‘No talking through me,’ Pearl orders whatever she sees in the darkness. ‘I don’t want to be possessed this time. You can speak to me with knocking. Three raps for yes, one for no. Two if you’re not sure.’

Agnes feels a tremor in the small hands – or is it in her own?

Pearl closes her eyes and waits. Agnes does not feel comfortable doing the same. Whatever takes place here tonight, she needs to see it.

‘Is anyone there?’ Pearl calls softly.

Silence replies.

Time seems to stretch. The house groans, settling. Five, perhaps ten minutes pass.

Eventually, Agnes tires of staring at Pearl and begins to study the leprous walls of the room. They are misty, blurring together. She can just make out a faint outline where a cupboard must have stood, and dirty prints smeared across the floorboards.

Nothing in this abandoned chamber reminds her of the downstairs parlour with its theatrical paraphernalia, but there is a similar sensation: a current seething beneath the surface, just waiting for someone to tap into it.

Pearl’s breath comes in gentle bursts.

The hours of standing in a wardrobe are beginning to take their toll. Agnes feels her own eyelids begin to close in spite of herself. She could, she could let them fall, ever so briefly …

But then the atmosphere shifts.

There is no sound, no movement, yet all at once it feels as though someone has stepped inside the room.

‘Are you there?’ Pearl asks again. This time, her voice shakes.

Knock. Knock. Knock.

They flinch so violently that they nearly break the circle. The sound comes from the wall behind Pearl and ripples out to where they sit; Agnes feels the vibrations in her knees.

‘Mother?’ Pearl gasps.

Knock.

Desperately, Agnes tries to gather her scattered thoughts. One rap meant no. It is not Pearl’s mother. That can mean only one thing. She pushes words through the fear that congests her throat. ‘You are here for me.’

Knock. Knock. Knock.

Each tap hits her like a physical blow. Her hands are drenched in sweat and slip within Pearl’s.

‘Ned—’

Knock.

‘Mr Boyle?’

Knock.

‘Please! I need your help. I need you to tell me who killed you and—’

Knock. Knock.

Pearl’s glassy eyes shine out of the darkness, wide with amazement. ‘Two knocks. That means they don’t know.’

‘You must know something! Anything. Why else would you be here?’ Agnes is speaking too loudly but she cannot control herself; the words will either come with force or not at all. ‘Please help me. Give me some clue! My nephew, my little nephew may be in terrible danger—’

The ash in the fireplace ignites.

Agnes’s voice drains away. She can feel the heat from across the room as the flames leap and claw upwards.

‘What’s that?’ Pearl twists around to see, pulling Agnes with her.

Shadows flee across the plaster like a fantascope.