Camilla’s eyes turned to Hobbes. She stared at him, without speaking.

The tape could be heard, turning on its twin spindles.

And then: ‘There was a terrible argument. I could not understand what possible right Nicholas and Rosamund had in terms of Adeline’s life, or how it was theirs to control, but both of them suddenly took on their parental roles, and started to shout at me, at Leonard and Mary Estelle, at everyone, really, but Adeline. Sweet Adeline …’

‘What happened? Camilla?’

‘She screamed at us to stop! To be quiet! She was crying. Crying. I couldn’t bear it, to see her so.’

Camilla was crying herself now, her tears flowing freely.

‘Adeline … my sister … my young sister … she had a pair of scissors in her hands. They were from my sewing box, my dressmaking shears. She had brought them with her. And I knew what she was planning – I saw it in her eyes, the set of her lips, her expression …’

‘You’d seen such things before, in her?’

She nodded. ‘Oh, yes, many times by now. The hatred of life itself, at the core. But never like this. Never so …’ She cleared her eyes by blinking. ‘You have to understand, this was the first time she had ever confronted her parents, for what they had done, for how she was brought into this world. And once she’d started, there was no stopping her. None! Oh, God!’

Camilla’s face and body had taken on the memory of that night, fully. Her brows were furrowed, and the creases ran down into her eyes and her cheeks. Her mouth was a cruel memory of a mouth. Her hands might never have loved or caressed, the fingers were bent so horribly around the invisible handles of the scissors. And she made a sudden stabbing movement, her hand moving at speed across the table. A great wordless shriek escaped from her lips.

Fairfax jerked back in his chair.

Latimer stepped forward. And then stopped, her body frozen.

Hobbes stayed where he was, unmoving.

Camilla was holding herself steady, poised at the moment of pain.

‘Adeline went for Rosamund first. The blades almost got her, but Rosamund had fallen backwards in her shock, and crashed against a table’s edge. And then Nicholas was yelling at Adeline to stop. Just yelling! It was a terrible noise. It made me close my eyes.’ She drew a painful breath. ‘I’m not sure – I’m not sure how it all happened. But …’

Here she stopped, and looked at the three officers in turn.

‘No. I can’t remember.’

‘You can.’ Hobbes didn’t raise his voice, didn’t insist: he stated the case, as it was, as it needed to be. ‘Camilla, you can remember.’

She nodded desperately.

‘Yes. Yes, when I looked again – I see it now, clearly, from across the room. Adeline had dropped the scissors … no … not dropped them, but Nicholas had taken them from her. I can see them … silver, gleaming … the blades, so red … dripping …’