‘He kept it nice,’ I said, taking my coat off. The sofa was also covered in paperwork so I just held it in my hand.

‘Ha!’ said Felicity, sharply. ‘This room maybe. The room for visitors. For me! But you wait until you see the rest of the place. Bloody pigsty.’ She had made herself a space in the centre of the papers and went back to her knees, folding her pleated skirt beneath her backside and holding it there with her slippered feet.

I was surprised to see her angry. She looked pale, as though she were fighting a bout of seasickness. I wondered if she had slept last night. Whether the thought of looking deeper into the dead man had filled her sleep with terrors.

‘Probably too proud to ask for help,’ I said, as softly as I could. ‘How were you to know, eh?’

‘Aye, well,’ said Felicity, and she shifted, painfully. ‘Bloody knees are killing me. Curse in my family. Our bones go to seed after we hit thirty.’

‘It’s temper in mine,’ I said, moving closer to her. She shuffled herself. She looked suddenly like an Arab at prayer.

‘Your mam quick with the stick, is she?’ asked Felicity, turning to me. ‘Mine were a terror. Kind-hearted but knew that she shouldn’t spare the rod. She were right to do it. There’s plenty in the village could still do with a hiding but we’ve all gone soft. I should have given my two a belting years ago.’

I found myself reaching out. I put a hand on her shoulder. Tried to comfort her the way she had done for me. She stiffened under my touch but gave the tiniest nod of thanks.