‘You were always my good girl. You tried. No one can ask more of you than that. Just … please don’t hold it against me. I already blame myself more than you can know.’

She squeezes her mother’s hand and says the only thing a daughter can. ‘It was not your fault, Mamma. None of it was your fault.’

There’s a thump in the hallway. Agnes jumps.

‘Something through the letterbox,’ Mamma says.

She is right: it was a soft sound, dulled by a mat; not the harsh crash of the frames upstairs. But it is late for post. Unbidden, that slanted writing comes to mind: Constance’s hand.

A coincidence, Simon said.

Cautiously, Agnes rises and goes out to the hallway. An envelope lies in the centre of the doormat. She picks it up and takes it to the kitchen where she keeps her matches. Already she can feel that the envelope is of a good quality and not one of the scraps she so feared to find.

She breaks the wafer and unfolds the paper before striking her match. It hisses. A small bubble of light appears.

The writing it illuminates is Simon’s:

Miss Darken,

I was sorry to leave you in distress following our visit to Walcot Street. It is my sincere hope that you have recovered from the disappointment of your unfortunate young friend.

My chief consideration remains your own health, and how it might best be improved. I cannot express half of what I would say upon paper, but I wish for your mind to be at rest as soon as possible. Therefore, I will convey only this: I know where Cedric is. Do not, I entreat you, run to the police upon receiving my communication: the cause of the boy’s disappearance is of no concern to them. He was in fact embroiled in an accident, and I cannot bring you to his current location without peril to your health. However, rest assured that I have visited him, he is in a safe position and we are in no danger of losing him.

I will call upon you with further particulars very shortly and, if God is willing, take you to him when the risk of serious illness has diminished.

I am aware that inactivity at this moment will cause you pain, but I must crave your indulgence and ask you to trust me, as you have been so good as to trust me in many other instances. Believe me, madam, I am at all times anxious to prove myself your most humble and faithful servant,

Simon Carfax

‘Thank God!’ Her breath blows out the match.

Cedric is found. Found!