Ruth gawked at the woman who walked in. She was tall, graceful and completely unable to pass off Ruth's children as her own if questions were asked. But she had showed up. She even curtsied to Ruth, showing she believed the toff act so far. And Ruth was desperate. She'd devise a new plan.

"Yes..." she said vaguely, remembering that she was in fact Mrs. Walker. And then things got even weirder. Instead of sitting down at the table and continuing to talk to her, Miss Wells turned to the children, stooping down to their height to address them. Why?

The children were probably younger than Penelope had imagined. The boy could be no older than two. His hair was dark like his mother's but lay flat on a rather pale face. Dark eyes were fixed on the newcomer and grew large as she crouched down in front of him and his sister. The train which he had managed to wrench out of his sister's hands by force was now held tight against his chest for comfort as he cowered away from Penelope. The girl looked hardly a year old. She had inherited her mother's curls, but hers were a surprising gold. She looked equally anxious as the stranger crouched down and began to talk to them. Her mouth hung open. Her lip trembled.

Then her brother threw the wooden train at the lady.

"Oi, cut that out!" Ruth shouted in her thick Whitby accent, rising from her chair. There was the sound of a cup being dropped on a table in the other room. The noise of chatter instantly ceased. Then the two young children started bawling. "I'm so sorry," Ruth begged Miss Penelope over the noise, her accent posher but betraying a hint of panic. "Are you hurt at all?"