She smiled. ‘You take gallantry to a higher elevation, Ambrose.’

But she basked in it, a little.

‘I try to, dear lady, I try to. Now, what may I do for you?’

‘Intelligence. No, do not pretend you are not the repository of all that is, was and ever will be in this hospital, for I will not believe it.’

‘Now you flatter me.’ But his eyes sparkled.

‘I speak no more than the truth.’

And now came the moment when pleasantries ended and the purpose of her visit must be revealed. And how extraordinarily hard it was to bridge that moment—for to reveal the purpose of her visit risked revealing herself. Her mouth had gone dry but she did not take up her teacup again, fearing her hand would shake.

But on she plunged for she was set on a certain course and would not waver from it.

‘I am curious about an unfortunate young woman who was brought into the hospital in the custody of the police a week or so ago and whose future, we are led to believe, is in a precarious state, not least because she is gravely ill and does not wake.’

Winks nodded slowly as she spoke, and he now sat back in his chair and placed his hands together over his stomach. The lines on his face were deep and numerous like the rings of an ancient oak.

‘I know the particular case of which you speak. It is, as you say, a most unfortunate case. What is it you wish to know?’

‘Does the woman live?’

And thus was the most momentous question asked in so simple a way, as though it meant little, as though nothing at all hung on the reply.

‘Yes. She lives.’

The reply came and nothing changed in the world and nothing changed in Eleanor’s expression, although both had altered in a subtle and infinite way.

‘A recovery appears more likely than not,’ said Winks. ‘She was insensible for some days but now has regained a little of her wits. Though her condition is still grave and may yet prove fatal.’ Eleanor was silent for a time. She did not know if she had desired Miss Trent to die or to live. Now that she had her answer she realised that what she desired meant nothing, that it would not alter the course of any lives, except perhaps her own.

‘Is she aware of her surroundings, of her … predicament?’

‘That I cannot say.’

‘And what of that? The police charge? It is an extremely serious one?’

‘Indeed. As I understand it, the charge—’ And here the old gentleman hesitated delicately and gave her a look he might have reserved for the seventeen-year-old monarch were she here in his rooms. ‘Eleanor, I do not mean to be coy, but you do understand the nature of the charge?’

‘I do.’