But everyone else wants me special, for it gives them some sort of hope. Hope of reunion with lost loves, and hope of salvation. They want it by touching my neck, and Dr McTavish wants it by me bringing him Mrs Rose.

Chapter Thirty

For my first day I am at Mr Munroe’s office a quarter of an hour early, which means I must wait for him in a downpour of rain, and it soaks through my bonnet and lashes onto my skirts.

‘Oh, my dear Lord, I should give you a key,’ he mutters when he comes down from his apartment above the office to open the door. ‘Come inside and dry yourself by the fire.’

In this way, my first day as his assistant gets off to a slow start, as he spends more time assisting me than I do him. He helps me to dry off and fetches me tea, and sits me in a chair and asks, ‘How are you doing?’ and ‘Are you all right?’ and ‘Are you quite comfortable?’ over and over again, as though I am a visiting lady. When we have firmly established that I am very happy indeed and really most comfortable and pleasantly warm, he suggests that I might start by tidying the bookshelves, which are in quite a mess, with books strewn all over the room, so I do that and take my time over it.

Mr Munroe is a busy bee of a man, humming over his papers and occasionally shaking his head and saying in his deep gravelly voice, ‘That will never do’, but I quite enjoy the company of him, for he never goes into a mood or talks braggingly of what he is doing, even though he is in charge of all sorts of things, from the markets to the moorings.

As I tidy, I decide to take a duster and sweep the shelves as I go, and although I do not understand most of what is written on the covers of the books or maps, I have a few words, and it is not a bad task. And I think of Ma and Da and how they get by, dabbling in the smuggling trade, and whatever Spencer was up to with his perfumes. And all of these crimes are probably problems that occasionally land on Mr Munroe’s desk, causing him to puzzle at his cleanly shorn chin and say, ‘That will never do’; and I think that it is a life better lived if we do not have to turn our hand to crime.

‘Mistress Dickson, you are a blessing,’ he tells me as he watches me tidy the shelves. ‘You see, I can walk past those books time and time again and think, I must put them back, but I never seem to find the time to do it.’

‘Well, it’s a good job that you have me in your employ,’ I say.