Rather than the blackening of Simpson’s name, this could be the making of his own.

Raven’s Malady.

He liked the sound of that.

THIRTY-FOUR

eputation and renown: these are precious things, are they not? More so than anything else you own, for nothing is harder to replace. They are a currency, as surely as the money in your pocket. But just like money, they are not the value they represent: they are mere tokens, promissory notes. Reputation is a guarantor of your character, but not the truth of it. Like any other currency, it can be forged.

I learned a painful but valuable lesson at the hands of Joyce Meechan, when she lied about me. It is important to be in control of what people believe of you, especially those who have power over you. That is why I endeavoured thereafter always to please the Reverend Gillies. Witness how my obedience was demonstrated in his private office.

He was playing host to Mrs Josephine Kirkwood, a benefactor of the institution, and her friend, a woman I only heard referred to as ‘Olivia’. Formal introductions were not a courtesy extended to the likes of me. The purpose of the visit was to allow Olivia to see the good work undertaken at the Institute in the hope of her becoming a donor like Mrs Kirkwood.

Mrs Kirkwood enjoyed a reputation as a woman of great charity. You may judge for yourself whether that was her true nature.

I stood silent and still, with my hands clasped in front of me and my head bowed. I noted that Mrs Kirkwood was in her stockings, her boots sitting upon the floor next to the desk that dominated the room.

‘You will see demonstrated the civilising effects of our methods,’ the Reverend said. ‘Mary, come forth and write for us from Hebrews, chapter thirteen, verse seventeen.’

Obey them that have the rule over you, I wrote in my best hand, and submit yourselves: for they watch for your souls, as they that must give account, that they may do it with joy, and not with grief: for that is unprofitable for you.

Olivia watched with interest, while Mrs Kirkwood beamed with satisfaction.

‘Mary here was brought to us by her destitute father,’ Mrs Kirkwood said, ‘making one of the few wise and selfless decisions of his life. He was the worst of drunkards, with an erratic and volatile nature. What you see here is proof that, in our care, even the worst of that which is inherited can be overcome.’

I put down the pen and stepped back from the desk.

‘Now, lace my boot for me,’ Mrs Kirkwood said.

I knelt down, took Mrs Kirkwood’s right foot and eased it into the corresponding boot, patiently and delicately threading the laces through the eyelets and tying a neat bow. While I was about this business, Mrs Kirkwood placed her left heel upon my back, as though it were a footstool.