The Curse of the Clan

Barbara Cartland

Barbara Cartland Ebooks Ltd

This edition © 2017

Copyright Cartland Promotions 1977

eBook conversion by M-Y Books

THE LATE DAME BARBARA CARTLAND

Barbara Cartland, who sadly died in May 2000 at the grand age of ninety eight, remains one of the world’s most famous romantic novelists.  With worldwide sales of over one billion, her outstanding 723 books have been translated into thirty six different languages, to be enjoyed by readers of romance globally.

Writing her first book ‘Jigsaw’ at the age of 21, Barbara became an immediate bestseller.  Building upon this initial success, she wrote continuously throughout her life, producing bestsellers for an astonishing 76 years.  In addition to Barbara Cartland’s legion of fans in the UK and across Europe, her books have always been immensely popular in the USA.  In 1976 she achieved the unprecedented feat of having books at numbers 1 & 2 in the prestigious B. Dalton Bookseller bestsellers list.

Although she is often referred to as the ‘Queen of Romance’, Barbara Cartland also wrote several historical biographies, six autobiographies and numerous theatrical plays as well as books on life, love, health and cookery.  Becoming one of Britain’s most popular media personalities and dressed in her trademark pink, Barbara spoke on radio and television about social and political issues, as well as making many public appearances.

In 1991 she became a Dame of the Order of the British Empire for her contribution to literature and her work for humanitarian and charitable causes.

Known for her glamour, style, and vitality Barbara Cartland became a legend in her own lifetime.  Best remembered for her wonderful romantic novels and loved by millions of readers worldwide, her books remain treasured for their heroic heroes, plucky heroines and traditional values.  But above all, it was Barbara Cartland’s overriding belief in the positive power of love to help, heal and improve the quality of life for everyone that made her truly unique.

OTHER BOOKS IN THIS SERIES

The Barbara Cartland Eternal Collection is the unique opportunity to collect as ebooks all five hundred of the timeless beautiful romantic novels written by the world’s most celebrated and enduring romantic author.

Named the Eternal Collection because Barbara’s inspiring stories of pure love, just the same as love itself, the books will be published on the internet at the rate of four titles per month until all five hundred are available.

The Eternal Collection, classic pure romance available worldwide for all time .

