Miss West cocks her head. ‘My dad was a soldier. Dunno about the navy, though I should. Had an uncle in the service.’ Agnes opens her mouth to speak, but Miss West cuts her off again. ‘And it’s no use you explaining all the stripes and whatnot now, ma’am. To be honest, the coat was that torn up, I didn’t even realise what it was until later on.’

Agnes grips the arm of her chair. She must see this through, no matter how painful the details. ‘Perhaps … the age of the man?’

A sigh. Miss West’s expression softens, along with her voice. ‘The thing is … A drowned body ain’t a pretty sight, ma’am. It swells something awful. Don’t look like the person no more. Even the hair … I mean it’s darker when it’s wet. Looked kind of sandy to me, but …’

The girl speaks with her hands. Not nervously; these are no fluttering birds but swift, decisive motions that sweep Agnes with them. She is grateful to have them to focus upon. The words are a buzz in her ears, for she knows exactly what Miss West is talking about: she too has seen a corpse pulled from the water.

Softened, puffy. The flesh spreading out of its firm lines.

‘… do you see what I mean? Ma’am?’ Then, sharper, ‘Ma’am?’

Strong arms catch her out of the swoon. Agnes has a vague sensation of being moved and having her feet elevated. The next thing she feels is water against her lips. Forcing its way in, as if she is back in the river … She splutters.

‘Easy, now,’ Miss West croons. ‘Take a drink. It’ll bring you round.’

Reluctantly, Agnes does. Her vision returns. Miss West offers a teasing smile.

‘I see, now, why you didn’t go to the mortuary.’

She is not amused; she feels like a colossal fool. Why does she keep charging about on these mad errands, instead of following Simon’s advice to stay home and rest? Perhaps he has been right all along. Perhaps she does need someone to care for her, to tell her what to do. She makes such a hash of things alone.

She tries to sit up, but Miss West pushes her back down. ‘Not yet. Give it a minute.’

‘Sorry,’ Agnes murmurs. ‘I must seem terribly weak.’ Then, feeling some explanation is necessary, ‘That was how she died, you see. My sister. She … well. Her body was recovered from the Avon.’

She is surprised to see Miss West’s face, which until now she thought rather sharp, melt into understanding. ‘Terrible thing for you.’ After watching her a moment, Miss West adds, ‘I can see it. That dusky, ash of roses colour. Like a wound slowly bleeding in water. It left its mark on your aura, didn’t it?’

Agnes is too astonished to reply.