I won't say I haven't travelled, but I think if my parents had lived, they probably would be a little disappointed that the urge to explore places outside of London had so far failed to materialise in their son. After my uncle's death, there was no real reason to travel to see family, and even before his death the family pile was still within the Home Counties. Professionally, I'd been to a few country manors in the vicinity of the capital, but like George, my knowledge of the geography of the United Kingdom was limited to the places I could colour on the photocopied map we were given in primary school.

Put simply, I knew roughly where Northumberland was, could look up which train station to use from the city, but I could tell you nothing about the county or its residents.

Fortunately, Kipps did. His educational pep talks started before we'd even begun packing.

"Before we start," he told us "You can forget all that 'it's grim up north' crap. The North-East has some of the most beautiful coasts and countryside in Europe, and the only reason why we have such strong accents is because it's so lovely we stay closer to home, so our dialects stay stronger."

"You're not from Northumberland, Quill." George pointed out. "What makes you a bleeding expert?"

"I said the North-East, Karim. My family have lived on Teesside for over two hundred years. Boro born and bred. Cut me, I bleed red."

Holly frowned. "Don't we all?"

George sighed. "He's talking about football, Hols. You know that ridiculous pastime which clogs up half of London twice a week. Ex-agents kicking a leather spherical object around for the 'entertainment' of the paying public until they are too decrepit to do even that. Maybe you should have gone back up North when you left Fittes, Kipps. Joined the Boro academy. Aren't your team middle table rubbish right now?"

Kipps' face coloured and I could see an explosion coming.

Holly and I exchanged a glance as I stepped in quickly. "Any chance you want to change places with me?" I asked. "I'm going to be babysitting this pair for the whole sodding journey."

She grinned. "Now that you come to mention it, not a chance!"

The gentle bickering between George and Kipps continued right up until the moment we boarded the train at Kings Cross. In fact, it even included the decision of which train we should board at Kings Cross. George favoured the West Coast mainline, with its newer rail stock. Kipps wanted to go via the East Coast mainline, which would take us closer to his birthplace. Both swore their route was quickest, until Holly intervened and discovered they took exactly the same length of time. I gave the victory to Kipps in the end. He didn't get many opportunities to go home, and even though we wouldn't be stopping in his home town, I knew he'd get a kick out of passing through familiar places. Plus, George had been at the Fittes Library all night and was so knackered I knew he'd sleep for most of the five-hour journey.

Sure enough, as soon as we'd left Holly on the platform and found our seats, George had rolled his coat up into a ball and settled to sleep in the corner. Kipps, meanwhile, looked excitedly out of the window.

And me? I slid the case folder George had put together over to my side of the train table and began to read George's notes.

Partly because I was bored.

Mainly because my thoughts were really back in Lewisham.

I've made the trip to Northumberland a few times since then, usually via the East Coast, and I've even gone further into Scotland. I've done the West Coast route too. Kipps is right. The North-East is sadly maligned when people talk about the grimness of the region. I've grown to love the area and its people.

One person in particular.

After the first few weeks of Lucy living at Portland Row, I stopped noticing her accent – until our little group (minus Lucy) travelled to her home county, and then it was a relief to hear familiar tones amongst the strangers I encountered, when the original was still in hospital in London.

Somewhere around Grantham, with George snoring against the window, Kipps straightened from his contemplation of the scenery and nodded at my case file.

"Anything useful?" He asked.

I closed the file and sat back in my seat.

"Mainly generic stuff."

Kipps snorted. "Now why doesn't that surprise me? London researchers can't be arsed with the northern version of the Problem." He held his hand up to forestall my protest. "I'm not talking about George or you. I'm just saying that you're unlikely to find quality information on Northumberland when you look in London archives. They may very well whack a great sign on the outside saying National archives. But the quality and quantity of case reports for the North-East are of a lower level than would be acceptable in the capital. We should get George to look at the local archives when we get there."

