‘You know, of course, that spinsterhood is an unnatural state,’ the doctor said, rather sternly. ‘It is well known to us in the medical profession for causing all kinds of health problems in women, from uterine disorders and selfish tendencies, to brain fever and hysterical outbursts. It sounds to me as if you are simply suffering from a feminine case of the vapours.’

Beatrice’s face burned. Could he possibly be right? Might this be something she had brought upon herself with her unnatural behaviour? Yet he had not asked her how long she had had these wretched spells, and she wanted to explain that she’d suffered from them since her early teenage years, in case that made any difference to his prognosis. But her tongue was a lump of welded lead in her mouth and she doubted she’d be able to get any further words out in front of this man now.

‘I shall prescribe you a dosage of opium,’ he said, turning back to his desk. ‘I’m confident that will help to some extent, even if we cannot treat the underlying cause.’

The spinsterhood, in other words – one of the greatest shames a woman could own. Beatrice left the building with her head down, her cheeks flushed and her glass bottle of little pills clutched tightly in her sweating hand.

CHAPTER FOURTEEN

August 1837

Rosa looked up from her sketch as the clockwork pigeon landed on her work desk. She’d tried sending another letter to Beatrice but, as expected, the pigeon had come back empty-handed. At first Rosa had felt irritated by her friend’s long silence, but now she had started to feel concerned instead. What if something had happened to Beatrice? She seemed to travel about as she pleased, like a seed caught in the wind, with no set schedule that Rosa was aware of. If some accident were to befall her, then who would be any the wiser? She felt as if she ought to notify someone, but who? She didn’t even know which country Beatrice was currently in …

But then something pieced together in her head and she stared at the pigeon in surprise. It was normally gone for days, if not weeks, whenever she sent a message to Beatrice, but this time it had been gone for barely an hour. Furthermore, there were traces of dark blossom on its wing tips. A blossom that smelled of rain and purple berries. Could Beatrice possibly have returned to Half Moon House without telling anyone?

Rosa wasn’t going to waste any time before finding out. She had reluctantly given in to custom and gone into confinement, now that her pregnancy was apparent. To her dismay, the doctor had told her he thought she was carrying twins, and she was already large enough that she could never get comfortable for very long.