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setting the note down and resting her head in her hands for a moment. ‘I am afraid you are conjecturing what my lungs would look like in a jar.’

    Crowther had picked up the newspaper again and was reading a report of fears for brave Cornwallis and his gallant little army at Yorktown.

    ‘I do not think, Mrs Westerman, the preparation of a human lung I own could be improved upon at this time,’ he remarked mildly. ‘So you may rest easy. I have, in fact, been regretting that the excitement of our success last week when I spoke to the Royal Society seems to have dissipated so quickly. I expected you still to be pleased. But you do not seem it.’

    ‘ Your success, I think. And being told my company is injurious to my husband’s health has not cheered me.’

    ‘I gave your insights and investigative abilities their due. The gentlemen were properly impressed by our success in finding out the mysteries of “a certain great house in Suffolk”.’

    Harriet raised her eyebrows. ‘Yes, I got the impression afterwards that you must have been quite generous, since a remarkable number of men in bad wigs and stained coats took the opportunity to be introduced to me and patronise me a little while we drank tea. Their wives approached me as if they feared I would stink still of the dissecting room.’ She fidgeted in her chair like a child confined to a schoolroom on a hot day. ‘And it seems ridiculous that on these occasions we cannot refer to Thornleigh Hall by its name. Everyone knows the story. Rachel is constantly having to hide the more hysterical pamphlets detailing the circumstances from the children.’

    ‘Such are the conventions. And I must say you are most un generous in your description of my colleagues. There were mavericks and thinkers there enough to excite even your admiration, I believe.’

    Harriet made no reply, and looking again at Mr Pither’s note had to admit to a certain grudging admiration of the way Mr Palmer had engineered the invitation to examine the body. But she put the letter down with a sigh.

    ‘What could I possibly contribute to this matter that you could not manage better and much more properly alone, Crowther?’

    Crowther realised where her thoughts had led her and gave the question some consideration. Mrs Westerman was certainly right. It was neither her profession, nor her proper sphere to enquire into the deaths of strangers, nor to bring murderers to justice, although as the pamphlets she mentioned had recorded in great detail, she had done so in the past. He considered briefly the possibility of going alone to Justice Pither’s house, but it occurred to him – and it was not pleasant to consider it – that he would not, in fact, be of very much use to the Magistrate or to Mr Palmer without Mrs Westerman. He had spent many years in the study of the human body, and had a particular interest in the marks and traces violence leaves on its victims, but he lacked Mrs Westerman’s ability to power forward into other people’s lives, asking questions, conjecturing as to their motives. He had tried in his early adulthood to remove passion from his soul with study, scalpel and syringe. It had been only a partial success, but he had winnowed himself to the extent that he still needed to borrow her warmth ‒ if she had any left to spare him. The idea that she might desert him entirely made him uneasy. He was rich, an acknowledged expert in his field, but he needed her y a woman designed by society only to run a household and amuse herself ‒ to turn his expertise into something of practical use. It was somewhat humbling. He examined his cuffs.

    ‘In the initial examination of the body, perhaps not a great deal, madam. But you have a certain animal intelligence that I occasionally lack. Further to that, you do not look well. You are a creature used to activity, and simply writing letters about your husband’s health is not activity enough.’

    She glanced at him, and