s Progress to the page where she’d left off. She would read until she was ready to fall asleep, she decided. And tomorrow she would be able to answer all the questions the rector would ask her about the story and its meaning.

Unlike Sally, Katie was wide awake even though she’d had a busy day at the drapery shop. She was enjoying the work immensely, although Mrs Freeman – Hilda – was a hard task-master who watched eagle-eyed as Katie stacked rolls of crisp cotton and warm worsted and replaced them on the shelf, counted out pins for a customer, took her money and gave her change from the till so as to correct any mistakes Katie might make. In the beginning, inevitably she’d made a few, but her eagerness to learn meant they were now few and far between. And she’d found a friend in Gwen, the experienced assistant who was assigned to keep an eye on her when Mrs Freeman was in the back room dealing with her paperwork.

In those early days, unused to being on her feet for hours on end, Katie’s calves had ached badly and her toes hurt because her feet had swollen and made her shoes too tight.

‘You need to get yerself some sensible shoes,’ Milly Church, her landlady, had said when she’d seen her limping up the street. ‘Go and see Stan Barker. He’ll ’ave just the thing in ’is shop. I allus gets mine there.’

Katie had cringed inwardly as she looked down at Mrs Church’s stout and ugly lace-ups, but she had to admit her landlady was right. As directed, she went to the shoe shop on her day off and bought herself a pair of Mary Janes a size larger than her usual fit, so that at least her feet were no longer cramped at the end of the day. With the change in her footwear it wasn’t long before her leg muscles became accustomed to having to work harder, and Katie discovered she felt all the better for it.

Over the last six months, Katie had become very fond of Mrs Church, a motherly soul who treated Katie in much the same way as Esme had done. She was a good cook too, routinely making a hot breakfast for her lodgers, and there was always a hearty dinner waiting for them in the evenings. As she was the only permanent resident, Katie always got special treatment, and Mrs Church often gave her a sly wink as she served her the choicest cut of bacon, the most perfectly fried egg, and at dinner her fruit was always topped with an extra spoonful of cream.

As she settled in, Katie began to realise how sheltered her life at the rectory had been. Sally had been her only real friend, and she, Papa Walter and Mama Esme had been the only people Katie saw from day to day. Here in Steepleton she was surrounded by others both at work and her lodgings, as there was almost always a motley crew of visitors, from hikers passing through and wanting a bed for the night, to travelling salesmen who were regular guests when their work brought them to the area.

It was one of them who had made her relish her new-found freedom; for the first time in her life she was unmistakably aware that a man was taking an interest in her.

One evening in early June she’d come home from work to see a funny-looking motor parked outside Mrs Church’s house. It was a hooded three-wheeler with a seat for two people in the front and a single for the driver behind them. Katie had never seen anything like it. Who did it belong to? she wondered.

She had found out before too long. She’d changed out of her uniform and freshened up before going downstairs for the evening meal. A strange man who looked to be in his late twenties was already seated in the dining room. He was wearing a tweed jacket and a stiff-collared shirt, and his dark hair was slicked back from his rather good-looking face. He got to his feet as she entered and she saw he was quite tall as well as broad-shouldered.

‘Good evening,’ he said. ‘You must be Katie. Mrs Church told me you were a permanent resident.’

Katie was rather surprised that Mrs Church should have said such a thing to a first-time visitor, and as if reading her mind he went on: ‘I’m Charlie Strawbridge. I’m an agent for a Christmas Club and when I’m seeing clients in this area I always stay here. But this time of year things go a bit quiet. A lot of folk aren’t ready to start saving and I’ve been able to make my collections in a day and haven’t needed to stay over. Now it’s hotting up, and there’s a mad rush to save for the festivities. So from now on you’ll see me regularly.’

In the small, awkward silence that followed, they both seated themselves and Katie spread her red-and-white-checked serviette over her knees, very aware that Charlie Strawbridge was watching her.

‘Is that your car outside?’ she blurted.

Charlie beamed proudly. ‘It certainly is. Beats doing my rounds on a bike, like I used to.’

‘I’m sure it does. But . . .’ Katie’s curiosity overcame her uncertainty as to whether he’d be offended. ‘I’ve never seen a motor like that before. Not that I’ve seen many at all, of course.’

