Simon inhales. Clearly, he has been deliberating this for some time. ‘It is a great deal to ask of you. I will understand if you object. But given the circumstances, perhaps it would be better for us both. A new leaf, without memories.’

She cannot think what he means. She blinks at him. The air smells of cooling meat.

‘Our marriage would be possible on the Continent. I thought perhaps we could go to Switzerland, or Italy? The climate would be ideal for your lungs. It may even prevent your pneumonia from returning, and you know my work could continue without significant interruption. There are so many English families travelling in those parts that I would never want for patients.’ His eyes slide away. ‘I knew it was useless to ask while Captain Montague … You were always adamant he would come back for you. But now he is truly gone, and I noticed … you have stopped wearing your ring.’

‘You want us to leave Bath?’

‘I understand it is not a decision to be made in haste. You will require time to deliberate.’

Trepidation clutches at her. Bath is all she has ever known.

Can she really leave?

She always dreamed that she would one day; that she would stop living like one of her silhouettes, forever encased within its oval frame. She thinks of Pearl, who spent her whole life in the dark. It would be awful to end up like that.

‘I do not want time, so much as courage, Simon. I have mastered the hot baths, but facing a sea voyage, after what happened to me …’

‘I would be there to protect you, as I was fourteen years ago.’

A spot at the centre of her glows. Simon has always been there, shielding her. And now he is offering her a version of the future she always wanted. She will be on board a ship, cutting across the sea towards new adventures, albeit in the opposite direction to the one Montague intended to take her.

‘Would Morpheus be seasick, do you think?’ she asks coyly.

She smiles at Simon and it works like a tonic. He has known her long enough to realise this is a tacit acceptance.

He throws his napkin down on the table. He appears handsomer, in his happiness, than she has ever seen him look before. ‘Come to the tree, Miss Darken. Dinner can wait – I have a gift for you.’

Agnes obeys, feeling outrageously light and young. Was it really this simple, all along?

The fir tree stands in a pot upon a circular table, adorned with candles, silvered nuts and strings of scarlet berries. Two oranges sit beneath it for their dessert. There is a greasy-looking parcel which she knows is a pig’s ear for Morpheus, and a small shagreen box she did not observe before.