The child’s room was empty.

There were several playthings, including a music box, a doll house, and a wooden horse rocking to itself in the corner.

But there was no child.

“Are you sure you heard noises?” I asked.

The plump dame in the petticoat was adamant. “Laughing. Toys moving. Children playing.”

I made my way to the dresser, gingerly stepping over a makeshift cradle. “How long have you been running the orphanage, Mrs Grenville?”

“Thirty years.”

“And we’ve never had any trouble before,” she added sternly.

I ran a hand over the music box. Dust was already gathering on the lid. “And how do the children do here? I mean to say, are they content?”

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