Something bumps downstairs. For an instant, she worries it might be Miss West, but then Montague fades in again.

‘… here … together … We … held … but she …’ Nothing animates the silhouette; its lips do not move when Montague speaks. It is disconcerting, for the voice that comes through the interference is ardent; even panicked.

‘I cannot understand you! What are you trying to say to me?’

Knock, knock.

Agnes flinches. It is the sound that came at the last séance, but what did it mean? Memory fails her; all that strikes her is how ominous it sounds.

Montague’s voice pitches higher. ‘Marry … Carfax … keep … safe.’

‘What?’ She frowns. ‘It was Constance who married Simon. She made the poor man miserable, but it was the only way to save our name. You cannot think that I would—’

‘… takes over … unaware … But if Carfax … husband … protect you.’

She feels like a piece of sable paper, being snipped to pieces. It sounds as if he is telling her to marry Simon. A wave of hurt and rejection hits her. After so much time, can that be all he has to say?

Knock, knock.

The shadow flutters.

‘Montague, are you still there?’

Knock.

‘You cannot think I would marry another … I never loved anyone but you!’ The confession bursts out of her. ‘Despite everything. If you had not run away like that, perhaps we …’

His shape is quivering wildly now, threatening to break apart. Thin black lines creep like fingers across the image.

She shoots an anxious glance at the fireplace. The flames are dipping and swooping, roaring louder than ever; their spitting seems to fill her ears, censoring anything he might say.

Then a single, terrified sentence breaks through.

‘She’s coming.’

‘Montague!’ Agnes flings out her left hand to clutch at him; the ring flies with it, clatters somewhere.

Montague’s shadow starts to trickle away.

She sees Pearl’s empty fingers droop to her side and realises, too late, that she has broken the circle. She is losing him.

‘No. No, come back!’

She snatches up Pearl’s hand again, but it is no good: the damage is done. The flames dwindle faster every second.

‘Montague!’

The fire sputters and dies.

The sudden darkness is like the shutting of an eye.

He is gone. Gone, again.

A painful moment passes, then Pearl comes back to life with a gasp. ‘What? What happened, where am I?’

Agnes cannot even speak.

Behind her comes the creak of wood. Something approaches.

Pearl’s face turns a paler shade of white. ‘Oh, no.’

Still winded, Agnes peers warily over her shoulder. Recoils.

Two malignant eyes burn above the thin glow of a rushlight.

It is Miss West. Her fury radiates through the room.

‘What the hell d’you think you’re doing?’

CHAPTER 27

Now she’s for it.