  1. Elizabethan Lover
  2. The Little Pretender
  3. A Ghost in Monte Carlo
  4. A Duel of Hearts
  5. The Saint and the Sinner
  6. The Penniless Peer
  7. The Proud Princess
  8. The Dare-Devil Duke
  9. Diona and a Dalmatian
  10. A Shaft of Sunlight
  11. Lies for Love
  12. Love and Lucia
  13. Love and the Loathsome Leopard
  14. Beauty or Brains
  15. The Temptation of Torilla
  16. The Goddess and the Gaiety Girl
  17. Fragrant Flower
  18. Look Listen and Love
  19. The Duke and the Preacher’s Daughter
  20. A Kiss for the King
  21. The Mysterious Maid-servant
  22. Lucky Logan Finds Love
  23. The Wings of Ecstacy
  24. Mission to Monte Carlo
  25. Revenge of the Heart
  26. The Unbreakable Spell
  27. Never Laugh at Love
  28. Bride to a Brigand
  29. Lucifer and the Angel
  30. Journey to a Star
  31. Solita and the Spies
  32. The Chieftain Without a Heart
  33. No Escape from Love
  34. Dollars for the duke
  35. Pure and Untouched
  36. Secrets
  37. Fire in the Blood
  38. Love, Lies and Marriage
  39. The Ghost who Fell in Love
  40. Hungry for Love
  41. The Wild Cry of Love
  42. The Blue-eyed Witch
  43. The Punishment of a Vixen
  44. The Secret of the Glen
  45. Bride to the King
  46. For All Eternity
  47. King in Love
  48. A Marriage made in Heaven
  49. Who can deny Love?
  50. Riding to the Moon
  51. Wish for Love
  52. Dancing on a Rainbow
  53. Gypsy Magic
  54. Love in the Clouds
  55. Count the Stars
  56. White Lilac
  57. Too Precious to Lose
  58. The Devil Defeated
  59. An Angel Runs Away
  60. The Duchess Disappeared
  61. The Pretty Horse-breakers
  62. The Prisoner of Love
  63. Ola and the Sea Wolf
  64. The Castle made for Love
  65. A Heart is Stolen
  66. The Love Pirate
  67. As Eagles Fly
  68. The Magic of Love
  69. Love Leaves at Midnight
  70. A Witch’s Spell
  71. Love Comes West
  72. The Impetuous Duchess
  73. A Tangled Web
  74. Love lifts the Curse
  75. Saved By A Saint
  76. Love is Dangerous
  77. The Poor Governess
  78. The Peril and the Prince
  79. A Very Unusual Wife
  80. Say Yes Samantha
  81. Punished with love
  82. A Royal Rebuke
  83. The Husband Hunters
  84. Signpost To Love
  85. Love Forbidden
  86. Gift Of the Gods
  87. The Outrageous Lady
  88. The Slaves Of Love
  89. The Disgraceful Duke
  90. The Unwanted Wedding
  91. Lord Ravenscar’s Revenge
  92. From Hate to Love
  93. A Very Naughty Angel
  94. The Innocent Imposter
  95. A Rebel Princess
  96. A Wish Comes True
  97. Haunted
  98. Passions In The Sand
  99. Little White Doves of Love
  100. A Portrait of Love
  101. The Enchanted Waltz
  102. Alone and Afraid
  103. The Call of the Highlands
  104. The Glittering Lights
  105. An Angel in Hell
  106. Only a Dream
  107. A Nightingale Sang
  108. Pride and the Poor Princess
  109. Stars in my Heart
  110. The Fire of Love
  111. A Dream from the Night
  112. Sweet Enchantress
  113. The Kiss of the Devil
  114. Fascination in France
  115. Love Runs In
  116. Lost Enchantment
  117. Love is Innocent
  118. The Love Trap
  119. No Darkness for Love
  120. Kiss from a Stranger
  121. The Flame Is Love
  122. A Touch of Love
  123. The Dangerous Dandy
  124. In Love In Lucca
  125. The Karma Of Love
  126. Magic For The Heart
  127. Paradise Found
  128. Only Love
  129. A Duel with Destiny
  130. The Heart of the Clan
  131. The Ruthless Rake
  132. Revenge is Sweet
  133. Fire on the Snow
  134. A Revolution of Love
  135. Love at the Helm
  136. Listen to Love
  137. Love Casts out Fear
  138. The Devilish Deception
  139. Riding in the Sky
  140. The Wonderful Dream
  141. This Time it’s Love
  142. The River of Love
  143. A Gentleman in Love
  144. The Island of Love
  145. Miracle for a Madonna
  146. The Storms of Love
  147. The Prince and the Pekingese
  148. The Golden Cage
  149. Theresa and a Tiger
  150. The Goddess of Love
  151. Alone in Paris
  152. The Earl Rings a Belle
  153. The Runaway Heart
  154. From Hell to Heaven
  155. Love in the Ruins
  156. Crowned with Love
  157. Love is a Maze
  158. Hidden by Love
  159. Love is the Key
  160. A Miracle in Music
  161. The Race for Love
  162. Call of the Heart
  163. The Curse of the Clan
  164. Saved by Love

Author’s Note.

The State Visit of King George IV to Edinburgh in 1822 organised by Sir Walter Scott was an unqualified success.

There is a portrait of the King, by Sir David Wilkie, in full Highland dress, wearing the Royal Stewart tartan in which he appeared at the levee at Holyrood Palace.

Although His Majesty, who always liked to dress up, was delighted with his appearance, those who saw him found the effect of the flesh-coloured tights that he wore under his kilt somewhat ludicrous.

My descriptions of the festivities in the Scottish Capital are factual and come from a book published in Edinburgh the same year.

 

Chapter One ~ 1822

“It’s very pleasant to see you here again, Mr. Falkirk.”

“It has been a long time, Mrs. Barrowfield. Let me think now, it must be at least six years.”

“Seven to be exact since you last paid us a visit. But, as I always says, I never forget a face or a friend and I’ve always looked on you as a friend, Mr. Falkirk.”

“I am honoured, Mrs. Barrowfield.”

The Scotsman gave the large blowsy woman a slight bow and then, clearing his throat as if he intended to get down to business, he began,

“You must wonder why I have called on you today.”

“It did cross my mind,” Mrs. Barrowfield replied with a laugh. “After all I could hardly flatter myself it was to see me bright eyes. Nevertheless we must celebrate.”

She rose as she spoke from the ancient creaking chair at the side of the hearth and crossed the room to open a cupboard.

From it she brought out a bottle of port and two glasses and, setting them on a round tray, brought them towards her visitor. She placed them beside him on a table, which he looked at anxiously as it seemed decidedly unsteady.

