But how different she looked. And perhaps that was death. It wiped away all disappointments and triumphs. The girl’s face was a blank, it said nothing about how she had got here, it offered no excuses and no recriminations. It was strange to gaze so long upon the face of a maid; it was not the correct way of things. What colour eyes had the girl had? Eleanor wondered. But she did not know. And now the girl’s eyes were closed.

A mother should be standing here, thought Eleanor; instead it is an employer. A former employer, though she did not say this to the man, Mr Erasmus. She had claimed Alice as her maid and denied the dismissal as though she could deny her own part in this death.

I believe I may be in some way responsible for this girl’s death.

But she could no more say these words than Alice could sit up now and accuse her. Alice did not need to accuse her. Eleanor pitched forward and put out her hands to the table edge to steady herself and Mr Erasmus leaped forward to take her arm, alarmed, she sensed, surprised—it was a maid, after all. But she wanted his pity, Eleanor realised, she yearned for his solace, his sympathy. The man must have it in him.

But it was only a maid.

She turned away and the man replaced the sheet over Alice’s face. And something about the way he had shown her only the girl’s face, not an inch more, troubled her.

‘I wish to know—can you tell me what happened to her?’

‘Her throat was cut.’

The period of time—a handful of seconds, no more—after which he said this did not exist. Eleanor found herself outside in the corridor.

He had come outside with her, this Mr Erasmus, he had closed the door behind him. He regarded her and his face, too, showed no excuses, no recriminations.

‘She was your maid,’ he said.

‘Yes.’

But it had not been a question. He had in his hand—crumpled, five years old now but still with its original envelope—the letter from the agency with the Dunlevys’ address on. Why keep such a thing? Had Alice had it with her when she died? Had she had all that she owned with her when she was killed?

They stood in silence.

‘When was she brought in?’ said Eleanor.

‘First thing this morning. Probably it happened last night.’

‘But—’ and Eleanor turned and looked directly at him ‘—there was a baby.’