‘What would you have me do?’

‘Not make the mistake I did when I first came to Queen Street, similarly in debt to Flint. I concealed my situation out of pride, and fear of making a poor impression. You must come clean and ask for help.’

‘I have little faith we would get it. My wife pressed Mrs Simpson for more money for looking after Rochester, but she refused.’

‘She did not know your circumstances. Dr Simpson and his wife are reasonable and compassionate people. If you are honest and contrite, I am sure this can be resolved. I would not see you trapped in Flint’s clutches. But I will not permit you to persist in your deception, or in sowing suspicion about Dr Simpson’s household, leading people to believe their colleagues might be dishonest.’

‘I just need more time,’ he pleaded.

‘What you need is to tell the truth and confess to Dr Simpson that you are the one who has been taking money. It would be better coming from you, but if it does not, I will have no choice but to inform him myself. He is with a patient in Dunblane and will be back in two days. I will give you until then.’

The door was closed behind Raven with more force than he considered seemly. Perhaps once he had time to calm down, Quinton would appreciate that Raven had his best interests at heart, but for now he did not blame the man for feeling raw.

The rain had become heavier and the wind blustery. He bowed his head and pulled his coat about him as he strode down Castle Street. A carriage clattered past on his right, giving him a moment’s concern. Every time one drew near, he was apt to recoil in case the Skeleton should turn out to be at the reins. This one continued on its way, leaving him unmolested, but once the noise of hooves began to fade, he became aware of being hailed with some urgency.

‘Dr Raven? Dr Raven!’

He glanced up to see the plump figure of Martha Dempster hastening along Queen Street to intercept him at the junction. A gust of wind whipped up from the east, causing her instinctively to grab at her hat, strands of her fair hair escaping from beneath.

She produced his calling card as she approached, gripping it in her fingers and holding it up as though to establish her credentials.

‘I was coming to the address on here in the hope of speaking to you. It is regarding my sister.’

‘You have found her?’ he asked eagerly.

‘No. Quite the opposite. I am growing concerned that I have heard nothing from her.’

Raven eyed the calling card. These were not matters he wished anyone at No. 52 to overhear. He led her instead down the slope in the direction of Albany Street.

‘We must get in out of the rain. Mrs Banks’s home is nearer.’