The room where they were sitting was poorly and sparsely furnished and badly in need of a coat of paint.

However, it was littered with cheap knick-knacks such as middle-aged women collect and the brightly burning fire gave it some semblance of cosiness.

“Will you play host, Mr. Falkirk?” Mrs. Barrowfield asked with just a touch of coquetry in her words.

He picked up the bottle of port, glanced at the label apprehensively and poured Mrs. Barrowfield a full glass and himself a little over a quarter.

 ”You’re very abstemious,” his hostess remarked.

“In my position it’s essential to keep a dear head,” Mr. Falkirk replied.

“That I can understand,” Mrs. Barrowfield conceded, “and how is His Grace?”

There was a little pause before Mr. Falkirk replied,

“It’s on His Grace’s instigation that I am here.”

“His Grace’s?” Mrs. Barrowfield raised her eyebrows. “I was hoping you’d come on an errand of mercy from the Duchess.”

Mr. Falkirk looked surprised and Mrs. Barrowfield explained,

“His Grace’s mother, Duchess Anne, took a great interest in the Orphanage, as I’m sure you remember. We received turkeys at Christmas and seldom a year passed that she did not entrust me with extra money to be spent on improvements. But with her death all that came to an end.”

“I must admit her contributions to the Orphanage had escaped my notice,” Mr. Falkirk remarked.

“I thought perhaps they had,” Mrs. Barrowfield replied with a note of reproach in her voice, “but I’d hoped that the new Duchess would carry on the tradition.”

Mrs. Barrowfield took another sip of port before she added,

“After all, it’s very much in the family, isn’t it? The Orphanage was started when Duchess Harriet, His Grace’s grandmother, found that one of her kitchen maids was ‘in the family way’ and rather than turn her out into the snow, built ‘The Orphanage of the Nameless’.”

She laughed.

“Those were the days, Mr. Falkirk, before the War when there was plenty of money and generous hands to dispense it.”

Mr. Falkirk shook his head.

“Things are not so easy now, Mrs. Barrowfield, as I am sure you are aware.”

“You don’t have to tell me that,” Mrs. Barrowfield said sharply. “I pinch and save, save and pinch, it’s nothing but endless cheese-paring. The income that the Orphanage receives is just the same, but prices have gone up. Food is double what it was when I was a girl.”

“I am sure that’s true,” the Scotsman murmured.

“When I came here to help the Matron I was fifteen and already had three years’ experience in another home. I thought I was bettering myself.”

Mrs. Barrowfield laughed raucously.

“I assure you, Mr. Falkirk, I had no intention of spending the rest of my days in this place, but this is where I be ended up and now I am Matron and with little or no help because we can’t afford it.”

“I had no idea that things were so difficult, Mrs. Barrowfield,” Mr. Falkirk said. “Why have not the Guardians of the Orphanage written to His Grace?”

“Them!” Mrs. Barrowfield exclaimed rudely. “They’re either dead or don’t care!”

She saw the surprise on Mr. Falkirk’s face and explained,

“Colonel McNab died three years ago, Mr. Cameron has been in ill health and is nigh on eighty. Lord Hirchington lives in the country and I haven’t seen a sight or sign of him since Her Grace died.”

“I can only promise,” Mr. Falkirk answered, “that I will bring your position to the notice of His Grace as soon as I return to Scotland.”

“I’d be very grateful if you would,” Mrs. Barrowfield said in a different tone. “Do you know how many children I have here at the moment?”

Mr. Falkirk shook his head.

“Thirty-nine!” Mrs. Barrowfield cried. “Thirty-nine and practically no one to look after them except myself. It’s not right, that it’s not! I’m getting on in years. Things aren’t as easy for me as they used to be.”

She drank down her glass of port and reached for the bottle.

Looking at the high colour of her face, the puffiness under her eyes and the two or three extra chins that had developed since he last saw her, Mr. Falkirk guessed that Mrs. Barrowfield consoled herself constantly.

And if it was not the cheap port with which he had no intention of ruining his stomach, he thought it would be gin, which was quite rightly, in his opinion, known as ‘mother’s ruin’.

But nothing of what he was thinking showed itself in his calm expression as he sat in an armchair facing the Matron of the Orphanage and thinking that it was time he came to the point of his visit.

He was a tall well-built man and had in his youth been outstandingly handsome.

With his hair greying at the temples and with a trim figure without an ounce of extra flesh, he looked extremely distinguished and as the Duke of Arkcraig’s Comptroller was much admired.

