‘And yet Professor Syme maintains that certain procedures should only ever be carried out by surgeons.’

Raven placed the now rather macerated organ into a bowl to examine it and ensure that it was complete. He noticed that Dr Ziegler was staring at him with a look of amusement, and realised that despite having rolled his sleeve up beyond the elbow, it was stained with blood all the way to the shoulder seam.

‘I don’t think you’re going to get another day out of that shirt,’ he said, laughing.

Raven usually enjoyed working with Dr Ziegler at the Maternity Hospital, but today Ziegler’s good humour was wasted on him. He had received another letter from Henry, telling him that Gabriela had gone, and nobody knew where. Henry was subtly enquiring as to whether she might have followed Raven to Edinburgh as part of some secret assignation, though he could tell that his friend was clutching at straws. Raven replied to assure him that her disappearance so soon after his leaving was entirely coincidental, though he also expressed curiosity as to whether its coming so soon after the incident in the alley and the subsequent police inquiry could also be put down to mere happenstance.

It troubled him to think of what could have occasioned her sudden flight, as it troubled him to consider what Henry might believe or suspect of him. Raven had obliquely confirmed Henry’s suspicions in a reply, stating how he concurred that ‘the unfortunate brigand must indeed have encountered someone with a perverse appetite for mayhem’.

But even these were not the foremost among his troubling thoughts, being too far away and leaving no role for him by which to intercede. Primarily he was preoccupied with Sarah, an affliction he thought he had cured long ago. It had turned out to be merely in remission.

He was still trying to come to terms with the fact of her being married. He should have been happy for her, should he not? Grateful that he had been vindicated, and they had both got what they wanted.

That dinner at her home on Albany Street played out over and over in his mind, always climaxing with her expression of incredulous disgust. He had solid reasons for having refused Sarah’s request, but he remained stricken with doubt over whether it had been the right thing to do. Nor could he be certain whether his judgment was actually flawed or whether he was questioning it simply because he could not endure Sarah’s displeasure.

He knew that such a consideration should not mean so much to him, especially now. She was at most a colleague, an acquaintance. She was a married woman with her own life, and her disappointment or disapproval should not be an impediment to his abiding by his own decisions. And yet.