‘Everybody else can see that the method of construction was full of danger!’ Webster waited for the grunts of assent and bursts of chatter to subside. ‘This is a most serious matter for we have lost hundreds of our fellow townsmen from an accident that ought not to have happened.’ The man’s voice was tight with emotion. ‘Was this an accident that might have been avoided?’ He looked directly at Gunson, who met the man’s glare with what he hoped was a calm gaze.

But when he spoke, his voice was high-pitched, strangled by the injustice of Webster’s attack. ‘I have acted as engineer for this company for nearly thirty-three years.’ He took a deep breath and made a deliberate effort to lower his voice. Webster had reduced him to a shrieking fishwife. ‘From my experience there was nothing left undone that could have been done as to safety of construction.’

The coroner cast his eyes like a net over the jurymen. ‘No man who has looked at the place could say this accident might not have been avoided.’

Gunson glanced again at Perronet, who had bent his neck and was absorbed in the papers on his desk. He wanted to protest, to appeal to the jury, to explain that he followed the instructions of the consulting engineer to the letter and that there had been nothing wrong with the dam, nothing at all. Then why did it fail? Gunson studied the faces filling the room, strangers all. Did these people who did not know him blame him, personally, for the deaths of so many of their fellow townsmen and women?

He recalled the silhouettes of the patrons of the Stag Inn at Malin Bridge, framed in the window on the night he rode out to the dam. How could he have known he was glimpsing future ghosts? Sheffield Harry, for all his bluster, had perished when the wave hit his lodgings. He had been on his way to the Barrel Inn when Gunson saw him. Had he stayed out drinking he would have fared no better, for that establishment was engulfed and swept away too. And so many children, and infants now in eternal innocent slumber. And forty orphans made. Forty. Sorrow clogged his throat and he coughed, covering his mouth with a shaking hand.

People were turning to each other, exchanging whispered words. Perronet lifted a hand to gain the room’s attention.

‘In re-examination, Mr Gunson, we have heard from the consulting engineer, Mr Towlerton Leather – and I would like to quote from his testimony here.’ Perronet lifted a page and read from it. ‘“Mr Gunson was not my servant. He had the superintendence of the works, occasionally consulting with me. He would not deviate from my plan.” Perhaps you can tell us how closely you oversaw the works.’

Gunson looked at the closed faces of the jurymen sitting across from him. He glanced at Webster, a man who painted his face with his emotions. At least he knew where he stood with him, even if that was on the lip of his own downfall. He reminded himself this was an inquest, not a criminal trial. It had been convened to determine the cause of death of all those poor souls, and no more. Yet it had become an inquisition. He ran a shaky finger around the inside of his collar and clasped his hands together.