Miss West watches her stand, one hand outstretched to catch her in case she should fall again. ‘That’s all right. And what will you do, ma’am? About your friend?’

‘I am not certain.’

She touches Agnes’s shoulder. Her flesh feels startlingly warm through the black fabric of her gown. ‘You should talk to the Sylph. Honestly, ma’am. Just to know for sure.’

Agnes gives a thin smile. ‘And what is the price for a consultation with the dead, these days?’

‘For you? I’d take sixpence. Just this once, mind.’

Half a shilling! Half the price of a shade, for a piece of mummery. But she must not be rude to Miss West in her own house.

‘I will think upon it,’ she says.

‘Make sure you do. Miss … ?’

It surprises Agnes to realise she has come inside Miss West’s home, heard her secrets, and not even given her own name. She was taught better manners than that.

For a second she considers inventing an alias, just in case the police come to hear of her visit, but her imagination fails her. ‘Darken. My name is Agnes Darken.’

It is clear she has made a mistake.

Miss West removes her hand from Agnes’s shoulder. A change comes over her, like a veil dropped across a bonnet.

Is the young woman literate? Could she have read the newspaper article describing Mr Boyle’s murder?

‘Well, you know where I am if you want me, Miss Darken,’ she mutters.

Chastened, Agnes leaves the house. She thought she would enjoy being free of that close, stale air but the streets are as chaotic as ever: the rattle of wheels and the cries of the hawkers a rude awakening.

There was something soothing about that parlour which she cannot put her finger on. A feeling of being outside of herself, wrapped in Miss West’s voice.

Agnes had thought that she was lying when she told the girl she would think about the séance. But she does.

She thinks about it all the way home.

CHAPTER 10

Most girls of Pearl’s age and station share a bed with their sisters. She’d like that. But Myrtle’s always reluctant for them to bunk together, even when Pearl is poorly. She says it’s important that they each have their own space.

The problem is, Pearl’s bedchamber isn’t exactly a space to boast about. The wainscot is chipped, mould buds on the ceiling and a thick, dusty curtain covers the small window – Pearl’s not sure it’s ever been washed, or even drawn back. There’s a dark wardrobe, which looks alarmingly like the cabinet in the parlour and is mostly full of Myrtle’s belongings.