Charlie grinned. ‘No, it’s not something one of the gentry would go for. Not posh enough for them. But the company I work for doesn’t worry about things like that. They got a goods carrier that was the first model of its type and were so impressed with it that when the Mighty Atom came out they bought two for their agents. I’m lucky enough to be one of them.’

‘The Mighty Atom?’ Katie repeated. ‘That’s a funny name for a motor.’

Charlie laughed. ‘That’s what we call it. Its proper name is an AC Sociable. I’ll take you out for spin in it if you like.’

Katie felt a flush creeping up her neck. Was he making a pass at her?

‘Now don’t you go leading her astray!’ Mrs Church was in the doorway with two loaded plates of boiled mutton and potatoes. ‘Our Katie’s a good girl.’

‘Don’t you worry, Mrs Church.’ But he had given Katie a crafty wink, and her colour rose higher. He was definitely flirting with her, and although she knew she would have to be wary of him, she couldn’t help feeling a little flattered.

Over the next few months, Charlie had stayed at Mrs Church’s guest house regularly, and against her better judgment, Katie had come to look forward to his visits. He was always full of compliments, and the odd risqué remark, which she thought was rather fun. He hadn’t mentioned taking her out in the motor again though, and Katie had been rather wishing he would when suddenly, in the middle of August, he had.

Katie had been helping Mrs Church wash up after the evening meal, and when it was done, the landlady had said she was going to give the oven a good clean. Katie had gone to the sitting room to find Charlie sitting on the little sofa.

‘Done your duty then?’ he asked. Katie nodded, and to her astonishment he went on: ‘It’s a lovely evening and I’m going for a drive. Do you want to come?’

‘Oh!’ Katie was taken by surprise.

He gave her a wicked grin. ‘Don’t believe all Mrs Church says. I am harmless, you know.’ And though she knew Mrs Church would not approve, Katie found herself tempted.

‘Why not?’ she’d said.

Charlie got up. ‘You’ll want a jumper. It can get a bit breezy. I’ll go and get her started up.’

‘I’ll be fine.’ Katie followed him, calling a quick ‘I’m just going out!’ to Mrs Church.

In spite of her landlady’s warnings, Charlie had behaved like a perfect gentleman and Katie had enjoyed every moment of the outing. Sitting at the front of the Mighty Atom over the pair of wheels and behind a square windscreen, while Charlie sat behind her over the single wheel and the engine housing, she had a perfect view of the road ahead and the surrounding countryside.

‘OK?’ Charlie shouted and she turned, laughing, and waved at a man walking a dog whom they had just passed. ‘Oh yes!’

The motor could go surprisingly fast – it could get up to thirty-five miles an hour, Charlie had told her – and when they were on a straight stretch of road he speeded up so that the wind whooshed over the windscreen and tumbled her hair. But she didn’t care. This was heaven!

After a while he pulled into the courtyard of a country pub. ‘Fancy a drink?’ he asked, and when she agreed they left the Mighty Atom and sat at a table enjoying glasses of cider and the last of the evening sunshine.

Back at their lodgings he’d kissed her on the cheek and, to Katie’s delight, said he’d take her out again while the good weather held. She was also relieved that she could tell Mrs Church quite truthfully that nothing untoward had happened, and she was wrong to worry about Charlie’s intentions.

Katie was remembering all this as she walked home from the shop that October evening. She had been truly happy. But Charlie was so busy now with his clients, and the weather had been inclement, so there had been no more trips out since early September and she didn’t suppose there would be until after Christmas. She only hoped he wouldn’t lose interest in her during that time, as Mrs Church had predicted he very well might. With all her heart she hoped she was wrong.



Late Spring 1911

On a bright but still cold day in late March, Sally sat alone in the front pew of St Bridget’s church, her eyes fixed on the pulpit where Papa Walter stood to preach his sermon. Usually Esme would be sitting beside her, hanging on his every word, no matter how often she’d heard the same or similar homilies before. But today Walter had insisted that she should stay at home and rest. She’d been suffering from a heavy cold which was threatening to go to her chest and Walter was concerned for her.