I jerked my head in George's direction. "I think he needs a good night's sleep first. Anyway, the report wasn't a total loss. Lucy's village is about thirty miles from Newcastle, not too far from Hadrian's Wall and the marshes."

Kipps nodded. "I remember her saying. A busy area, for the Problem anyway."

I agreed. "Yes. What with the Roman frontier, the civil war, coal mining and just general poverty, there are a lot of recorded ghosts nearby. No wonder her village had a sizeable agency."

"Do we know where her sister lives?"

I shook my head. "I found some old letters in the attic, but when I mentioned them to Luce, she told me she thinks her sister has moved since then. Thinks there's a boyfriend on the scene and that she's living with him now."

Kipps winced. "An added complication." He acknowledged. "Do we know anything about him?"

I shook my head. "No. I don't even know he exists for certain, and Lucy only mentioned him as I was leaving her room. I was in a bit of a hurry. I didn't want the desk nurse to start pushing buttons."

"Yes, that would have been unfortunate. I'm surprised they let you in to see her at all. Boyfriends visiting out of hours." He wiggled his eyebrows in a ridiculous manner.

I ignored the comment.

"What do you think Jessica means by Mary and Norrie being targets? Norrie's already ghost-touched. How much more damage can he do there?" I asked.

"Ezekiel's an unknown quantity. The more I hear about him, the more I agree with your sentiment that he isn't a ghost. Let's forget putting a label on him and talk military tactics."

I must have looked confused because Kipps chuckled.

"I only saw Ezekiel strutting his stuff when we were on the other side. You were involved in actually fighting him. Tell me how he fights."

As ever, Kipps was showing his own attention to detail which I often forgot existed. He could be every bit as intuitive as George sometimes, but he would never be a researcher, he was too interested in the combat side of things. With Quill what you got were momentary flashes of inspiration where his mind pulled useless bits of information together and wove them into battle-winning strategy. They weren't as elaborate as mine or George's plans, but they cut through the crap and got straight to the point.

I thought back to the fight with Marissa and Ezekiel. "Most of what I saw him do was similar to a poltergeist. Lots of picking stuff up and chucking it about. But I do remember Lucy telling me that he could do things with the air itself. You know, thickening it so that it didn't move in the normal way. Sometimes it was heavy and stationary. Sometimes it moved really quickly, like a heavy gust of wind."

"Like an air cannon?"

My eyes widened. "Yes, exactly like that. A strong psychic force. But with tentacles."

"Tentacles?" Kipps sounded as though I was taking the piss.

"Yeah, like an octopus. He uses them to control his subject. He would tie Marissa to him with golden ropes." I frowned. "But when he wanted to hurt someone, the ropes turned black, and he used them more aggressively."

"And what worked to push him back? To control him."

"Control is the wrong word. But he definitely didn't like the guns." I jerked my head in the direction of luggage rack above our heads where soft waxed cases held a variety of rapiers and some of the guns from Fittes House. Barnes had turned a blind eye to us walking out of the building with the guns in our hands. He knew we still had them, but they never came up in our debrief. I guessed he felt we were one of the few teams he felt were qualified to handle them. Put them in the DEPRAC arsenal and they might be handed to agents too green to be able to use them. However, George had managed to source some new ammunition from somewhere, so they were now part of the arsenal at Lockwood & Co.

"And the Skull used Spirit Wind against him in a similar way, so I guess giving him a taste of his own medicine was pretty successful."

"And you both defeated him by dealing with his source?"

