The dog resisted her caresses earlier, but he has a good sense of time and always reconsiders his allegiances around the hour the breakfast tray is due to arrive.

As the carriage clock chimes, Simon’s charwoman shuffles in and sets down the food on a table. She tips Agnes a wink. ‘Got it for you. Tucked under the egg plate. You make sure to give it back to me when you’re done.’

Agnes thanks her. It is difficult not to betray the agitation that she feels, but Morpheus must sense it, for he stirs on her legs.

‘That will be my reading for the train journey up to Gloucester,’ the charwoman continues. ‘Going to visit my brother in a couple of weeks for the holidays. Just as well this nasty business has come to a close before I leave, because I’d be loath to miss anything while I’m away.’

Of course, it is Advent already, and soon Christmas will come. She has lost track of time without attending church each week. Surely Cedric must be out of the hospital by now? She needs to convince Simon she is well enough to see him. Just one glimpse of his face would help her nerves to settle.

‘I trust you will have a pleasant stay with your family, Mrs Muckle,’ says Agnes, hoping she will soon be with her own. ‘However shall we manage without you?’

The charwoman pinks with pride, but she brushes the compliment away. ‘You’ll get along well enough. Dr Carfax is a capable gent, much more orderly than most of them. Worth hanging on to,’ she adds slyly.

Agnes pretends not to hear her.

When the domestic is safely out of the room, she reaches for the plate of coddled eggs and squeezes it onto her lap beside Morpheus. He starts to snaffle the food up at once.

Left behind on the tray is a newspaper, its pages ready-cut. A ring of grease marks the front.

Her heart pumps like a piston.

Simon has said that she requires absolute quiet and detachment from the outside world, and she has tried to be a good patient. But he cannot appreciate how much she frets while she does not know what is occurring in her absence. She has so many unanswered questions niggling inside her. The solutions offered by the press will not be entirely trustworthy, but at least they will give her some idea.

Picking up the paper, she draws in a steadying breath. As she suspected, the story occupies pride of place. She begins to read: