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Temperance reached into her handbag and took out a piece of paper and a pencil. She drew a quick sketch before turning it around. ‘Do you remember this?’

It stopped me dead. Of course I remembered it. ‘That’s … that’s the symbol we found in the study at Tithe Hall. The one in Conrad’s papers.’

It wasn’t much – just an upside-down triangle with the lines overlapping where they met. But my skin prickled just at the sight of it. I’d been thinking about that symbol for months. It was the effect it had on Miss Decima that did it: it was the first time that I had ever seen her lost for words.

Temperance tapped the symbol. ‘That’s what she’s been getting me to do. She’s been sending me on jobs all over the country, always about different people … but, wherever I go, they always involve this symbol somehow. I’ll find it scrawled in the margins of some book she gets me to steal, or written in invisible ink on letters I’ve intercepted, or daubed on the walls of some awful, abandoned house in the middle of nowhere.’ She swallowed. ‘I think she’s frightened of it.’

She was right. Miss Decima hadn’t been scared when someone murdered her nephew or when Temperance was aiming a crossbow at her, but she’d been scared when she found that symbol in Conrad’s study. Petrified, even.

‘It’s what she had me doing on Saturday, too,’ Temperance continued. ‘She got me to break into Sir William Crace’s mansion and search for it in his personal effects.’

It took a moment for it to sink in. ‘Crace’s mansion? The one that got blown up?’

Temperance nodded. ‘Clearly, she thinks that his death has something to do with that symbol. Whatever it means.’

I glanced back at the drawing: three lines intersecting. I’d spent months thinking about it, but now it was in front of me again, I could finally see what it was. ‘It’s the Shears of Atropos.’

Temperance stared at me blankly.

‘There was a book in the library at Borstal about the Greek myths,’ I explained. ‘There were these women – three sisters, called the Moirai – who decided your fate. Everyone’s life is just a piece of string, you see. One sister spins it, another sister measures it and the third one – Atropos – cuts it with her shears. She chooses when you die.’ I traced the triangle with my finger. ‘See? It’s a pair of scissors, cutting a taut string.’

Temperance frowned. ‘Huh. Three women.’

I shuffled on my chair. First the Bacchae, now the Moirai. That made me feel funny, that did. It wasn’t just the story that had me on edge either. The atmosphere in the pub was starting to feel strange. I felt like I could hear every breath, every shoe scraping on the floorboards. Every time I glanced over my shoulder, I was certain that someone looked away. ‘Did you find the symbol in Crace’s papers, then?’

Temperance snorted. ‘Of course not. That mansion is just ash. The fire burned so hot, they had to identify Crace’s body through his dental records. The study was hit worst of all: not a shred of paper left.’

It was exactly what Peter had told me the other night. I sipped my lemonade thoughtfully. ‘Watts – the dead policeman – was working on the Crace case. He’s the one who realized that it wasn’t an accident. Maybe the people who killed him are the same ones who killed Sir William. And they’re just using the suffragettes as a billy goat.’

Temperance was silent for a while. ‘You meant scapegoat, didn’t you?’

I took another sip of my lemonade and let my ears roast.

‘It’s a bit far-fetched,’ said Temperance. ‘There are loads of reasons why someone would want to kill Sir William. He owned land all over the colonies. When he was an MP, he pushed for tougher sentences for political prisoners. He voted against Irish Home Rule, too. That’s a lot of different people to rile up.’ She swigged her gin. ‘And he voted against female suffrage. Which would give those suffragettes a perfectly good reason to kill him, too, if you ask me.’

I frowned. ‘But Sir William lost his seat over a year ago. Why murder him now, when he can’t do anything?’ I scowled. ‘In fact – why murder him at all?’

Temperance frowned. ‘Pardon?’

I waved my arms with frustration. ‘What point does it make, going around killing people who do things you don’t like? Being angry at how things are and wanting to change them is all well and good, but you can’t just murder someone because of it, can you? It’s not right.’

‘Things can’t always be right, Stephen,’ Temperance snapped. ‘You’re asking for society to change, but only if nobody gets hurt. That’s not how revolutions work.’ She paused for a moment and took another sip of her gin. ‘Do you remember Lady Bulwer-Lytton?’

Of course I did. I read about her in the paper for Miss Decima. ‘She dressed up working class for a suffragette protest, called herself Jane Wharton and got herself arrested.’

Temperance nodded. ‘When she’d been arrested as Lady Bulwer-Lytton, the police couldn’t have treated her better – bowing, asking for permission. But when she was the seamstress Jane Wharton, they were brutal. Force-fed her, choked her, slapped her, chucked her out on the streets. She wrote a report about it for the government and, sure enough, they changed the laws on force-feeding.’ She took another swig of her gin. ‘Sometimes, when things are unfair, people have to get hurt. Because people are being hurt already. The difference is, you just don’t hear about it.’

She made to put her glass down, then seemed to change her mind and drained the rest of it in one.

‘On that topic – sorry for trying to kill you,’ she said quickly. ‘Twice. I didn’t want to, and I wasn’t happy about having to do it either. For what it’s worth, I’m very glad you didn’t die. Anyway, we’re colleagues now. So we should at the very least try to get on.’

I stared at her in disbelief. ‘That’s your apology?’

She rolled her eyes. ‘For heaven’s sake, Stephen, stop fussing like a fucking nursemaid.’

It was a spot-on impression of Miss Decima – Temperance had always had a knack for voices. I couldn’t help but laugh at her audacity. It takes guts to tell someone off for not forgiving you for trying to kill them, and then make a joke about it. I was reminded, once again, that she and Miss Decima were related.

‘How did she even find you?’ I asked. ‘Miss Decima, I mean.’