I took a deep breath. "If that's what actually happened. Did he have a source? Yes. It was a jade bracelet that Marissa had found in an ancient grave when she was a kid. Ezekiel disappeared when Lucy managed to get the bracelet from Marissa's wrist and wrap it in a silver net. But we also know that Ezekiel wasn't contained by that action. That even if the bracelet was destroyed, Ezekiel still exists. Much like Skull still exists even though his source is toast." I was thoughtful for a moment. "I think the biggest lesson Lucy and I learned in that battle, however, was less about technique and more about teamwork. No one member of Lockwood & Co is strong enough or skilled enough to handle spirits of Ezekiel's calibre. We have to work as a team. It took Lucy, me, AND Skull to subdue Ezekiel and Marissa. Even then, we almost died because we didn't anticipate that Marissa was prepared to end her own life rather than see us win."

Quill fingered the papers on the table thoughtfully. "What about Marissa? I mean, yes she died but, is there the capacity for her to return as a spirit?"

The question made a cold trickle of fear run down my spine.

"I doubt it." A third voice interjected. It was George, turning his face from the window to regard us sleepily. "Firstly, they made bloody sure her mortal remains were contained in her mausoleum – which was upgraded with all the latest developments in grave integrity. I know, I was there when they did it. Secondly, that pet scientist of hers was desperate to spend eternity teaching her how to regret her life choices – particularly the decision to reward his loyalty with death. Burying her with his source was an important part of the Containment Plan. And thirdly, Marissa is now on the Other Side, surrounded by the spirits and ghosts who she has tortured for the past fifty years. I think she's going to be too busy dodging their retaliations to be focussing on returning to the mortal world." He shifted and sat upright. "But mostly, Marissa was pretty weak-willed. Everything you saw of her was Ezekiel. He was the puppet master. She was the marionette. I'd focus less on Marissa and more on who the next Marissa is going to be."

"But surely the next Marissa won't be like Lucy or Marissa. How many Listeners of that calibre are there?"

George shrugged and pulled a packet of crisps from his coat pocket. It had popped, so was flat, but that didn't seem to worry him.

"The most likely choice, as we've already discussed, is Lucy. She's convenient. He doesn't have to track her down. "But maybe he knows something about the Listening talent that we don't. Maybe it's hereditary. Maybe Mary has the potential to be a Type Three Listener too."

Kipps and I exchanged a horrified look.

"I don't think I like any of those scenarios." Quill admitted. George tipped the remaining crisp crumbles into his open mouth, choked a little and coughed.

"No, well. It's not our job to like it. In fact, the complete opposite. It's our job to stop it bloody happening."

We had to leave the Intercity 125 train at Newcastle and get a little shuttle train to take us out to Lucy's village. It was a two-carriage diesel which sounded and looked like a gas-guzzling bus. Dark green on the outside, wide utilitarian bench seats on the inside. The luggage racks were the woven corded variety which hung above our heads. Yet, they still seemed to spark a degree of joy in Kipps.

"If the North is so wonderful, Kipps, why did you leave?" George asked bluntly when we were about ten minutes into the journey. I was watching Quill's face when he said it, so I saw the dark cloud of emotion as it flittered in our older colleague's eyes. Then like the wipers on a car windscreen, I watched the cloud flicked to one side.

"I was desperate to come down and work with tossers like you, Karim. Why do you think?"

"Don't you miss your family?" Silently, I winced as George pushed more of Kipps' buttons.

Quill shrugged. "Only the aunt in York left. She writes occasionally."

"Ah yes! I remember!" George said brightly. "She sends fudge."

I tried to diffuse the situation. "Seriously, George can't you focus on something other than your stomach?"

"I was!" He protested. "I was trying to find out more about Kipps."

I kicked him under the table – except I missed.

"Ow! Jesus, Lockwood! It's not enough that Karim wants to interrogate me, now you're adding violence to insults."

I pulled a face in apology. "Sorry Quill. My foot slipped."

"Yeah. Right." He turned to the window.

I left him to it.

"Have we worked out where we are staying?" I asked to change the subject.

George nodded. "I've booked us into a little bed and breakfast in the high street. Nice old bird named Millicent runs it."

"What do you mean, you booked us in? Surely, Holly is better placed to organise that?" My suspicions were aroused. Why had Holly given way to George on something she was so good at?

