The warder opens the door and Harriet comes face to face with the thief.

‘Thank you for your assistance,’ Harriet says quickly to the warder. ‘I don’t think I need you with me while I pray.’

She licks her drying lips. She is not afraid of Alice Dunning. She cannot be. After all, she is not the one locked in the cell. But something about her makes Harriet nervous. She strides through the door and reaches a hand to Alice, affecting confidence. Like horses, she tells herself. You have to show such people that you are not afraid.

‘Harriet Littlemore, from St Saviour’s Christian Mission. I’ve come to read some Bible verses and talk to you about Jesus Christ.’

Alice’s expression moves swiftly from puzzlement to suspicion, and then to interest. She has no idea what this woman wants, but she is sufficiently intrigued to take Harriet’s hand and shake it.

‘Pleased to meet you, miss, I’m sure.’

‘I’ll be outside,’ the warder says to Harriet. ‘You can have fifteen minutes. Bang on the door if you want to leave sooner. Don’t let her fox you.’

The room is small. Alice is sitting on a narrow bed. Above her – above head height – is an arched window set with metal bars. There is a table, devoid even of personal effects, and a chair. Harriet pulls out the chair and sits down. Her knuckles are white as she grasps her notebook.

Plain, Michael Pickard had called her. Alice Dunning has the sort of face that would be lost in a crowd. It probably helps if you’re shoplifting.

‘Alice. May I call you Alice? Will you tell me what happened at Debenham and Freebody yesterday afternoon?’

Alice is already in prison clothes, Harriet notes. The cloth is poor quality, but clean. Alice looks almost at ease, content to be here. But then, she has been in prison before.

Alice gives her a lazy look. ‘I don’t know what you’re talking about. I don’t know anything about Debenham and Freebody.’

Of course, she knows nothing about it. Harriet scolds herself silently for asking such a foolish question. The woman is not going to tell her anything that will compromise the defence in her trial. They continue to face one another. Alice shifts awkwardly on the bed and her face spasms in pain.

‘You’re injured. Have you had an accident?’

Alice shrugs. ‘Fell down the stairs. Stupid really. Still, I’ll have chance to heal nicely while I’m here, won’t I?’

‘You think you’ll be here for a while?’

‘Four months. Five, maybe. Depends.’

‘It depends on what?’

Alice smiles but says nothing.

‘Where do you come from? Are you married?’

Alice’s expression changes, only a fraction, but Harriet sees it. ‘Did he die? In the war? Your husband, I mean?’