Father definitely is. When she pushes open the door to his room, she can see a halo of spirit matter circling his sleeping head. She wonders if that’s how the reaper plans to take him: if he will drag poor Father to the afterlife headfirst.

She has to stop it.

Myrtle sits in a chair beside the bed, not reading for once, or even doing her Mesmerism, just looking. Her face is sad when it’s relaxed; you can see creases in it, lines she shouldn’t even have at twenty. Her wide eyes are glazed over.

It scares Pearl, to see her like this.

‘What you doing?’ she asks loudly, hoping to snap her out of it.

Myrtle blinks and turns her head, but she doesn’t look that much brighter. Her attempt at a smile is more like a grimace. ‘I’m thinking of my dad.’

Pearl hovers near the door, irresolute. Myrtle doesn’t often talk about her father, still less their mother, and if she shows too much interest, her sister might clam up again.

‘D’you remember him much?’ she asks softly.

‘’Course I do,’ Myrtle huffs. ‘I remember him better than anyone. Even …’

She trails off, but it’s another one of those times when Pearl can hear the unspoken words inside people’s heads. Myrtle was going to say that she remembers Private West better than she remembers Mother.

Pearl creeps forward, interested. ‘What was he like?’

The grimace finally turns into a smile, but it’s a sorry one, tinged with pain. ‘He was brave. Wouldn’t let anything stop him. Used to say he’d make major if ever a common man did.’ She grits her teeth. ‘And he would have. He would. Life just didn’t give him enough time.’

You could say the same of pretty much anyone who died young, but if this soldier was like Myrtle, Pearl has to admit he’d stand a good chance of getting promoted somewhere along the line.

‘Lord,’ sighs Myrtle, ‘I miss that way of life. Following the army. It was tough at times, but …’ She flicks her eyes over the room. It was built to be a second parlour; it’s the largest bedchamber in the house, but she seems to view it like a cage.

‘There were men who should’ve treated us better. My dad saved their lives. They should have helped us out when he bit it, or married Mother if it came to that. They’ll all be in the Crimea now and it serves them bloody right.’ She knots her fingers together. ‘But it’s my uncle who gets me most. I’d never be in this mess if my uncle had been around to look after us.’