‘You came in late. Past curfew.’ Mary’s hand went to her necklace, a small gold cross hanging on a chain. She pulled the ring from side to side. ‘I was . . . out. I was taking a walk. Sometimes I find it hard to sleep.’ ‘You look pale. You might try a sleep remedy. Better than going for a walk at that hour.’ Mary looked at the carpet: the design of flowers in a bouquet circled round with ribbon expressed certainty of function and purpose. ‘Yes, Mrs Liddell.’ ‘Are you well now?’ ‘Quite well.’ Actually Mary had slept very little. A band gripped her round the head, just above the eyes. She could feel, from the heat along one side of her face, that Mrs Liddell’s eyes were still fixed on her. ‘Mr Dodgson is coming today. To photograph Alice. I have said he may use the garden. Ina and Edith will come with me to Lady Astbury’s. You may have the afternoon off.’ ‘Thank you, Mrs Liddell.’ ‘Perhaps you might visit your family.