“I will certainly put your problems in front of His Grace,” he repeated, “but what I came to ask you – ”

He was interrupted before he could go further by Mrs. Barrowfield saying,

“You can tell His Grace that we’re losing our reputation for supplying strong healthy apprentices for those who need them. Only last week the owner of several tailoring shops came to see me and said, ‘I want two of your best lads, Mrs. Barrowfield, and none of that knock-kneed anaemic rubbish you gave me last year! What happened to the boys I let you have?’ I asked. ‘God knows!’ he replied. ‘Always ailing and snivelling, they were no use to me. I turned them off and without a reference!’”

Mr. Falkirk looked grave.

“That is certainly something that should not happen, Mrs. Barrowfield, from an Orphanage which has been under the direct patronage of His Grace’s family for over thirty years.”

“That’s exactly what I’m saying to you, Mr. Falkirk,” Mrs. Barrowfield said. “It’s an aspersion, as you might say, on His Grace’s reputation and even though you lives far away from us we have a great respect for Scotland and its Noblemen.”

“Thank you, Mrs. Barrowfield.”

“That’s why I was hoping,” Mrs. Barrowfield continued, “that you could persuade the new Duchess to visit us.”

“The Duchess is dead!”

“Dead?”

Mrs. Barrowfield’s mouth opened and she looked, Mr. Falkirk thought, not unlike a surprised turkey cock.

“Yes, dead,” he said quietly. “Her Grace died a few weeks ago in France.”

“Well, I never! You could knock me down with a feather! And her little more than a bride. Let me see now, she and His Grace couldn’t have been married for more than a year.”

“Ten months to be exact,” Mr. Falkirk said in a dry voice.

“And now, poor lady, she has gone to her maker! It seems a crying shame, it does really! And I never so much as sets eyes on her.”

There was silence.

Then, as if he feared that Mrs. Barrowfield was about to ask a number of questions, Mr. Falkirk said,

“His Grace has gone North and he asked me when I followed him to bring with me one of your orphans.”

“One of my orphans?” Mrs. Barrowfield exclaimed. “I suppose His Grace wants one of the lads to work in the kitchen or in the pantry. Let me think – ”

“No, that was not His Grace’s instructions,” Mr. Falkirk interrupted. “He requires one of your girls, but she must be over sixteen.”

“Over sixteen? You must be joking!” Mrs. Barrowfield cried. “You know as well as I do, Mr. Falkirk, we don’t keep them a day over twelve, if we can help it. Push them out younger, if we can.”

She paused before she went on,

“And, although I says it as I shouldn’t, the girls from here are noted as having good manners. At least they know how to speak with respect for their elders and betters, which is more than you can say for most young people today.”

 “That is true enough,” Mr. Falkirk agreed, “but His Grace was quite certain that you would be able to supply him with the type of young girl he needs.”

“I always understood from the Duchess Harriett that you had all the young people in Scotland you needed,” Mrs. Barrowfield said. “Her Grace took two of my girls once when the house in London was open. Very pleased I believe she was with both of them.”

She smiled with an excess of self-gratification and went on,

“One of them came back to see me years later. She’d married a footman. Pretty bit, she was. I always thought she’d get herself married if she could find a man who’d overlook the unfortunate circumstances of her birth.”

“You are quite certain that you have no one of the right age?” Mr. Falkirk insisted.

“Quite certain!” Mrs. Barrowfield answered. “The children here now are mostly very young and Heaven knows it’s difficult enough looking after them and keeping them clean. What I’d do without Tara I don’t know.”

“Tara?” Mr. Falkirk asked. “Is that the girl who let me in?”

“Yes, that’ll be her. She looks after the little ones. Spoils them, I always say, but you can’t put an old head on young shoulders.”

Mrs. Barrowfield gave another of her loud laughs.

“It was very different with the old Matron. She believed in birching the children to keep them quiet. Good, bad or indifferent, she beat them all and I must say that I often think her methods were better than mine. I’m too kind, that’s the trouble with me.”

“I am sure the fact that you are merciful to these unfortunate children is in your favour, Mrs. Barrowfield,” Mr. Falkirk said, “but we were talking about Tara.”

“I was just saying – ” Mrs. Barrowfield began and then she stopped. “You’re not suggesting – you’re not intending – ”

She put her empty glass down on the table with a bang.