‘There’s a very cold wind blowing, and it won’t do you any good,’ he’d said. Esme had argued she was fine, but Walter would have none of it, and actually Sally agreed with him. Esme was prone to chest infections, and like Walter, Sally was afraid that if Esme developed bronchitis it might turn to pneumonia, as it had a few years ago. That had been a terribly stressful time, listening helplessly to Esme’s painful, laboured breathing, and Sally had feared for a while she was going to lose the woman she thought of as her mother.

Eventually Esme had bowed to Walter’s better judgement and stayed at home, promising to rest.

‘She won’t, of course,’ he’d said to Sally as they left the house together.

‘Would you rather I stayed with her to make sure she does?’ Sally had suggested. ‘I can get on with the dinner so she doesn’t feel she has to.’

‘No – she’d be upset if you missed Holy Communion. She’ll be all right for an hour or so. But I’d rather you didn’t wait for me afterwards – I never know how long it’ll be before I can get away.’

That was true enough. When the service was over, Walter always stood in the porch to thank each of his parishioners for attending and exchange a few words. But there were always those who wanted to speak to him at more length and Walter never liked to hurry them. What each of them wanted to talk to him about was important to them – a request for a sick relative to be included in the prayer list, perhaps a new arrival in the family, or an apology along with an excuse for having missed Communion the previous Sunday.

Now, as she listened to him retelling the story of Jesus in the wilderness, it suddenly occurred to Sally how the years had aged him. Strange she hadn’t noticed it before, but she supposed the process had been so gradual that seeing him every day she simply hadn’t. It may be, of course, that it was her concern for Esme that had opened her eyes to it now. The thinning and greying of his once thick, dark hair; even his moustache was now threaded through with silver. The way his jowls had sagged so that now they were almost part of his neck. The deep furrows in his brow and between his nose and mouth . . . The candle that lit the pulpit highlighted them all.

With an effort, Sally pushed the worrying thoughts aside and concentrated on the rest of the sermon and the familiar service that followed. But as she knelt at the altar rail and lifted her cupped palms to receive the sacrament it struck her again – the slight crookedness of the strong hands that had carried her as a child, prayed with her, comforted her if something had upset her.

Sally was relieved that the service was almost at an end. One more hymn, one more prayer and the blessing, and she would be able to hurry home and check on Esme. And she was glad too that Walter had told her not to wait for him. Attendance was always good, but today the congregation had swelled almost beyond recognition.

As she reached the church porch she slipped out of the line waiting to speak to the rector, overtaking them, and nodding to Papa Walter over the heads of some children whose parents were urging them towards him. He nodded in acknowledgement and, with no further delay, Sally set out for the rectory.

As she’d expected, she found Esme in the kitchen, washing potatoes in a bowl in the sink. A joint was slowly roasting in the oven – from the aroma, Sally guessed it was lamb – and a pudding wrapped in a cloth was boiling in a saucepan of water on the range hotplate.

‘Oh, you are so naughty!’ Sally scolded. ‘You were supposed to put your feet up and take things easy.’

‘And let the dinner get late?’ Esme responded a little sharply. ‘You know me, Sally. I’m not one for sitting about when there’s things to do. And anyway, the steam from the plum duff has done me the world of good. Listen!’ She huffed hard, producing only the slightest wheeze. ‘See?’

Sally couldn’t argue with that. ‘Well, I’m here now, so I can take over and you can have a sit-down,’ Sally said, but Esme was not about to relinquish control in what she considered her domain.

‘You can peel these potatoes if you insist. But I’m going nowhere,’ she returned stubbornly. ‘Walter will want the dinner ready when he gets back.’

‘That won’t be for a while,’ Sally said, rolling her sleeves up. ‘The church was packed.’

‘Don’t matter. If I take the meat out to rest, the other stuff will keep warm. Just let me do things my way, Sally.’

As the hands of the kitchen clock reached midday, however, and Walter was not home, Esme was beginning to become agitated.

‘What in the world is he doing?’

‘I told you,’ Sally said gently. ‘There were more parishioners than usual wanting to talk to him.’ But even she was surprised at the time Walter was taking.

Sally had scarcely spoken when the front door slammed shut and footsteps could be heard on the polished wood-block floor. ‘He’s here now,’ she said.

A moment later, Walter appeared in the kitchen doorway. He was wearing his he