Beatrice glanced at her. ‘Whatever h-happens with the c-competition,’ she said. ‘I w-will not be s-staying here. England is n-no p-place for m-me.’ Her voice took on almost a defensive tone as she went on, ‘I h-have protected the b-books.’

She opened the door to the library and waved Rosa through. The room looked almost the same as before, except for the dozens of white spiders busily spinning their webs from every surface. The chandelier above was so cocooned that it barely shed any light at all, and Beatrice was forced to light several candles that had been placed around the room. A fire still burned in the grate and she asked Rosa to sit in one of the armchairs beside it. She threw on a couple of logs and then left her for a moment to fetch a bowl of clean water and some bandages.

‘The s-servants have g-gone,’ she told Rosa as she set the bowl down. ‘The house. Is not f-fit. For people. I s-see that.’

Beatrice gestured at Rosa’s hand and she held it out wordlessly. This time she was able to unclench her fingers and let the other woman draw the shard gently from her skin. It was not a deep cut, and it did not take long to wipe away the blood and wrap it with a clean bandage.

‘I am s-sorry about your c-clockwork p-pug,’ Beatrice said as she tied off the end.

‘What do you mean?’ Rosa asked, her eyes fixed on the nearest spider, spinning its beautiful web from the arm of the opposite chair – an intricate portrait of a majestic raven.

‘I expect Eu-Eustace is to b-blame for his absence.’

Rosa tore her eyes from the web and looked down at Beatrice.

‘What makes you say that?’

Beatrice took a deep breath. ‘I w-went into the p-plum rain,’ she said. ‘J-Just once.’

Her grey eyes met Rosa’s and something wordless seemed to pass between them. Rosa saw that Beatrice understood – truly understood – what her life at Raven Hall was like.

‘You saw the life where you had married Eustace,’ she said.

Beatrice nodded. ‘He is a b-beast.’

‘He is a wild pig of a man. And yes, he destroyed Cookie. I think, if he could, he would destroy everything that I hold most dear.’

It was a strange, miserable sort of relief to say it to someone who would understand – the only other person in the world who truly could.

Beatrice nodded. ‘He d-did the same to my b-black apple trees,’ she said. ‘In the other l-life. I am t-truly s-sorry.’

‘That is kind of you,’ Rosa replied. ‘But it doesn’t help me in any way. Oh, please. If you really know what life with Eustace is like, then won’t you reconsider withdrawing from the competition?’

Beatrice did not reply, but stood up and began folding the bandages into neat, precise piles.