By the time Agnes has finished reading, Morpheus has licked the plate clean.

She tosses the newspaper aside, praying Mamma does not read something similar. Simon has been so vague about how things stand at Orange Grove, simply assuring her that all the expected occupants are now present within the house and he is caring for them in her absence. But where did Mamma go, before? And how much do Agnes’s family know about Pearl?

One thing is certain: Agnes’s days as a profitable silhouette artist are well and truly over. Unless she means to set herself up as a museum for the ghoulish – and those are the only people who will come now – she must rely on Simon for financial support.

The realisation of this chafes, but not as much as she anticipated it would. She is bone-weary of depending on her own resources. This spell of illness has made her appreciate having someone to care for her; she does not want to struggle alone any more.

There is a knock at the bedchamber door.

‘Come in,’ she calls.

Simon enters rather gingerly, as has become his custom while she stays in his house. She suspects his embarrassment is not entirely caused by her informal attire of a nightdress and a plaid dressing gown: some of it may be attributed to the fact that this was once Constance’s room, Constance’s rocking chair.

‘Good morning, Miss Darken. I trust you slept well.’

Too late, she realises the newspaper is lying splayed on the floor in plain sight.

Simon sees her glance, follows it and offers a wry smile. ‘There is no need to attempt concealment. I was already aware. Mrs Muckle is a very able charwoman, but her career as a smuggler requires some development in the area of stealth.’

‘Poor woman. Do not blame her, for I am the culprit. Sorry, Simon. Do not be angry with me.’

‘No, I am not angry.’ He comes further into the room. Morpheus flumps off her lap to the floor, where he dawdles over towards his master. ‘Your nervous complaint has shown much improvement. I believe you are ready to hear further particulars …’

She leans forward and places the clean plate back on the breakfast tray. ‘What is it? What has happened now? Has Cedric taken a turn for the worse?’

‘No, no. Cedric is with your mother.’ Simon comes over to the window and stands in a pool of light. Bath looks pleasant today. The golden limestone seems to sing. ‘A request has arrived. I was inclined to turn it down immediately, but upon reflection I can see the benefits it may bring. It is plain that you need a definite resolution to this … sad matter.’

‘Whatever can you mean? You are speaking in riddles, Simon.’

‘My apologies. I was attempting to introduce the idea gently. The fact is that Miss West has asked to see you at the gaol, before her trial in January.’