She rubs at her forehead, as if she could erase the image of that slanted writing. ‘No, it was just pencil words … One asking if I had missed someone, and the paper in Cedric’s coat said “Mine”. As if they would claim our dear boy! I thought …’ She looks sheepishly at him. ‘There was a moment when I thought it might be Lieutenant Montague. That somehow he had found out … But he has no right, has he, no legal right? Nobody can prove …’

‘No, no,’ he says distractedly. ‘In the eyes of the law, Constance gave birth to my son. And much as I despise the man, I must do Lieutenant Montague the justice to say I do not consider him capable of murder.’

No. The pain he caused Agnes may have felt like death, but even his betrayal cannot convince her that he was a thoroughly bad man. He was young, easily swayed, far more equipped to navigate the ocean and the demands of a ship than the tempests of human relationships.

‘Yet someone is capable of it, Simon, and now they have turned their eye upon my family! Please, find the boy some work safely away from Bath. I do not care about anything else, so long as Cedric is not harmed.’

Simon seems to realise he is squeezing her fingers. He lets go of her hand, pats it. ‘Leave it with me. I will make enquiries.’

‘Is that all? And what am I supposed to do in the meantime? You are sure I should not take these notes to the police?’

‘On no account. That would only fuel gossip. Besides, a single word written in pencil cannot aid the investigation in any meaningful way.’ Always the slow crawl of a snail with him. It drives Agnes distracted. ‘Have some patience, Miss Darken,’ he counsels. ‘Wait for me to call upon you with more information.’

‘Wait?’ she echoes, indignant. ‘When my clients are being killed and my nephew is in danger – you expect me to just wait?’

Simon burdens her with a sad, sad smile. ‘You have waited all these years for Lieutenant Montague. You might at least give me a few days.’

CHAPTER 18

Pearl curls her fingers into her palms, fighting the urge to open her eyes. Just when she thought all her hope had tired, there’s this: a patting, a tapping.

This is the moment everything will change. Mother’s answering her at last. She just has to concentrate a little bit harder … But she’s already focusing so intently that it feels like her head will burst.

The tap comes again, in the same rhythm but louder, like the telegraph machine Myrtle told her about, beating out messages from important men in London to important men in India. Only this message is travelling further – not just across water but through the veil itself.

She hones in on the sound, leaning forward.

All at once there come three loud thuds.