Simon takes a breath. ‘Miss Meers, it would help my inspection to clean the area a little. I will use only soda, perhaps a touch of alkaline if necessary. Is this acceptable to you?’

Pearl wavers but her Father’s pleading eyes get the better of her.

‘If he wants it.’

‘Miss Darken?’

Agnes realises Simon is asking her for the packages, and she begins to unwrap them for him. Her hands shake. She has never seen anything quite equal to this.

‘The necrosis is advanced,’ Simon whispers to her as she hands him his apparatus. ‘The abscesses on the gums have not even been lanced.’ He turns to Pearl, in the corner. ‘Miss Meers, it is conceivable this will cause your father some discomfort. Perhaps you might hold his hand?’

Pearl plaits the gaunt fingers between her own small, pale ones. ‘You’re brave, Father,’ she says. ‘You won’t even feel it.’

Agnes does not want to watch. She just holds the bowl of water and soda, and passes fresh lint when Simon asks for it. She notices light, pea-sized balls fall from the jaw as Simon wipes, and realises they are bits of dead bone the body has cast out.

God above.

The man clenches Pearl’s hand. ‘That’s it,’ she whispers. ‘It’ll be better in no time.’

Although Pearl whispers words of encouragement to her father, she frequently breaks off to narrow her eyes at Simon. She appears to think he is a sort of dark magician who requires her constant supervision. Whatever her suspicions, she can be in no doubt that he is proving useful; when the abscesses are burst and everything is cleansed, Mr Meers looks much less swollen and discoloured.

He has proved astonishingly stoical, with fewer groans than Agnes expected. She is pleased with herself too, for not swooning. Constance always used to mock her squeamishness, but now she is stronger, capable of seeing gore like her sister was.

Simon gathers all the dirtied lint and places it into her bowl, making the water filthy. ‘Could you dispose of that for me, Miss Darken?’

She cannot imagine where he intends for her to take the bowl; it is doubtful this house has its own privy and she does not know where to find the close stool. Carrying her stinking cargo out into the corridor, she dithers for a while before finally deciding on the scullery. She places the bowl beside a box of matches and walks away from it, shuddering.

How can this family bear to light a match, after all that they have done?

She re-enters the sickroom to see Simon administering drops of opium. Pearl has crept over to stand beside him.

‘Agnes said you’d take Father to a hospital,’ she ventures.

Simon concentrates on his task. ‘It would not be advisable to move your father at present, Miss Meers.’

‘Then you’ll do it here? Cut the rotten bone out and cure him?’