‘No. No! That’s nonsense, Ada! Stupid, backwards nonsense and you know it!’ My Monster’s voice was firm but kind. So very kind. He took my face and cradled it. I could sense his gaze searching my face.

‘What is it?’

A new voice! A stranger’s voice!

‘Who is that?’ I asked.

‘I’m … I’m a friend,’ said the newcomer. ‘A friend of his. I’m Clara.’

‘Then you are fortunate indeed, Clara. It isn’t good to be alone.’

My Monster addressed me once more. ‘Listen, Ada. I need you to tell me something.’

‘I will help if I can.’

‘Who is Mr Sweet?’

It was the question I dreaded and could not answer. I hesitated and my lip trembled.

‘Ada?’

‘Oh, my dear Monster … ’

‘Please. Tell me.’

I shook my head and I could feel hot tears stream down my cheeks like molten lead. I had never met Mr Sweet, of course But I had terrible suspicions as to his identity. I had seen nothing but heard so much. Heard that strange, bleating sound like that of a suckling baby …

‘I cannot! I cannot betray Mama. Even now I cannot!’

‘Come with us, then,’ said my Monster. ‘There’s something you need to know.’

*

Mrs Gillyflower was at her organ once more, pounding away at ‘Jerusalem’ with a fervour which would embarrass even Wesley. Then, both literally and metaphorically, she pulled out all the stops! With a great clanking of gears, the keyboard of the organ rotated and flipped over revealing the brass levers, buttons and dials of some fiendish computing machine that could have sprung from the mind of Monsieur Verne! One detail remained familiar amongst the guts of this uncanny behemoth of infernal mechanics – a huge hourglass. Seizing it in her claw-like hands, Mrs Gillyflower up-ended it. The countdown had begun …

The great computational power of the machine encased within chattered and whirred as her nefarious plans grew in shape. Dials flickered and tiny lights flashed some secret code known only to their demented maker. Sand poured through the great hourglass.

In a mirror jutting from the side of the organ, Mrs Gillyflower spotted the Doctor and Clara as they walked with confidence into the room.

‘Won’t you come into my parlour?’ she trilled, pleased at her own little joke. ‘You do seem to keep turning up, young man. Like a bad penny.’

The Doctor looked levelly at her. ‘Force of habit.’

Mrs Gillyflower swung herself off the organ stool and crossed to a large deal table on which stood a Tantalus and several plates of fancies. ‘Can I offer you something? Tea? Seedcake? A glass of Amontillado?’

The Doctor shot her a sour look. ‘No thanks. We’ve had a skinful already, you might say.’

‘Ha! Very funny. I should be fascinated to know how you survived my dipping process. It will prove very valuable in the Great Work that lies ahead.’