"Hols was busy distracting DEPRAC, so I decided to handle it. Besides, there aren't very many places in the vicinity. This was the only one with any vacancies. She seemed glad of the booking, did Millicent. Apparently, she does a mean cooked breakfast, including black pudding."

"Lovely." I said without enthusiasm. "Led by your stomach…again. Oh well if it's not great we can get Holly on the case tomorrow. You did book THREE rooms, didn't you?"

George looked offended. "Of course! I'm not risking the whole 'Sun Inn' fiasco again."

Kipps looked up. "I'd rather sleep in a cattle shed with a bull than next to Karim."

I didn't bother to respond. It was clearly going to be a very long trip.

For the record, the bed and breakfast owner, "Call me Milly", was indeed very welcoming. So were all twenty-four of her cats.

We had arrived in Lucy's village at about tea-time. Just early enough for a bit of an explore before curfew. I was keen to make contact with our targets as soon as possible, but we needed to do it carefully and discreetly. Over a restorative cup of tea in the garden of Milly's cottage, more to avoid the cats than because it was nice weather, we paused to take stock.

"We have the Whites' address." I told my companions. "We could start there."

Kipps snorted. "Oh yeah, coz that's going to go down really well, isn't it? Three strange blokes turning up on their doorstep. 'Please Mrs White, I know we've never met you and you don't know us from Adam, but can we talk to you about your ghost-locked daughter?'" He sipped at his tea. "We need to build up trust, Tony. Not go in like a bull in a china shop. This needs a bit of finesse – and I don't just mean flashing that mega-watt smile in their faces. That kind of charm doesn't work up north."

He glanced over his shoulder as Milly came out with a plate of homemade biscuits, more cups, and a fresh pot of tea. To my surprise, Kipps stood, pulled back a chair and motioned for her to sit down at the table.

"Please Milly, join us. I'm sure you're gasping for a drink. You've clearly spent a lot of time preparing for our arrival. The least you can do is join us for one of your fine biscuits."

I exchanged a look with George. I failed to see the difference between my charm offensives and Kipps'. He was right though the biscuits were very good.

"A cannit sey naa te yor offer, like." The elderly lady had a strong Northern Eastern accent, but working with Lucy and Kipps all this time, softened her tones to my ear. I noticed Kipps' accent had grown thicker, but I couldn't tell if it was deliberate or just the fact he was conversing with someone only a city away from his own town.

Soon he was chatting happily away with her, about the countryside nearby and trips he had made north from Middlesbrough as a boy. Gradually, he brought the subject round to more local matters, but he made it feel as though Milly was leading the conversation.

"So what brings you up from London, pet? If you don't mind me asking?" She sipped at her tea, with a little finger extended in a way I'd never seen anyone do before.

Kipps straightened in his seat. "Work." He said simply nodding towards the rapiers we had laid down on the patio beside us.

Milly frowned. "Deprac are sending London agents north now?" She snorted. "Well, I can't say I'm surprised. That lot at Jacob's want lining up against a wall and shooting. Never been any bloody use, and that memorial…it's a disgrace."

I frowned and sat forward. "Jacob's? Are they still in business?"

Milly shrugged. "Technically not, I grant you. They changed hands a few times after that clart Jacobs finally did the right thing and dropped dead of fright. But we know. It's the same old rotten agency, exploiting our young because Deprac can't be bothered to invest in the correct inspection teams once you get above the Watford gap." She took another sip. "You've heard of Jacobs then?"

"A friend of ours comes from up this way." I half-explained. "Told us about an incident at a mill?"

Milly put her cup down with a clatter. She raised her hand to her chest.

"Oh, dear lord! You have heard about Jacobs! Yes, well. He should have been put out of business before that even happened. My grand-nephew was one of his agents about five or six years back. Died on the job, but Jacobs had a new agent in place within days." She was thoughtful. "Funnily enough, she was one of the agents involved in that mill case. She was the girl who survived. Poor mite."

