We step into the silence of a dim entry hall that opens into a long corridor through the centre of the house. The doors that branch off it are all closed. I bump my elbow on a heavy cabinet as I hurry after Eliza. ‘Where is Alice?’

‘The room at the end. It’s where we’ve been sleeping. Upstairs the paper’s peeling from the walls – it’s wet to the touch, the damp’s so bad.’ She manages a grim smile. ‘I can’t tell you how many dead spiders were in the bathtub. I had to boil kettles and saucepans for hot water. The house is for sale, but Zac seems to be letting it rot.’

I think of the capital gains tax that Albert mentioned. At this rate of depreciation, Zac will owe practically nothing. Or perhaps he is hoping that the whole thing will fall into the sea – I can imagine his pleasure at such a revenge. Only a few miles away, in the middle of the nineteenth century, a small village tipped over the cliffs and was lost.

Eliza sighs. ‘I hadn’t wanted to run to my father. I was too humiliated. I think I’m going to take a little trip with Alice, after she’s seen a doctor – Are you okay, Helen? You’re not saying much.’

‘I’m just worried for you and Alice.’

‘I’ve been in such shock and grief since we got here, but this place is impossible.’ She lets out a half-laugh. ‘Plus, our supply of crackers and juice boxes is running thin.’

We have paused outside a heavy door. ‘Where will you go?’ I can’t let her take Alice away.

‘No idea yet.’ She pushes the door open.

Inside, there is a faded velvet sofa that probably used to be crimson, with the scrolled arms lowered on both sides to convert it into a bed. It is made up with a quilt and pillows that Eliza must have brought with her. The portraits in this room would be perfect for a haunted house. There is a woman who looks like the bride of Death, and a trio who make me think of an executioner, a condemned man, and the priest who will officiate at the burial, though I’m not sure the artist intended the resemblance.

‘Alice? Where are you hiding?’ Eliza moves quickly to the sofa, hurls the bedding onto the buckling floorboards. There is no Alice beneath it. Maybe the glowering paintings frightened her.

I feel like a fire swallower as I watch Eliza rush to the other side of the sofa, searching behind it.

‘Are you playing hide and seek, poppet?’ The faint echo of Eliza’s voice plays back to us like a ghost’s whisper.