Bourne nodded to Meredith who said: ‘She could be taken further back still – and has been, to a stage where she can give descriptions of the scenes she saw looking out from her pram. She can re-experience and exhibit the pangs of her birth.’ He saw the expressions on the Wilsons’ faces and hurried on. ‘Believe me, Ann is in no way unusual. Any good hypnotic subject can be regressed to babyhood. It really does appear that somewhere every human being stores a complete record, intricately cross-indexed, of every event they have experienced.’

He paused, looked thoughtfully at the relaxed young woman lying seemingly asleep on the couch.

‘But what we are going to attempt now goes far beyond that. All right, Dr Bourne.’

‘Ann, can you hear me?’

‘Yes.’ The childish four-year-old was still there.

‘Now I want you to go back still further, a long way back, before you were Ann Margaret Parish. Back past nineteen-forty, back past nineteen-thirty . . . Paul saw the young woman take a deep breath almost as if about to make a supreme effort. ‘. . . back to the year eighteen-eighty-six, to the day of your birthday in that year. It is your birthday in the year eighteen-eighty-six.’ Bourne hesitated, then asked with deceptive casualness:

‘What is your name?’

And with his hair stirring at the nape of his neck Paul heard the voice of Ann Parish, grown up again, but different, say:

‘Mary Elizabeth Rolfe.’

7

7 Voice from the Past?

‘Mary Elizabeth Rolfe.’

The name of the maid of Arthur Howard’s wife, who had once lived in this house – and had died here. Paul felt his eyes narrow in perplexity: what were Meredith and Bourne up to? Carol’s hand gripped his forearm tightly: she too had caught the significance of the name.

‘Is there anything special about today, Mary?’ Bourne’s voice held a note of triumph, and relief. He nodded in satisfaction to Meredith.

‘ ’Course there is. It’s my birthday.’

‘What age are you?’

‘Eighteen.’ The voice was harder than Ann Parish’s normal tones, with a slightly alien, difficult to place accent.

‘Where are you staying?’

‘Thirty-eight Belgrave Square.’

‘London?’

‘Of course. Where else?’

‘Does your family live there?’

‘What! Me family live here? Don’t be daft!’

‘But you live there, don’t you?’

‘ ’Course I do.’

‘Why do you live at Thirty-eight Belgrave Square?’

‘ ’Cos I’m in service, silly.’

‘Whom do you work for?’

‘Mr and Mrs Rutherford.’

‘Now, Mary, I want you to come forward to the day of your twentieth birthday. What day is it?’

‘Wednesday.’ A note of scorn in the voice.

‘And what is the date?’

‘August fifteenth, eighteen-eighty-eight.’

‘Where are you staying?’

‘Ardvreck House.’

‘Are you still in service?’

‘ ’Course I am.’

‘Who is your employer?’

‘Mr and Mrs Howard.’

‘What is your position?’

‘Personal maid to Mrs Howard.’ A touch of pride in the voice.

‘Do you like Mr and Mrs Howard?’

‘They’re all right.’

‘Who else is here?’