Mercifully, Sally stopped short of relieving her of the final item of clothing – a flesh-coloured silk slip. After Sally unpinned her hair, Lou hurried to the bathroom. She closed the door behind her, removed the slip and stepped into the bath. Warmth inched up her legs as she sank into the water up to her chin and peered over the edge of the roll-top bath. The sink, bath and toilet were encased in dark wood and the walls and floors were cloaked in white marble, shot through with thick blue veins, like ripe Stilton. An open bottle of rosewater sat on the edge of the bath. Lou breathed in deeply, letting the perfume waft from the water and fill her nostrils. If this was a dream, then it was the most vivid, most wonderful dream she had ever experienced.

Thinking back, she retraced her steps, piecing together how she had arrived at this state of affairs. The last memory she had of anything normal was venturing down to the basement of the derelict shell of Hill House. It was then that things had started to take a turn for the strange with the scrubbed floor and light pouring in through the windows and the people in costume. Could she have fallen and hit her head on the stone steps, knocking herself out cold? Was she, right now, lying in a hospital bed in a coma, hooked up to machines? If she was, then these people must be doctors and nurses that her drug-addled brain was somehow turning into residents of Hill House, cobbling them together from the snippets of history she knew of each and making those up that she knew nothing of. It was utterly mad. But the more she thought about it, the more this most farfetched explanation seemed the only one that made any sense. Hadn’t she wished to turn back the hands of time to change history? This must be her unconscious brain living out that fantasy. And hadn’t she always had a very vivid imagination?

Slipping further under the water, the knots in her shoulders unwound. It must be the drugs kicking in. Morphine, possibly. A sensation of relaxation she hadn’t experienced in weeks, inched up her arms and legs. She briefly thought back to her real world before holding her breath and slipping beneath the water, immersing herself completely. If this was a coma, then she was in no rush to wake up.

Emerging from the bathroom in a robe she found hanging behind the door, Lou sat at the dressing table. She watched Sally work around her reflection in the mirror, marvelling at how Sally skilfully pinched strands of her hair, twisting them and pinning them in place, building up the volume with handfuls of wadding. How did she know so much detail of early twentieth century hairdressing to project onto Sally? She must have read it somewhere.

After helping her into a pale green satin dress, Sally stepped aside. When Lou saw her finished reflection, she touched her hair and ran her fingers over the fine fabric of the dress.