George looked up from where he was contemplating the plate of biscuits.

"Poor mite?" He asked. "I thought folks round here didn't like her - she got the blame."

Milly sighed. "Exactly. My neighbours turned on their own as quick as anything. But as I see it, no one in their right mind would blame a bairn for a situation like that. That is what adult supervisors are for. And she was the youngest of the lot."

"You remember a lot about it." I commented. Milly nodded.

"It was all anyone talked about for months. None of us liked Jacobs. He was an old soak, but at the inquest, no one stood up against him." She looked thoughtful. "Except Lucy. She stood up and made herself heard. Got shouted down, of course. Jacobs was the main agency in the town. He had a monopoly on psychic work. If we took him out, what would we have instead? The parents blamed Lucy, because if they turned on Jacob's or Deprac they might lose their compensation."

Kipps sat forward. "Lucy wasn't the only survivor, though. Was she?"

Milly looked up in surprise. "What? Oh…technically not. That White girl was ghost-locked. Shame. She had the bad luck of the draw. The two girls both did. Parents weren't much cop. Lucy's parents were drunks, both of them. Too many kids and all girls! Norrie…well I wouldn't have wanted my daughter to grow up in that house. Father was a brute. Mother was a mouse. Still is, but he cleared off to the docks shortly after the mill incident happened. Took most of the compensation with him."

"And Norrie?" I asked with trepidation. George and I exchanged a look. I wouldn't know how to break it to Lucy if Norrie had passed.

Our landlady sighed. "Still…what is it they call it? Persis…something"

"Persistent morbid ghost lock." George filled in.

"Yeah, that's it. Poor woman. Mrs White I mean. If it had happened the other way around. If Mr White had buggered off before Norrie got hurt, things might have been different for mother and bairn. But life doesn't work like that, does it?"

"Are they still in the village?" I asked, trying to hold back my eagerness.

She nodded. "Down past the church. On the right-hand side. Little cottage with flowers at the windows. She loves her flowers, does Norrie. Or at least that's what her mother says. Scented stocks and honeysuckle just outside Norrie's window."

"There you go." George announced. "Scented stocks and honeysuckle. Or rather, it was honeysuckle and scented stocks earlier in the year. Bit run down now. "How do you want to play this, Lockwood? Kipps is right. We can't go in mob-handed."

I paused to think and as I did so, a middle-aged woman emerged from the cottage with a bag of rubbish. She glanced across at us in puzzlement and her eyes widened.

"Mr Lockwood?" She called across the road.

George raised an eyebrow and I started to walk across the street. Kipps put a hand on my arm.

"We'll make ourselves scarce. Have a walk around. Ask about a bit. See you back at Milly's?"

I nodded and continued across the quiet street. I opened the little iron gate set into the low wall. A path of crazed paving led to the door and as I walked up it, I smiled gently at the lady in front of me. I noted she was wearing a soft grey flannel dress, good quality but obviously bought to last rather than because it was fashionable.

"Mrs White?" I asked, though I knew the answer.

"Yes, pet. You are Anthony Lockwood, aren't you?"

I frowned. "Yes, but how did you…?"

She smiled. "I play Lucy's tapes to Norrie when they arrive. I don't mean to eavesdrop, but, well Lucy is a last reminder of Norrie and their friendship, so…I'm afraid sometimes I can't help myself. When she mentioned she was working in London with you…well… now I pay attention to the London newspapers. I've seen yer photo, like." She straightened. "Would you like a cup of tea?"

I followed Norrie's mum into the small stone cottage and into the kitchen. It was tiny, but warm and immaculately kept. She motioned to one of four mis-matched chairs at an old, battered pine table and I started to lower myself into the chair before I remembered the rapier at my belt. She chuckled.

