‘The – the magnesium powder.’ Mr Collins holds up a tray that smokes. ‘Friends of mine have used it to great effect. Through spirit agency, the—’

‘If you’ve read so much, why don’t you know better? Mediumship takes a toll upon the Sensitive. She’s fragile.’

Pearl feels it. But it soothes her to hear the rumble of Myrtle’s voice through her bodice and sense her hand moving over her hair. Much as they squabble, Myrtle is the only mother she’s ever known.

‘Poor dear,’ frets Mrs Lynch. ‘Pass her this tea.’ Pearl drinks it greedily, her eyes squeezed shut. ‘I remember, Miss West, how Florence King weakened you. Those bad nights you spent with your nerves in tatters.’ She sighs. ‘Such is the price of great power.’

‘But if we can capture this,’ Mr Collins enthuses, undeterred, ‘if we could prove with an image what we witness here with the naked eye, it would alter everything! You must understand that? Our enemies will be forced to eat their words!’

‘No more flash powder tonight,’ Myrtle rules. When Mr Collins puffs with frustration, she adds, ‘Patience and care, sir. You don’t catch spirits with stomping feet.’

Gradually, Pearl can sit upright again. When she opens her eyes they feel raw, as if she’s peeled a layer of skin from the lids.

Mr Stadler crosses the room to take her hand. ‘Tell us what you feel equal to, Miss Meers. We all wait upon your convenience. But surely you will not send us home so early in the evening?’

She wants to snatch her hand away from him, but she doesn’t dare.

‘Last time,’ Myrtle tells them, ‘some friends and I sat in a circle and a spirit spoke through Pearl. Actually possessed her and used her mouth! I never heard her talk in such a deep voice before.’

‘What power,’ he marvels. ‘Most spirits, even the materialised ones, have no utterance.’

‘Can she materialise a ghost?’ Mrs Lynch pushes forward, brimming with excitement. ‘We might get Florence King back, or someone else entirely. What is your guide’s name, dear?’

Myrtle snaps upright. ‘The White Sylph has no need of a spirit guide.’

‘Do you remember, dear Miss West, how we used to blindfold you and tie you in the cabinet while you made Florence appear?’ Myrtle’s face says she remembers only too well. ‘We proved, beyond a doubt, that your gift was real.’

‘Are you proposing that we tie Miss Meers up also?’ Mr Stadler’s fingers tighten around Pearl’s hand. They are damp, as if the idea excites him. ‘In the name of experiment?’

‘What do you think might happen?’

The Society remind Pearl of dogs about to fall upon a bone. It’s too much; the volley of voices, the wide, eager eyes. She flings Myrtle a terrified glance.