He is right. Memory dawns on her, sickening but irrefutable. That is why she recognised the writing. Constance has been gone so long, she did not think to associate the notes with her. ‘But how—’

‘There was not much love lost between the pair, I grant you, but Constance was Cedric’s mother. Do you not consider it feasible that he might have chosen to keep a small memento of her about his person?’

It seems unlikely. Cedric was mainly frightened of his mother. But then Agnes had suspected him of playing with her papers on the day she found the first scrap. Perhaps there is some vestige of feeling left inside the boy that she cannot understand. It makes more sense than any other explanation.

Simon is so overwhelmingly reasonable.

Yet Simon does not know about the writing in the dust at Walcot Street. Too late. Was that from Constance, too?

She shivers the thought away. Does not want to face the possibility that in trying to contact other spirits, she might have accidently let her sister back into her life.

Simon’s theory is far more comforting.

‘Yes,’ she says forcefully. ‘Cedric might have kept a token. Yes. I am sure everything is … just as you say it is, Simon.’

‘Then that is settled.’ He musters a hairbreadth smile. ‘Nothing more to trouble the police with for the present. Now, will you stay for dinner, or shall I walk you home?’

‘You have done so much for me already. For all of us. It pains me to beg another favour, but do you think that you could take a look at this man? The one with phossy jaw?’

He hesitates.

‘Please. I have failed to protect my nephew. It would be so nice to help just one young person, to put something right. I do not want the medium girl to be orphaned. When I think of what it cost me to lose my own father, I—’

Morpheus sits up and yawns. He is ready to leave the room; he seems to know what his master will decide to do.

‘This man is not under the treatment of another physician?’ Simon asks.

‘No! The elder sister will not allow it. The poor soul is being kept from all aid.’

Simon gives a single nod.

She does love him then: his goodness and his justice, even his silly dog, who is regarding her judgementally.

‘Just promise me,’ he says as he stands, ‘that this will be an end of your spiritual adventures. Have a care for your health. Stay away from newfangled concepts that you do not understand.’

Remembering Constance’s writing in the dust, it is not hard to make the pledge.

‘I will, Simon. I will do whatever you tell me to.’

He offers her his arm and they walk out of the consulting room together with Morpheus trailing behind them.