I recall hearing my mother’s moans in that room in the Gorbals. Later in life, it comforted me to know that what I once thought was distress was in fact the throes of pleasure, but that pleasure could never compare to the delirious enjoyment I have known. It is a commingling of the physical and spiritual, a transporting and transformative sensation. I wrap myself around them as I hear their breathing change, then there come waves of shuddering ecstasy, an exponentially compounding euphoria.

I hold them as I held Mrs Porteous, as I held Eleanor Eddlestone, as I held her mother, as I held so many before that.

And as I held Mrs Banks.

SEVENTY-FIVE

indlay gazed down at the stopper on the floor, then at Jarvis, then Simpson, then McLevy and finally Raven.

‘On the basis of this evidence, there is clearly no charge to be brought here. Unless, that is, Dr Simpson wishes to take action against Mr Quinton over the thefts he has described.’

‘No,’ Simpson said. ‘It is a matter I would rather deal with privately, and I would ask for the discretion of all parties here present.’

‘As you wish,’ said Findlay. ‘Now, please have Dr Raven unbound.’

McLevy was clearly simmering. He looked like a dog that had just had a ham bone wrenched from its jaws and was thus an enemy in the making. Fortunately Raven felt able to pacify him by providing a juicier morsel to chew on.

‘There is a murder charge to be brought. Several, in fact. Dr Simpson, my apologies again for going against your wishes with regard to the death of Mrs Johnstone, but were it not for the efforts of Sarah and myself in this regard, many more lives would surely be lost.’

Raven poured out all that he had discovered, as quickly and succinctly as he could.

‘I will tell you more on the way,’ he said, ‘but we must get to Albany Street as soon as possible.’

‘My brougham is outside,’ said Simpson. ‘I will instruct Angus to drive the horses as hard as he can.’

‘My curricle will be faster,’ said Findlay.

‘Thank you,’ Raven said, though as they all hurried to the street, he knew that no matter how fast the carriage, Sarah’s fate was out of their hands.

SEVENTY-SIX

oo late, Sarah saw that Martha’s previous face had been a mask and was disturbed by what had been lurking behind it. How much did she truly know about her sister’s deeds? When she and Raven visited the cottage, had she been afraid of Mary, or of discovery?

Then in one simple act, Martha revealed all.

She pulled back the bedclothes and climbed in, wrapping herself around Sarah like bindweed.

‘Sleep now,’ she said. ‘It will soon be over.’

Her voice was altered too: her accent no longer the gentle Edinburgh lilt, but a harsher register formed in the tenements of Glasgow.