‘I doubt Miss West would approve of my tender. She dislikes doctors. No doubt she means to treat your father in quite another way … Although I am sorry to say, her experiments will be doomed to failure.’

‘My father?’ Pearl echoes, confused.

‘Yes. Miss West told me that the unfortunate man suffers from phossy jaw as a result of his work in a factory. A terrible, terrible condition.’ She tuts sympathetically. ‘But all is not lost. My brother-in-law is a renowned surgeon. At a word from me he could perform an operation, free of charge, to cure your father.’

It’s like a ray of sun has come out from behind a cloud: beautiful – but terribly painful. Pearl flinches as she would from the real thing.

‘You could … do that?’

‘Together we could. It is the only way to help him, you know. He cannot be saved without an operation.’

A cure for Father.

A cure.

Myrtle’s voice snaps in her ear: ‘Butchers, the lot of ’em.’ Yet Pearl’s never believed that. Father was happy to see the doctor who sent them to Bath in the first place, and he told her, before he lost the ability to talk, that he wanted to consult a surgeon.

She’s dizzy. An hour ago, she would have said she’d never dare to cross Myrtle for anything.

‘How would we even …’ she starts.

‘The operation could not be performed here, of course,’ Agnes acknowledges. ‘We would wait for your sister to leave, like I did today, and then the doctor and I would come to take your father somewhere more …’ She casts an eye around the parlour, searching for a word. ‘Salubrious.’

Pearl doesn’t know what that means, but she understands Father would be somewhere safe – maybe like a hospital – and Myrtle wouldn’t be able to do a thing about it.

What a traitor she is. But Father …

It feels like she’s being split in two.

‘Won’t Mesmerism cure him?’ she asks hopefully. ‘Myrtle says it can.’

Agnes turns down her mouth and shakes her head. ‘Oh, my dear. Mesmerism is all very well in its way. But diseases of this nature are rather more complicated than that.’

Are they? How would Pearl know? She’s never felt so stupid in her life. She can’t read, and Myrtle doesn’t tell her everything. Even the ghosts say their piece while she’s in a trance.

‘Your sister is remarkably talented within her remit,’ Agnes says kindly. ‘Yet even you must admit that she has never studied medicine, or attended a university.’

‘She taught herself.’

Agnes observes her with pity. What must she think? That Pearl’s some poor simple girl with no brain between her ears?