Annie does not go to the memorial service, does not step foot in the east of the city, and does not see Edward’s family ever again. She gathers herself up as small as she can and hides from the world. She stays in Ellie’s house, in the nursery on the top floor, sleeping in the oldest child’s bed. She is full of sorrow and anger, confusion and guilt. Her own husband – he had done such terrible things. And yet there was wonder too, the beauty of that creature! I am a widow now, she thinks with an empty heart, and shrinks just a little more.

If only Annie could see a little way ahead, if only she could be comforted by what is still to come. For in just over a year’s time, she will be atop a mountain in the Canary Isles, looking out at a landscape that seems to her as if it is from some other world entirely. Wide plains and colours which look stranger than the surface of the moon itself, mountain breezes playing with her hair, her bonnet long since discarded on the ascent, her skirts whipping around her, a sense of triumph at having conquered the peak; she will turn to Marcus, standing beside her, looking out at the view, and she will smile, happiness returned to her, as she begins to unpack her travelling watercolour set, the china mixing tiles, the sponge, the brushes and the glass water pot which she will fill from her flask.

She will stand for a moment, close her eyes, breathe in the warm, clean air, feel the sun tickle her skin, knowing that the freckles will appear like paint spatters on her face and hands and she will not care what society – nay, the entire world, thinks of her. For, like a piece of art herself, she has learnt the correct time to step away from it.

London is so very noisy with the clatter of cabs and carriages, livestock, street vendors and more that, to Richard’s consternation, it is very hard to find somewhere quiet enough outdoors to have an intimate conversation.

He walks silently beside Mary and her newly acquired dog, rescued from the Meakes’ basement, now named Millicent, Millie for short – although the black and tan mongrel seems blissfully unaware of this as yet.

Richard had caught a chill after the fire and spent a few days recovering in bed from both that and the effects of smoke inhalation. Although Mary and Jos had visited his bedside, discussed the wonders of what they had all seen and the sorrow of being unable to share it with the wider world, this is the first time he has spent alone with Mary since. It is strange, too, for although he feels he has at least a novel’s worth of words within him, he does not seem able to recount them.