‘I need to think,’ he says. ‘I need to think very carefully.’
At three o’clock in the morning, the sun has crossed the celestial equator and Finn’s thoughts come into alignment. He knows what must be done. The weakest of them must grow to be the strongest. He lifts the lid of a round, porcelain container, where in addition to his French letters, he keeps a stash of hand-rolled cigarettes, lights one, and takes a couple of drags before he stamps it out. He silently curses that moderation was forced on him; an irony of their condition. Clovis hasn’t come home tonight. She’s probably purloined some poor fellow’s heart for a few hours. She satisfies her needs without stealth or apology. Finn is more careful these days, more discreet, and generous. He no longer pays for sex, but when he has a little extra cash he goes to King’s Cross, where once more the bones of London’s dead have been dug up during renovation, and where, behind the city’s new attempt at glamour, the women still work the night. He gives them a few quid and walks away. Young women are attracted to him; could be what is left of his swagger, or his indifference, because he won’t go with them. He’s surprisingly uncomfortable with any woman under forty. Each morning when he shaves and meets his thirty-three-year-old reflection, there’s something behind his eyes that pierces him with his true age.
Taking advantage of Clovis’s absence tonight, Finn knocks on Willa’s door, then Rafe’s.
‘Sorry to wake you,’ he says, when they both stand drowsy in front of him.
‘It’s no surprise. You’ve been weird since you two came back from Mockett’s. Tea?’ Willa asks.
‘Let’s talk first.’ Finn locks the annex door and leads them to the conservatory.
Willa’s questioning, sleep-puffed eyes settle on Finn. The blank sky hides its mysteries like the man pacing before her.
‘Where do we begin?’ Rafe asks Finn.
‘Oh no. What is it?’ Willa holds her fingers to keep them still.
‘Willa, when we were in Millbank – I know you don’t like to talk about it and I’m sorry – but this is important,’ Finn says.
‘Okay, okay, what?’
‘Did Clovis ever mention a woman named Henrietta Martin?’
The colour drains from Willa’s face.
‘How … how … do you know about her?’ she stammers.
‘Mockett received a letter from her … back then.’
‘Mockett? What is he to do with Henrietta Martin?’ she asks.
‘How did Clovis know her?’
‘Matron let Clovis out of our cells at night. She was allowed in the darks. She said Henrietta Martin was a case study. You know, for her hypnosis practice.’
‘Well, I’ll be fucked,’ Finn says.
‘She’ll kill me if she finds out I told you.’
‘Why? What’s the secret? If matron let her out …’
‘Matron was following orders.’
‘Whose?’
Willa gives him a blank look.
‘The governor’s?’
‘Don’t make me say it, Finn.’
When Rafe and Finn relay the contents of Henrietta’s letter, Willa’s old companion tries to possess her and she closes her eyes and breathes out the impulse to rock. Poor Mrs Mockett. Mrs Mockett who had been so kind to her, who once gave her a pot of ointment for her raw hands. Rotten. Pure rotten.
‘There were nights at Millbank that I can’t remember,’ she says. ‘She talked me into such deep sleeps, dead-like, as if I’d been in the long sleep.’
‘Willa … there’s also Jonesy,’ Rafe says. ‘How he died.’
She nods. ‘I think I’ve always known. Jonesy would have told me if he’d hidden a phial. He would have offered it to me because he was kind to his core and he cared about me.’
‘There’s more.’ Rafe says.
It is just before dawn when Rafe tells Willa the results of the DNA test. Finn is relieved that Willa gives no sign that she was forced to participate in the charade of Rafe’s parentage.
‘I’m sorry,’ she manages. ‘It must be difficult for you both.’ She is preoccupied with the murderous charges made in the wincing hours of the morning, and this other is no news to her.
‘What will we do, Finn?’ she asks.
‘I’ve spent hours thinking, and have only been able to devise one plan. It would be dangerous for you, Willa.’
‘No! Don’t tell me anything more. She will wrench it out of me.’
‘She’s right, Finn,’ Rafe tells him. ‘So how do we proceed?’
‘Well, obviously we need to focus on finding the phials first. We’ve been lazy. No phials, no freedom. Willa, I’ll tell you as little as possible until you need to know more. Meanwhile, you have to keep working on strengthening your mind against her. Take your time, do whatever you need to do. Do you follow?’
‘I’ll try.’
‘Trying’s not good enough. You must do it.’
She nods, swallowing queasy fears.
‘We have to be patient. Once we find the phials, whenever that may be, then we can proceed.’
‘What can I do?’ Rafe asks.
‘Don’t change your behaviour in any way. Resist the testing like you normally do. We don’t want her sensing anything has changed.’
It’s seven in the morning when their talk dies down in the sharp, early-autumn air. Dead leaves swish up against the conservatory promising the coming of winter with each brutal kiss against the glass.
‘You can do this, Willa,’ Rafe encourages her. ‘You’ve managed to keep my fevers a secret from her.’
She nods, worried, and not at all sure she will be strong enough for whatever Finn plans.
Half an hour later Clovis arrives home to a tranquil, domestic scene in the kitchen. Rafe grills bacon while Willa lays the table. Finn looks up from his newspaper when Clovis appears in the doorway and buries his head again.
‘Breakfast?’ Willa asks her.
Clovis leans against the doorframe, her arms folded as if she’s observing a staged play. Her gaze stays with Willa.
The girl is changing and she prefers this version to the snivelling thing she was.She knows Willa tries to break away from her influence, and Clovis enjoys the challenge, it amuses her and relieves her boredom.
Willa feels Clovis’s eyes bore into her, and busies herself with making coffee. Do not react.
