He washed out the remaining clots, bloody serum and debris and closed the abdomen using interrupted sutures. Martha helped him apply a bandage. It was done.

As soon as he was finished his hands began to shake uncontrollably. He sank to his knees, grasped Sarah’s arm and felt for the pulse at her wrist. It was there: just palpable to his tremulous fingers. He kissed the back of her hand and then let his forehead rest upon it.

‘Don’t die, Sarah,’ he whispered. ‘Please don’t die.’

SIXTY-FOUR

artha helped him change the sheets on the bed, Sarah groaning a little as they moved her. She had been busy around him as he worked, dealing with the worst of the mess. He thanked his good fortune that there had been a nurse in his company when this happened, though in one respect it would have been better if he had been alone.

‘I would ask you not to discuss this with anyone,’ he said. He wondered how he would explain himself if she asked why, but she did not.

‘I may be less experienced than Mary,’ she said, ‘but I have worked as a nurse long enough to understand the need for discretion.’

Having thus reassured him, Martha asked if she could be spared. She was anxious to continue her search for her sister, though she vowed to come back later in the day.

Mrs Sullivan arrived shortly after Martha’s departure. She had been out on errands when Sarah collapsed, an absence which Raven had initially been grateful for, given the necessarily clandestine nature of his intervention. Her return required Raven to provide some explanation for the alarming quantity of blood on the soiled sheets. Martha had performed a near miracle cleaning up, but there was only so much that she could do. He informed the housekeeper that Sarah had suffered a miscarriage.

‘Some things are just not meant to be, are they?’ Mrs Sullivan said, revealing a philosophical bent that Raven had not suspected she possessed. Then she added, less than charitably, ‘It seems that I have traded one invalid for another.’

Raven stayed by Sarah’s bed – ignoring Mrs Sullivan’s suggestion that he go home – giving her small amounts of brandy and water when she could manage it. The fact that she roused sufficiently to take anything at all was reassuring but he knew there was likely worse to come. After what he had done, inflammation was inevitable and he knew that her survival was still very much in the balance.

Some hours later Raven felt a chill, and was suddenly aware of how cold the bedroom had become now that his sweat-soaked shirt was sticking to his skin. The fire had gone out at some point, he knew not when. It could have been hours ago.

He felt a gentle hand on his shoulder. Martha. He had not been aware of her return. Perhaps he had fallen asleep.