She should’ve known it would turn out this way. She’s never been good at lying or sneaking about. As she totters into the darkened hallway, she has an urge to follow in Agnes’s steps and flee out of the front door. But she’s not strong enough to run, and she can’t leave Father.

Father …

‘Go on, then,’ Myrtle demands. ‘Explain yourself.’

If ever there was a time Pearl wished a ghost would take over and speak for her, it’s now. But of course they don’t; they’re never there when she needs them.

‘It was just … She wanted to find the murderer. And I thought—’

Myrtle groans. ‘We’ve talked about this before. Don’t you want to earn your living?’

‘We’d be popular if we caught a murderer,’ she mumbles. ‘It’s not just ghosts that interest people.’

‘No, that’s right. People pay to see albinos too. Maybe I’ll just put you in a cage, and we can have a menagerie instead of a séance? Is that what you want? Is it?’

Pearl shakes her head.

‘How the hell did that woman even get in here?’

‘I … It was when you were out …’

Myrtle’s lustrous eyes spark in the shadows. ‘You opened the door?’

It’s useless. She hasn’t got the words to defend herself; she doesn’t even deserve them. She knew all along that she was being wicked and she did it anyway.

‘I’m sorry,’ she pleads.

Myrtle puffs out the rushlight. Neither of them need it. ‘I should’ve known,’ she seethes. ‘You’re just like your dad: out to spite me. Going under my nose, in my own house. I don’t know why I bother with you. Maybe I should’ve left you with the cord tied around your neck.’

Pearl shrinks within herself. ‘I’m sorry.’

‘But why, Pearl? Why would you do this? Just to pull the wool over my eyes and punish me for saying I weren’t going to mesmerise him no more?’

It’s on the tip of her tongue to tell Myrtle about the doctor and the jawbone but something holds her back. She’s in enough trouble already, without mentioning medicine.

Seeing Pearl isn’t going to answer, Myrtle starts to mutter to herself. ‘I didn’t think you could do this. Didn’t think you even capable of … I messed up. What did I do wrong?’

This stings worst of all. Myrtle’s not just mad, she’s ashamed of her; thinks she’s raised a thankless wretch, but Pearl was never trying to hurt her sister – was she?

Leaning against the wall, she starts to cry.

‘Save me the waterworks,’ Myrtle tuts.

She can’t. She’s too weak and ill, and still so hot.