A Saxon midden recorded underneath the East Cliff. Animal bones and shells, combs and spoons dating back to the seventh century were unearthed, suggesting this was the midden of the monastery of St Hilda founded in ad 657.

‘So it’s a prayer, then?’ said Nell.

‘We think so.’ The screen went blank, the image, the words vanishing. ‘But I had no idea those words were inside the house too.’

‘Would there be any way to date it?’

‘I’m not sure. By looking at the writing? The paint used? The comb was removed from the house in the 1800s, so around then?’

‘So why,’ Nell said slowly, ‘would you hide a prayer where you, where someone, has hidden a shoe?’

‘And if Dr Bishop knew about the shoe, then why didn’t he donate it to the museum along with everything else?’

‘Because it was too – valuable?’ Nell sounded uncertain. ‘Too unusual? Maybe he just didn’t want to part with it.’ It had that effect on some people, she noticed, on Maude, at least.

‘Not only does he not donate it; he leaves it where it belongs,’ said Gina.

‘And he adds a prayer too,’ said Nell.

‘There are a lot of protections in that building, aren’t there?’ said Gina. ‘It’s – remarkable, really.’

‘I thought you said the shoe was connected to fertility,’ said Nell.

‘That’s one theory,’ said Gina, ‘but this kind of magic – it’s personal, private. A silent tradition. No one ever really knows for sure what the original intention was.’

‘It’s gone missing, the shoe.’

‘Maude?’

‘She says not,’ said Nell, ‘but yes, I think so. Anyway, I looked in the void and – there’s other stuff there. Modern stuff. A pregnancy test, a tampon. Both used.’

Gina was quiet for a very long time. ‘Goodness,’ she said again.

‘So maybe it’s not just in the past – people have been adding to it, to the house as time goes on. More – protections. Do you think?’

Gina nodded thoughtfully. ‘What did you do with them?’ she asked. ‘The tampon and the test?’

‘I got rid of them,’ said Nell. ‘They were – I didn’t like them.’ She picked up the piece of paper. ‘Was he a religious man? Dr Bishop?’ she asked. ‘Or, you know – superstitious?’

‘Quite the opposite, was my understanding, a man of science – self-made, ambitious. When he retired from public life, someone wrote a biography. There’s not much in it – because by all accounts he wouldn’t cooperate with it. Too modest, apparently.’ Gina sniffed disapprovingly.

‘You don’t look convinced,’ said Nell.

‘Frederick Edward Bishop was made mayor twice and his name’s on half a dozen buildings around the town. I expect he was many things, but I doubt modest was one of them.’

Gina sat back in her seat, frowning. ‘And what about you? Are you OK? You look a bit – flustered, flushed.’