Lucy Greenwell

We would have been in there, Natty and I. Oh, you were literally that close?

There are three rooms off a small landing.

The nanny's bedroom, a bathroom and the children's bedroom where Gussie and her little sister slept that night.

It's the same armchair.

It's atmospheric and for me it's nostalgic.

I haven't been up here since I was a child.

There's an earthy smell of damp books or boxes and something else, soap maybe.

The carpet is light green, just like it always was.

And on the wall there's a tapestry with a prayer.

The bathroom has two entrances, a door from the landing and another door into Jennifer's bedroom.

There's no window and there's a cupboard in the corner where towels are kept.

There's a lock on the door too.

Trying to piece it all together is important for Jess.

It's important for me too, because there's a glaring practical question here.

How on earth did Jennifer hide the birth from everyone around her?

So we tried to work out the timings.

There was a housekeeper.

So if she'd left you at 8 o'clock... She's deaf.

Anyone who's given birth or has attended one knows that it's not a quiet affair.

The deaf housekeeper, she wouldn't have heard anything.