Mrs Quinton did not formally invite him in, but rather stood meekly to the side so that he might step past her.

As he strode through the various downstairs rooms in search of Quinton, he was presented with part of the reason she was reluctant to admit him. The place was bare. It looked like it had been looted in a siege. Sarah had made mention of expensive fixtures and furniture, yet it appeared they hardly had a stick.

As Raven swept into the drawing room, James Quinton rose from where he had been squatting on the floor in front of the fireplace. He wore a look of indignation at the effrontery of Raven inviting himself inside, but Raven recognised it for a mask, as he had glimpsed Quinton’s face before he donned it. It was the visage of a man caught naked: exposed, vulnerable and ashamed.

Mrs Quinton followed Raven into the room, Rochester beginning to cry in her arms.

‘What are you doing here?’ Quinton demanded of Raven, a share of his anger directed at his wife for admitting him.

‘It is imperative that we speak regarding your employer.’

‘And I will be at Queen Street in the morning. You have no business importuning me at my home.’

‘Your other employer,’ Raven clarified. ‘Mr Flint.’

Quinton’s haughty indignation was extinguished. He looked instantly wan.

The child’s crying grew noisier.

‘Leave us be,’ he told his wife, his voice quiet but urgent.

‘What is the matter?’ she asked, her concerned tones barely audible over the growing volume of Rochester testing his little lungs.

‘I said leave us in peace,’ Quinton commanded, louder now.

Mrs Quinton looked back and forth between her husband and Raven, then departed, closing the door. Raven guessed she would have waited behind it to eavesdrop were it not made impossible by the child.

Raven looked around the empty room, conspicuously bereft of furniture.

‘Are you preparing to host a dance?’ he asked.

‘What do you want?’ Quinton replied tersely.

‘There is no thief at Queen Street, is there? But there is one at Castle Street.’

Quinton swallowed, unable to mount a response.

‘I gather you are having some financial difficulties. It would also be my deduction that you have borrowed some money from a mutual acquaintance.’

‘I have no idea what you are talking about,’ Quinton said, but his response lacked conviction. He looked cornered, as though afraid of where the next threat might be coming from. His secrets were known. The roof was falling in on him.