“No, Mr. Falkirk, I’ll not stand for it, that I won’t! You are not taking Tara from me. She’s the only person in this place I can rely on. Who else do I have coming in? A couple of decrepit old women who can’t get work elsewhere and are more trouble than they’re worth and I’m hard put to pay them as it is. You can take any of the children you like, the whole lot if it suits you, but not Tara!”

“How old is she?” Mr. Falkirk asked.

“Now let me see. She must be nigh on eighteen. Yes, that’ll be right. It was 1804 when she came here, a year after hostilities started up again with that devil Napoleon. I remember it because a terrible winter it was and food went up with a jump. Coal was double the price!”

“So Tara is nearly eighteen,” Mr. Falkirk said. “I am afraid, Mrs. Barrowfield, that if there is no one else I must follow His Grace’s instructions and take her with me to Scotland.”

“Over my dead body!” Mrs. Barrowfield erupted violently. “I’ll not have it, Mr. Falkirk. I’ll not be left with thirty-nine screaming unruly children, many of whom cannot even look after themselves.”

She drew in her breath and became so crimson in the face that the Scotsman watching her was afraid that she might have a stroke.

“If Tara goes – I go. You can put that in your pipe and smoke it!”

As if her legs would no longer hold her, she sat down in the armchair to fan herself with a piece of paper she picked up from the table.

“I am sorry, Mrs. Barrowfield, to upset you,” Mr. Falkirk said, “but you know as well as I do that I have to obey His Grace’s instructions.”

“It’s not fair!” Mrs. Barrowfield replied in a voice that was suspiciously near to tears. “It’s not fair! I’m messed about and put upon and nobody cares what happens to me! His Grace has enough girls in Scotland without taking the only one that’s any use from the Orphanage dedicated to the memory of his dead grandmother.”

Mrs. Barrowfield’s voice broke and hastily Mr. Falkirk poured out another glass of port and put it into her hand.

She took it from him gratefully and, having drunk half of it at a gulp, lay back in her chair gasping for breath and fighting for self-control.

“I promise you one thing,” Mr. Falkirk said quietly, “I will leave you enough money to employ some better help than you have at the moment and I will make it my duty, as soon as I return to Scotland, to see that a larger grant is made by His Grace for the upkeep of this Orphanage.”

He felt that his words placated Mrs. Barrowfield to a certain extent, but she continued to stare into the fire breathing heavily.

“Perhaps you could tell me what you know about this girl,” Mr. Falkirk asked. “Has she another name?”

“Another name?” Mrs. Barrowfield repeated scornfully. “Have you forgotten, Mr. Falkirk? This is The Orphanage of the Nameless. Of course she has no other name, nor have any of the rest of the wretched creatures who are pushed in on me day after day, week after week.”

She snorted before she went on,

“‘I’ve got another little bastard for you,’ Doctor Harland says to me only last week. ‘Well you can keep it,’ I answers. ‘I’ve not another hole or corner to put a mouse in, let alone a child.’

‘Come along, Mrs. Barrowfield,’ he says. ‘You’re a kind woman and you wouldn’t want to see this scrap of humanity end up in the river.’

‘I don’t care where it ends up,’ I replied, ‘it’s not coming here and nothing you can say. doctor, will make me change my mind’,”

“Did he take it away?” Mr. Falkirk asked.

“No, it joined the rest,” Mrs. Barrowfield answered in a weary voice. “I thought I’d convinced him that there was no room, but Tara tells him that the baby could share a cot with another and so she squeezes them in together.”

“I said to her afterwards, ‘You’re a fool! You’re only giving yourself more work’.”

“But she did not mind?”

“It’s me who has to mind!” Mrs. Barrowfield said sharply. “It’s me that has another mouth to feed and not a penny piece to pay for the food they gobbles up. ‘Gold dust, that’s what you’re eating,’ I've said to the older ones over and over again, but they’re always whining and saying they’re hungry.”

Mr. Falkirk was drawing a wallet from the inner pocket of his well-cut travelling coat.

He took out some notes and laid them on the table in front of Mrs. Barrowfield.

“Here is twenty pounds,” he said, “and it only has to last you until I have been able to reach Scotland and make better arrangements for the future.”

He saw the glint of greed in the woman’s eyes and wondered how much of the money would be spent on food for the orphans and how much on drink. But for the moment, he told himself there was nothing he could do but placate this blowsy drink-sodden woman.

“Before you send for Tara, will you tell me what you know of her?” he asked.

“You really intend to take her away?”

“I am sorry, Mrs. Barrowfield, there is nothing else I can do unless you have another girl of a suitable age.”

