‘Stop thinking about Simon all the time. He is not worth your consideration. No man is. You belong with me, sister. Do not forget it.’

Agnes slammed the door on her.

Just as she intended, the hem of Constance’s ashy pink gown and one end of her tippet were trapped inside the carriage. They would be marked, ruined.

She heard a faint, strangled cry as Constance tried to walk away and was pulled back.

That would teach her a lesson, she thought.

Then everything happened at once.

There was a rolling, a rushing noise, and she heard Cedric calling her name. ‘Auntie Aggie! Look what my father bought me!’

A horse reared, shrieking. The squabs slammed hard into her legs as she was jolted forward without warning, too late to grab the leather strap.

The world turned upside down as the carriage careered out of control. A box hit her in the head, another just beneath the ribs. She fought like a drowning woman reaching for the surface, but she could not tell which direction was up.

Blood filled her mouth.

Suddenly, they hit a bump. Agnes flew up in the air, screaming, and her scream seemed to be echoed outside. There was a sickening crunch as the wheels mounted and crushed whatever lay in their path.

Ribbons and gloves burst from their folds of tissue paper; boxes flew at her head like a flock of birds. She knew she was badly injured but could not tell where. Everything hurt; everything moved.

Clawing for purchase with her torn fingernails, she managed to snag something soft and silken. It was pink. Ashes of roses.

Constance’s gown.

Bang.

A heavy weight crashed against the door and she realised Constance was still there, being dragged along with her.

She cried out for her sister, but there was no response except for the banging. She thought of the tippet, pulled taut around Constance’s throat like a noose, and she began to choke. It could not be happening. None of this could be real.

Another object smacked her on the temple. Pinpricks danced before her eyes. She could hear screaming, endless screaming, and she yearned for it to stop …

All at once, it did.

There was a deafening crack. For a moment she felt weightless, free; and in the next her body smashed against what must have been the door.

She did not hear a splash; only glass fracturing beneath her. Ice-cold, turbid water gushed in around her legs.

‘Constance!’ she cried. ‘Constance, are you still there?’

Then everything turned to black.

CHAPTER 37

After a long struggle, Agnes has reached a plateau. For the first time since her pneumonia, time does not pass in fits and starts; rather, it has become a paddle steamer that drifts gently, carrying her with it. Or perhaps that is Simon’s medicine.