It was clear she wasn’t going to give me an inch, so I gestured for her to stay where she was, while I went over to stand beside the Matriarch. I waited for her to at least glance at me, but she just kept on spooning soup into the dark gap in Alistair’s bandages. I couldn’t see any sign of him swallowing it. If it hadn’t been for the slight but definite rise and fall of his bandaged chest, I would have wondered if he might be dead, and no one had had the heart to tell Martha.

“Hello, Grandmother,” I said finally. “I would have come sooner, but I’ve been very busy. Working for the family. How is he?”

“How do you think?” Martha Drood said flatly, still not turning around. Her voice was tired, but still cold as steel, sharp as a razor blade. “Look at him. Maimed. Crippled. Disfigured. My lovely Alistair. All thanks to you, Edwin.”

“How did he ever get his hands on the Salem Special?” I said. “Awful weapon. We should have destroyed it long ago. And Alistair never knew anything about guns. So someone must have given it to him. Did you give him the gun, Grandmother, to use against my Molly?”

She looked at me for the first time, her face cold and implacable as stone. “Of course not! Alistair was never a fighter. He abhorred guns. It was one of the things I loved most about him. No . . . He just wanted to protect me. So he showed some initiative, for the first time in his life. He had to know how dangerous the Salem Special was, but all he could think of . . . was that I was in danger.”

“Turned out you were right about him after all, Grandmother,” I said. “He was a good man and true, when it mattered. That’s why you never told him the secret of the golden torcs. Never told him about the generations of Drood babies sacrificed to the Heart, so we could wear the golden armour. You never told him, because you knew a good man like that would never have stood for such an abomination.”

“He didn’t need to know! It was my burden, not his! And I did what I had to, to keep the family strong. Stronger than all the enemies who would have dragged us down in a moment if we had ever stumbled!”

“Martha?”

Alistair’s bandaged head turned slowly, blindly, back and forth, disturbed by her raised voice, or perhaps just because the soup had stopped. His voice was light and breathy, like a child’s. “Is there someone here, Martha?”

“It’s all right, darling,” Martha said quickly. She went to pat him on the shoulder, and then stopped for fear of hurting him. “Hush now, dear. Nothing for you to worry about.”

“I’m cold. And my head hurts. Is there someone here?”

“It’s just Edwin.”

“Is he back visiting us?”