‘Have I come at a bad time?’ asked Dad, looking up from where he was sitting at the dusty grand piano. ‘I can go away again if you want.’

‘N-no, Dad, this is good, real good,’ I muttered.

I looked around the room. My father never stayed for longer than five minutes, and when he left the bullets would almost certainly carry on to their intended victim. My eyes alighted on a heavy table and I upended it, sending dust, debris and empty Leek-U-Like containers to the floor.

‘Have you ever heard of someone named Winston Churchill?’ asked my father.

‘No; who’s he?’ I gasped as I heaved the heavy oak table in front of Bowden.

‘Ah!’ said my father, making a note in a small book. ‘Well, he was meant to lead England in the last war but I think he was killed in a fall as a teenager. It’s most awkward.’

‘Another victim of the French revisionists?’

My father didn’t answer. His attention had switched to the middle of the room, where Hades was working on the Prose Portal. Time, for men like Hades, rarely stood still.

‘Oh, don’t mind me!’ said Hades as a shaft of light opened up in the gloom. ‘I’m just going to step inside until all this unpleasantness is over. I have the instruction manual and Polly, so we can still bargain.’

‘Who’s that?’ asked my father.

‘Acheron Hades.’

‘Is it? I expected someone shorter.’

But Hades had gone; the Prose Portal buzzed slightly and then closed after him.

‘I’ve got some repairs to do,’ announced my father, getting up and closing his notebook. ‘Time waits for no man, as we say.’

I just had time to duck behind a large bureau as the world started up again. The hail of lead from Felix8 struck the heavy oak table I had manoeuvred in front of Bowden, and the bullets that had been destined for me thudded into the wooden door behind where I had been standing. Within the space of two seconds the room was full of gunfire as the Goliath operatives joined in, covering Jack Schitt, who, perplexed that Hades had vanished in mid-sentence, was now beating a retreat to the door leading to the old Atlantic Grill. Mycroft threw himself to the floor followed closely by Jane as dust and debris were scattered about the room. I bellowed into Jane’s ear to stay where she was as a shot came perilously close to our heads, knocking some moulding off the furniture and showering us with dust. I crawled round to where I could see Bowden exchanging shots with Felix8, who was now trapped behind an upended mock-Georgian table next to the entrance of the Palm Court Tea Rooms. I had just loosed off a few shots at Goliath’s men, who had rapidly dragged Schitt from the room, when the firing stopped as quickly as it had begun. I reloaded.

‘Felix8!’ I shouted. ‘You can still surrender! Your real name is Danny Chance. I promise you we will do all we can to—‘

There was a strange gurgling noise and I peeked around the back of the sofa. I thought Felix8 had been wounded but he hadn’t. He was laughing. His usually expressionless face was convulsed with mirth. Bowden and I exchanged quizzical looks—but we stayed hidden.

‘What’s so funny?’ I yelled.

‘Haven’t I seen your face somewhere before /’ he giggled. ‘I get it now!’

He raised his gun and fired repeatedly at us as he backed out of the lounge doors and into the darkness of the lobby outside. He had sensed his master’s escape and had no more work to do here.

‘Where’s Hades?’ said Bowden.

‘In Jane Eyre,’ I replied, standing up. ‘Cover the portal—and if he returns, use this.’

I handed him the anti-tank weapon as Schitt, alerted to the end of the gunfire, returned. He appeared at the door to the bar.

‘Hades?’

‘In Jane Eyre with the instruction manual.’

Schitt told me to surrender the Prose Portal to him.

‘Without the instruction manual you’ve got nothing,’ I said. ‘Once I have Hades put of Thornfield and have returned my aunt to Mycroft you can have the manual. There is no other deal; that’s it. I’m taking Jane back with me now.’

I turned to my uncle.

‘Mycroft, send us back to just before Jane comes out of her room to put out the fire in Rochester’s bedroom. It will be as if she had never left. When I want to come back I’ll send a signal. Can you do that?’

Schitt threw up his arms. ‘What sweet madness is this?’ he cried.

‘That’s the signal,’ I said, ‘the words “sweet madness”. As soon as you hear them, open the door immediately.’

‘Are you sure you know what you’re doing?’ asked Bowden as I helped Jane to her feet.

‘Never been more certain. Just don’t turn the machine off; much as I enjoy the book I’ve no desire to stay there for ever.’

Schitt bit his lip. He had been outmanoeuvred. His hand, such as it was, would have to be played upon my return.

I checked that my gun was still loaded, took a deep breath and nodded to Jane, who smiled back eagerly. We grasped each other’s hands tightly and stepped through the doorway.

I staggered slightly as we made the jump; there had been a bright flash of light and a short blast of static. I found myself in the master bedroom corridor, a few lines above where Hobbes had taken Jane out. The fire was ablaze and Jane took her cue instinctively, opening the door and leaping into Rochester’s room to pour a ewer full of water over the burning covers. I looked quickly around the dark corridor but of Hades there was no sign; at the far end I could just see Grace Poole escorting Bertha to her attic room. The madwoman looked back over her shoulder and smiled crazily. Grace Poole followed her gaze and glared disapprovingly at me. I suddenly felt very alien; this world was not mine and I didn’t belong here. I stepped back as Jane rushed out of Rochester’s room to fetch some more water; upon her face, I noted, was a look of great relief. I smiled and permitted myself a peek inside the bedroom. Jane had managed to extinguish the fire and Rochester was swearing at finding himself in a pool of water. ‘Is there a flood?’ he asked.

‘No, sir,’ she replied, ‘but there has been a fire. Get up, do; you are quenched now. I will fetch you a candle.’

Rochester caught sight of me at the door and winked before rapidly returning his features to a look of consternation.

‘In the name of all the elves in Christendom,’ he asked, his eyes glistening at her return, ‘is that Jane Eyre? What have you done with me…’

I stepped outside the door, confident in the knowledge that back home the book would be starting to rewrite itself across the page. The reference to the ‘agent in black’ would be overwritten and with luck, and Hades willing, things could get back to normal. I picked up the candle that had been left on the mat and relit it as Jane came out, smiled her thanks, took it from me and returned to the bedroom. I walked down the corridor, looked at a particularly fine Landseer painting and sat down upon a Regency chair, one of a pair. Although the house was not big, it afforded all sorts of hiding places for Acheron. I spoke his name to let him know I was about and heard a door slam somewhere in the house. I pulled open a shutter and saw the unmistakable figure of Hades walking rapidly across the lawn by the light of the moon. I watched his form fade into the shadows. He would be as good as safe in the countryside but I still had the upper hand. I knew how to reopen the door and he didn’t; I thought it unlikely he would harm me. I sat down again and was just thinking about Daisy Mutlar and Landen when I drifted off to sleep. I was jolted awake as the door to Rochester’s bedroom opened and the figure of Edward emerged. He was holding a candle and spoke to Jane at the door.