"Put it in the rack in the hall." She told me. "We put the rack in for Norrie. You'll see her rapier is still there."

I did as instructed and went back into the kitchen. Mrs White was busying herself with kettle and a teapot. I noticed a box of Pitkins tea on the side. Not common outside of London. She saw my look and seemed embarrassed.

"Lucy talks about Pitkins on her tapes." She told me. "I thought I'd try it. Never thought you'd be sitting across the table from me to drink it though."

All of a sudden, she froze. A look of horror crossed her face.

"Wait…" She gasped. "Lucy…?"

I smiled reassuringly. "Luce is fine. Well, apart from a burst appendix otherwise she would be here with me. She's in hospital in London, but she should make a full recovery. She sends Norrie her love."

Mrs White moved back to the teapot. "I bet she doesn't send her love to me." She commented bitterly. "Nor should she. I treated my Norrie and Lucy badly at times. I'm sure she's told you."

I was confused. "Lucy hasn't really spoken about her time here." I explained.

"Ah. I thought she would. I know you two are…close." The comment came with a brief knowing glance and I felt the heat in my cheeks. My reaction went unnoticed as she poured hot water into the teapot and opened a cupboard to remove a tin of biscuits. I was awash with tea already, and had eaten more biscuits than I should, but I couldn't say no to this lady.

"Lucy looks forward rather than back, Mrs White. Norrie is the only link to the past she is interested in."

The teapot was now on the table, alongside mugs and the biscuit tin. Mrs White sat down. I waited as she chose her words carefully.

"I frustrated Norrie." She began as she poured me a cup of tea. "She thought I should stand up to her father more. But he was a bully, and I didn't have the strength to take him on. It's one of the reasons why I wanted Norrie to become an agent. I thought he'd think twice before starting on her if she knew how to wield a sword. They teach them a bit about defending yourself too. I knew it was putting her at risk, but round here, there aren't many good quality jobs, and she was very good at it – being an agent I mean. She had good judgement."

I sipped at my tea. It was good. Made by a woman who knew the old ways of tea making. She did the Pitkins justice.

"That's a nice cup of tea there." I commented. "Thank you."

"Aye. I have to say, I can see why Lucy likes the Pitkins. Expensive tastes though!" She grinned. "In her men too, maybe?" There was a cheeky grin and I saw how this woman might have been before, when she was younger and not brow-beaten.

I flashed a grin in reply, then let it drop.

"Sadly not, in the greater scheme of things, but I'm the richer for knowing Lucy. That's for sure."

Mrs White nodded. "Lucy's a good girl. Deserved better than the upbringing she had, so I'm pleased to see her do well in London. Norrie is happy she kept her promise."

I frowned and Norrie's mother chuckled.

"No, I'm not going senile. I've done a lot of research on ghost-lock over the years since Norrie was attacked. It's a paralysis of the body not the mind. She might not be able to see or to move, but her mind functions just the same. It's what makes it so tragic. The fatal cases, they're the ones where the paralysis affects the lungs or the heart straight away. Later, it's when infections set in, like pneumonia. But Norrie was healthy before the attack. She ate well and exercised a lot. Of course, the paralysis means she can't eat now, so she has a feeding tube. But they've worked out a system for keeping her lungs functioning and her heart's ok.

You know, I spent three months thinking that I'd never be able to speak to her again and then one night, when I was at my lowest, I realised that she can actually move one finger, very slightly. So now we have a system, like morse code. I give her clue words and she taps yes or no. So, when you see Lucy, you can tell her she had better keep sending those tapes, because my Norrie lives Lucy's life through them."

I must have gasped because she smiled reassuringly.

"A bit of a shock, I grant you. But it's true, none the less."

"Have you told anyone about this?" I asked. "I mean this is incredible!"

