She took one of the dust sheets from a pile of boxes behind the counter and covered Emily’s body with it, then dragged the boxes across the floor to cut off any prying glances from the window at the side of the building. Her heart was pounding as the shock of what she had done threatened to overwhelm her, and she tried to calm her breathing before climbing the stairs, which came out onto a narrow landing. Emily’s sitting room was straight ahead and she began to panic when she saw a coat draped over the arm of a chair, but relaxed when she recognised it as Emily’s own mackintosh. ‘Hello?’ she called out, trying to keep her voice as normal as possible. ‘Hello?’ The silence gave her courage, and she was relieved to find the room empty except for a black-and-white cat sitting by a pile of books that had toppled over onto the floor, staring at Nora as if to say that the accident had nothing to do with him. That must have been the noise she had heard, but the explanation didn’t comfort her, and as the cat began to rub round her legs, oblivious to what she had done, Nora’s guilt hit her with all the force of a blow.

She hurried back downstairs, conscious that she would soon be missed at the castle, but still at a loss to know what 71to do. For a moment, she considered fetching Tom, but the harbour was always busy at this time of day; it would be impossible to bring him here without attracting somebody’s attention. In any case, she realised sadly, she couldn’t rely on him to save her. Emily was like family to them both, and he was a good man with a strong sense of right and wrong. He would make her go to the police and explain that what she had done was an accident, putting his faith in a justice which he never questioned – but she knew different. There was no justice in the world, the last few months had taught her that, and she didn’t want to die for what her grief had made her do.

The urge to survive was sudden and primitive, and its strength took her by surprise; for months she had believed that there was no point in going on, but now, faced with the prospect of giving her own life for the one she had taken, she wanted nothing more than to live. Possibilities raced through her mind, some more plausible than others. The causeway was open at the moment and anyone could access the island. If she took some of the more valuable objects from the displays when she left, people would think that Emily had disturbed a burglar, a stranger to the Mount whose guilt would shame no one. She had read somewhere that crime always went up at Christmas as people struggled to pay their debts, and why should that be any different here?