Mrs. Barrowfield made a gesture of helplessness and said in a sulky tone,

“What do you want to know?”

“The actual day she came here. You keep records, I suppose?”

He saw the woman’s eyes flicker and knew that if she had records they had certainly not been kept up to date for some time and doubtless he would learn very little from them.

Hastily, and he was sure it was because she wished to divert his attention, Mrs. Barrowfield said,

“As it happens, Tara is different from the other children. She was born here. Born in this very building.”

“How did that happen?”

“You may well ask. It was in the summer of 1804, just a little later in the year than now, the beginning of July, I think. I was sitting where I am at this moment when I hears a rat-tat enough to wake the dead on the outside door. I jumps to my feet, I was younger in those days and could move quicker and goes to see what the noise is all about.”

Mrs. Barrowfield paused to finish her glass of port, before she continued,

“There was quite a crowd outside and two men supporting a woman who was either dead or unconscious.”

“What had happened?” Mr. Falkirk asked.

“There’d been an accident. A carriage had knocked her down in the street. The wheel had passed over her, but the coachman had driven on without stopping.”

Mrs. Barrowfield held out her glass invitingly and Mr. Falkirk refilled it.

“That’s them private coachmen all over, arrogant and overbearing they be and they don’t care who suffers.”

“Do go on with the story,” Mr. Falkirk suggested.

“Well, they carried the woman in and I sends a boy for the doctor. He only lived three streets away. That was a Doctor Webber who was attending the Orphanage in those days. Disagreeable man, I never cared for him.”

“And the woman?” Mr. Falkirk asked trying to keep Mrs. Barrowfield to the point.

“I thought she was dead,” Mrs. Barrowfield said, “but then before the doctor arrives she begins groaning and moaning and finally I realise to my astonishment that she’s in labour.”

“You did not notice at first that she was pregnant?”

“As a matter of fact, I didn’t,” Mrs. Barrowfield confessed. “Perhaps I wasn’t as observant then as I am now. She was wearing a loose gown and being a slight creature she didn’t show it as a heavier woman might have done.”

“What happened?” Mr. Falkirk asked.

“It was hours before the doctor got here. They couldn’t find him or he wouldn’t come. Heaven only knows what the explanation was. But I did my best and the baby was almost in the world before he even walks through the door.”

Mrs. Barrowfield spoke scathingly.

Then she said,

“Casual and offhand he was about the whole thing. You know what doctors are like when there’s not a fat fee about. Anyway he delivers the baby and a nice mess he makes.”

Mrs. Barrowfield sipped her port ruminatively, as if she was looking back at the past.

“I’d never been present at a confinement before. It both shocked and embarrassed me. I've never had children of my own, you see, not ever having been married.”

Mr. Falkirk made no comment.

He remembered that it was a question of courtesy to give the Matron of an Orphanage the prefix of ‘Mistress’ whether or not she was entitled to it.

“Anyway,” Mrs. Barrowfield went on, “the doctor puts the baby down and says, ‘That’ll live if you take care of it, but the mother’s dead!’”

“He could not save her?”

“If you ask me, he didn’t try,” Mrs. Barrowfield sniffed, “and it’s only when I looks at the mother before they comes to take her away for burial that I realises how young she is and in fact different from what I might have expected.”

“What do you mean by different?” Mr. Falkirk asked.

“Well, if I didn’t suppose to the contrary since no one seemed to be worried about her or care whether she was alive or dead. I’d have said she was a lady. She certainly looked as if she was of gentle birth. Pretty she was with red hair and a white skin and clothes that must have cost a pretty penny, there’s no doubt about that.”

“Did you keep any of them?”

Mrs. Barrowfield shook her head.

“Nothing gets kept in this place. The orphans will steal anything they can get hold of in the winter when it’s cold, and I expect her petticoats if she had any, they weren’t fashionable at that time, were torn up as bandages. There’s always one of those little varmints bleeding in some part of his anatomy.”

“And there was nothing to distinguish her or give you an indication of who she might have been?”

“As far as I knows the doctor made enquiries,” Mrs. Barrowfield said. “Looking for his fee, he was, if you asks me. He told me he'd asked if there had been any notification of a missing person in the neighbourhood, but nobody comes here to look for the baby, so I surmises he had no reply.”

“Why did you name her Tara?” Mr. Falkirk asked.

“That was just what I was about to tell you,” Mrs. Barrowfield replied. “You asked if the dead woman had any identification on her? She'd not so much as a handbag although if she had it would have been stolen when she was knocked down in the street.”