Mrs White nodded. "Our GP is very good. She's been trying to get someone to come and look at Norrie. She thinks there are lessons to be learned for the treatment of others, and even that there are treatments which might help my Norrie, but…" She trailed away. "It's a long way from London, so we are still waiting."

There was silence between us for a moment.

"Mr Lockwood?" Norrie's mother said eventually. "I'm sorry, but I do have to ask, if Lucy is ok, why exactly are you here?"

The question came from out of nowhere, though I should have anticipated it. I put my cup back on its saucer and sat back in my chair.

"That's not an easy question to answer." I told her.

She gave that wry smile again. "Give it your best shot, son."

Could I tell her the truth? Absolutely not. But I needed to tell her something.

"You've read about the events in London?" I stated rather than asked.

Mrs White nodded. "The sanitised version, no doubt." She said sarcastically and I couldn't help but laugh.

"Yes. Exactly. What the authorities are prepared to let the general public know. Well, you will know that our agency was involved when it all went south. Lucy in particular was a key figure."

"That doesn't surprise me. But you say she is ok. That she's not in hospital because of the Fittes House fiasco?"

I looked her in the eyes and was honest. "I would tell you if that was the case. No, Lucy is ill for completely natural reasons, but the 'Fittes House fiasco' had consequences. Big consequences. One of the main players in the events blames Lucy for the outcome and we are rallying to stop any retaliation. We believe people close to Lucy are at risk and unfortunately, that includes Norrie."

Mrs White sat back. "Oh."

"Yes, Oh. I know your next question is going to be 'what is Deprac doing about it?', but I'm afraid the answer is, there is very little they can do about it. And so…"

"You haven't told them?" Statement and it wasn't fully accusatory.

"Would you?"

Mrs White was thoughtful for a minute. "No probably not. After the events of the past few months, I'd react quickly and personally because the only person I would trust would be me." I acknowledged the point.

"If we haven't resolved this once they release her from hospital, Lucy will come north. I have her permission to be here."

She smiled weakly. "And the fact that you've come rather than Lucy tells me how big the risk is, how poorly she is, and how much she trusts you. Ok, what do you need from me?"

"I take it moving Norrie isn't an option?"

She shook her head. "Norrie is stable right now, but any kind of disruption is an absolute no-no. We have to stay here. In what form do you think the attack will come?"

"The aggressor – sorry, that's the only way I can describe him – has certain skills of deception. I think he will come at you in a plausible manner and pretend that he can help Norrie. He may suggest that he has come from Lucy, even." I paused. "In fact, if I were him, I'd do exactly what I have just done with you this afternoon. Pretend to be someone Lucy trusts, with a cover story exactly like mine." I pulled a face. "Which leaves me in a strange position where I now need to prove my own identity!"

Mrs White looked faintly shocked but shook her head. "You aren't a problem. There are a hundred questions I could ask you that would reassure me." I looked at her in surprise. "Lucy describes you in great detail in her letters. All I would have to do is go back to an early letter and find a situation that isn't common knowledge. An argument you've had or something. What concerns me is how I verify that anyone else visiting is who they say they are? Do we need a password?"

"The only person you should trust is Lucy. Ask Norrie for something you could use to identify Lucy as the genuine article. Otherwise, do not let anyone else into this house."

"There is one other person who I will need to let in. That's Alice."

"Who's Alice?"

Norrie's mum smiled. "Norrie's oldest friend. Longer even than Lucy. They fell out when Norrie joined the agency, but when Norrie was hurt, Alice started to come to see her again. She's been an absolute godsend." Mrs White looked up at the clock. "She'll be here soon. She comes to help me get Norrie ready for bed. Helps me turn her etc."

"Can you trust her?"

"I've been leaving Norrie with her for hours at a time for much of the past three years, Mr Lockwood. If I didn't trust her, that would be a curious thing."

I nodded.

Silence fell again. Then Mrs White broke it.

"Would you like to meet her?"

"Alice?"

She smiled. "No. Norrie."

How could I say no?