Lizzie felt tired and slow. She’d waited and waited for either the police or Arthur to call to confirm that Johnny had finally turned up. She had kept her light on for hours to ward off a darkness that felt as though it was inside her as well as outside. Finally, she had turned out the light and had lain quietly listening to the sound of the rubbish being collected out in the street, the rolling of empty barrels, the shouts of drunks, all the noises that filled a London night. The city was never silent and at least she did not feel entirely alone.

Arthur, she thought, didn’t look as though he had slept any better than she had. Stubble darkened his jaw and his eyes were tired. Lizzie couldn’t read his emotions other than the obvious exhaustion and concern for his brother. It felt as though he was deliberately shutting her out, which was an odd, disconnected feeling, as though instinct and reason were at war with one another, a deeply uncomfortable sensation. She tried to see things from Arthur’s point of view and then wished she hadn’t. She could see he had every reason to be wary of her. Johnny had come to see her and now Johnny was missing.

“Is there any news?” she said, and felt hope drain away when Arthur shook his head.

“Johnny still hasn’t turned up,” he said. “We’ve spoken to everyone now, and checked all the places we can think of.”

“You look as though you need coffee,” Lizzie said involuntarily. “Have you been out all night looking for him?”

“Yeah.” Arthur gave her a brief smile. It didn’t reach his eyes. “At least the last time he disappeared he turned up of his own accord, but this time there’s been nothing. Not even a text. I don’t suppose you’ve heard from him either?”

“I would have told you if I had,” Lizzie said, and Arthur nodded, grimacing.

“Sorry,” he said. “I’m sure you would. I was just hoping...” He shrugged.

“He’s not here,” Anna called, from the living room. Lizzie raised her brows at Arthur, who had the grace to look embarrassed.

“I apologise for Anna,” he said. “We’re all a bit on edge.”

“It’s OK,” Lizzie said. “Come through.” She caught the corner of his thoughts then; the fact that he too was feeling the conflict between intuition and logic, between affinity and wariness. She sensed he liked it as little as she did.

Anna was standing in the middle of the living room, hands on hips, looking to Lizzie like a smaller, more self-assured version of Amelia. Physically they shared the blonde hair and blue eyes that had given Amelia her waiflike quality but Lizzie thought that if Amelia had had an ounce of Anna’s toughness, she wouldn’t have tolerated Dudley’s behaviour for a moment. She wondered if Anna’s truculence came naturally but then she remembered how gentle she had been with Johnny that time in the foyer and thought she should cut the younger girl some slack. It was a sentiment she retracted almost immediately.