“Mr. Nicholls does not have any extraordinary affection for me,” Charlotte said as they entered the room. “It is simply that he holds all of Papa’s children in great esteem, as is proper.”

Under normal circumstances Anne would have expected Emily to have made the best of this situation to tease Charlotte until she had at least made her sister stamp her foot and turn red in the face. Not tonight, though, for as they set down the lanterns, the gravity of the situation fell over them as heavily as a mourning veil.

The remains of the child had been laid on a small table, the school desks and benches pushed to one side. The lanterns Charlotte had lit earlier had gone out, and it was particularly dark until Anne walked into the middle of the room, holding her lamp aloft.

“We promised this poor soul prayer,” she said, “and we shall pray as we work. Emily, how shall we proceed?”

“Charlotte, you make a written note of everything you see,” Emily said. “Everything, no matter how small or inconsequential it might seem: the number of teeth in the skull, any marks or fractures in the bones or skull, measurements of each bone—and label them as per Papa’s medical dictionary. Anne and I shall draw every detail until we will have created a full record.” She hesitated, meeting Anne’s gaze. “We shall be required to pick up the bones and examine them from all angles. You begin at the head, Anne. I shall begin at the feet.”

Since she had wrapped the child, Anne took it upon herself to unwrap the bones, and as she did, she heard the faintest chime of something metallic fall on the wooden floor. Anne didn’t remember Liston concealing the medallion in the bundle, yet there it was.

Reluctantly she picked it up.

“This must be drawn and recorded too,” she said. “Then it can be buried with the child.” Her sisters nodded their assent, and they set about their work, each one considering this the most important task they had yet undertaken.

To Anne, their softly murmured prayers were as luminous as any lamp, circling them in a halo of warmth.

The night wore on, still and in near silence as they laboured, each one of them taking great and tender care over every bone. After a while it felt almost as if they were at prayer, lost in their communion with thought and every minute detail of what remained of the child. Yes, Anne believed, as devastating as this task was, it was a prayer not to death, but to life, and how very precious and miraculous it is.

And then a sharp bang came from the main schoolroom, and the sound of footsteps scuttling away.