She will understand everything when she sees. God will make her understand. All that matters is the presentation. It is all he will allow himself to focus on. He knows the glories that will come afterwards will be unparalleled. All will be well, God willing, for I am Your servant forever and ever. Amen.

He hums to himself as he works, methodically moving his work from the dissecting room to his study, everything from the cloak that his angel of the Thames was found in to the ripped clothes of his demon. He lines up the notes and sketches of all three of his gifts, the jars of organs and body parts from his river angel.

As he returns to the dissecting room, he allows himself a smile of pride at the simple beauty of his winged skeleton, the exquisite mounting that he built for her. Now that he has cleared a little more space for himself, he is free to practise his lecture. He makes notes as he structures it, pacing around the room, finessing and annotating as he goes. It will be the brightest spotlight that has ever been shone on him and oh, he will be ready for it, by Jove, he will be ready for it!

He smiles to himself as his lips run over the words. It will be outstanding, he thinks, and is greatly pleased – nay, even overwhelmed – by his own magnificence.

It is most inconvenient that there should be any visitors today of all days, thinks Ellie as she is called downstairs, forced to leave Annie’s bedside where they had quietly been talking of what had happened and what perhaps might be done.

A tall young man with curly hair waits in the drawing room, nervously twirling his hat in his hands whilst a young lady, dressed in black, stands, looking out of the window.

‘I am Mrs Bigsby,’ says Ellie. ‘How can I help you?’

It is only when the young lady turns to face her that Ellie’s face shifts from irritability to delight.

‘Good Lord!’ says Mary. ‘Miss Wiltshire!’

‘Mrs Bigsby for some long time, Mary!’ says Ellie with a laugh as she runs over to her, holding her hands and whirling her around the room. ‘And is this your own husband?’ she asks, noting that both young persons blush crimson.

‘Oh!’ says Mary. ‘No! This is Mr Gibbs, er, Richard – he is a friend of the family.’

Ellie smiles and shakes her head. ‘I had not thought you to be in London still! It has been an age. And how is Jos? And dearest George?’

Mary’s face falls.

‘I am afraid George is no longer with us,’ Richard says.

‘Oh, Mary! Oh no, I am truly sorry to hear that, he was the best of men.’ Ellie reprimands herself for not having noted Mary’s mourning dress.

‘Forgive me, but I had no idea the two of you were acquainted,’ says Richard, puzzled.