Sarah had devoured the book she had given to her, A Vindication of the Rights of Woman. Mrs Glassford had referred to it simply as the Vindication, which seemed apposite, as it served that purpose regarding so many of the beliefs Sarah had come to hold. How well had it described the diminished lives accepted by even the most privileged of women: ‘Confined then in cages like the feathered race, they have nothing to do but to plume themselves, and stalk with mock majesty from perch to perch. It is true they are provided with food and raiment, for which they neither toil nor spin; but health, liberty and virtue are given in exchange.’

It had made Sarah think mournfully of the wasted potential of Mrs Simpson’s sister, Mina, her talents and intelligence unnurtured as she sought only to marry well. And this was to say nothing of the wasted potential of all those women who inhabited the realm below stairs, where she, until recently, had been confined. How many Shakespeares, how many Newtons – how many Simpsons for that matter – had we lost because they were born of a gender that was denied the chance to shine?

Sarah had been fond of Mrs Glassford. She had only known her a short time, and throughout all of it she had been aware she was likely to die, but the reality of her death was shocking, a portent of a greater loss yet to come.

She looked up at Raven.

‘It is Archie,’ she said. ‘He is dying, Will.’

Raven nodded solemnly.

‘I know.’

Then it struck her: how could he not? Raven had seen him, had spent time with him and was a doctor. He did not need to be told. She had deceived herself about this, and Raven had played along out of politeness.

‘Have you and Archie talked about it?’ she asked, suddenly appalled by the notion.

‘Yes, but he only confirmed what I had suspected. I did not think it my place to raise the matter with you.’

She nodded in acknowledgement.

‘But I am always here to listen,’ he added.

Sarah swallowed, his solicitude threatening to prompt more tears.

‘It’s easy to think you can cope with the prospect of impending loss until you are actually confronted with it,’ she said. ‘I knew Mrs Glassford could not be saved. And nor can Archie. It is possible to hide from that reality when you don’t know how much time you have. But now Mrs Glassford is dead …’

She closed her eyes a moment.

‘I am so afraid, Will, but I cannot tell Archie how scared I am. He needs me to be strong. He should not have to comfort me. It must be the other way around.’

‘Archie would not wish you to bear your fears alone.’