‘Well . . . When I’m day-dreaming I imagine you – and all the others.’

‘Do you day-dream a lot, Mary?’

‘Oh yes.’

‘About what?’

‘Oh, about seeing the world. About marrying. Maybe a peer of the realm. Maybe having a nice house of me own. Oh, lots of things. You know . . .’

‘Mary, where are you living now?’

‘Ardvreck House.’

‘Mary, I want you to go forward now to the evening of December eleventh, eighteen-ninety-one. Where are you now?’

‘Ardvreck House.’

As on the previous occasion when she had been taken to the night of the acquittal of Arthur Howard, Ann’s breathing speeded up.

‘What happened today?’

‘His trial finished.’

‘Whose trial?’

‘The master’s. Mr Howard.’

Meredith brought a notebook from his pocket and opened it. He consulted a handwritten entry.

‘This is as far as we got in Bristol,’ he explained, ‘though we did learn that the personality finished that life six months later. Since that session in Bristol we have been occupied in trying to assemble the history of Ardvreck House and its successive occupants. Now we may be able to get a little first-hand information, so to speak.’ He nodded to Bourne after showing him the entry in the notebook. Bourne leaned forward.

‘Mary, I want you to go forward to the morning of Wednesday, June fifteenth of the year eighteen-ninety-two. It is about ten in the morning. Where are you?’

‘In the linen-room with Ethel.’

‘What are you doing?’

‘Fetching clean linen for the bedrooms.’

Paul frowned. There was something different about the tone of voice. It was flatter, leaden with indifference or unhappiness. Apparently Bourne noticed this as well.

‘Are you happy, Mary?’

The woman sighed deeply. He had to repeat the question before he got an answer. When he did there was a tinge of bewilderment and bitterness in the voice.

‘Is anyone?’

‘Are you worried about anything?’

‘I – ’ A deep sigh. ‘I don’t know.’ A frown. ‘It’ll be all right. It’ll come all right. He can’t – He wouldn’t . . . not after . . .’ The face hardened into a stubborn expression totally unlike any previous one Paul had seen on Ann’s face. His fascination grew as he imagined he could almost see the woman’s face change like wax into the cast of another countenance. A long-dead one?

‘Tell me about it, Mary.’

‘I can’t.’

‘You can tell me, Mary.’ Bourne’s tones were persuasive. ‘I am here to help you.’

‘No. I can’t. It is a secret. I can’t.’ The voice was agitated now; the head moved uneasily, the breathing quickened.

‘All right, Mary. Be calm. Be calm.’ He frowned. ‘Now I want you to go forward to two o’clock on the afternoon of the same day. What is happening?’

‘We’ve just eaten.’

‘Where?’

‘In the kitchen.’

‘What are you going to do?’

‘Help to clear up.’ The voice was dull again.

‘And after that?’

‘I’ve got the afternoon off.’ Indifference.