‘Hush, now. Hush, dear child. I do not wish to cause you trouble. But you see, there was a message for me, from the beyond. You began to tell me at the séance, but unfortunately you were taken ill and I did not have the opportunity to hear it in full.’

‘Sorry. I don’t remember what that message was. It wasn’t me speaking. I can’t just turn it on and off like the gas. I wish I could …’ Her throat’s closing up. What a failure she is. Don’t let her cry. Not in front of this nice lady.

‘Oh, come now. None of this!’

To Pearl’s astonishment, Agnes gets up from the sofa and holds out a hand to her. She freezes, wanting but unable to accept it.

Her hesitation doesn’t matter in the end, because the lady crouches down beside her chair anyway and wraps one arm around her shoulders.

‘I imagine all these spirits must be rather frightening for you. I was scared of them myself, and I am … well, a woman grown! You can only be about the age of my nephew. He is twelve years old.’

‘I’m eleven,’ Pearl snuffles.

‘Eleven! My, oh my. And so accomplished already! Your father must be very proud of you.’

She worms a little closer to the lady who smells of faded paper and dry ink, like a well-thumbed book. ‘Does he look like you? Your nephew?’

‘Oh, no. Cedric is handsome, like his father. He was a naval officer and every bit as dashing as you can imagine.’

Pearl grins. She’d like to see this nephew. Young men rarely attend the séances, and none of them are comely. Mr Stadler thinks he is, but he’s not. ‘Just like my uncle. I never met him, but Myrtle says he was in the navy.’

‘As was my papa. Many naval men settle in Bath.’

‘Maybe all three of them were on the same ship, once upon a time. Where’s Cedric’s father stationed now?’

The muscles tighten in Agnes’s face. It looks like she’s about to say something, but then she just shakes her head. ‘Cedric is an orphan. I look after him and his grandmamma. So you understand why I do not have a great deal of money …’

‘Neither do we,’ Pearl points out.

‘However, I can offer you something. A useful service in exchange for your own. Altogether, it is probably worth far more than you can earn in a dozen séances.’

‘You’d have to ask Myrtle …’

Agnes shakes her head. ‘Oh, no, my dear. This would be just between us. Our own séance, in secret.’

Her chest constricts. She feels as scared as if Myrtle were sat opposite her, listening to this conversation. ‘I can’t—’