They proceeded down the aisle, Ann taking the lead, then the children and Miss Graham behind. The Baxters headed upstairs to their usual place in the gallery. As she walked towards their pew near the front, she took in the dark cloaks and hats. There were many ladies wearing full black veils, she noticed. Goodness, would they think her disrespectful not wearing a mourning veil? Jeannie Baxter had suggested that very morning she could fetch it from its box in the attic.

‘I am not mourning my husband until we have proof he has gone, Mrs Baxter,’ she had retorted. ‘And from what Lady Cruickshank said, and the lack of firm evidence, there is hope.’

But after her housekeeper had left, muttering about Ann’s behaviour being ‘unseemly’, Ann took the fur wrap from the bed and put it back into the wardrobe. Fur and velvet were inappropriate for a lady in mourning and, at least in church, she ought to comply. The whole city was still grieving, or so it seemed by the even more sombre tone of the congregation this morning.

They took their seats on the hard wooden benches in the third row. Once Ann had arranged herself in a favourable pose, she tilted her head slightly forward and looked over to the other side where the Donaldsons sat. Margaret was dressed in black with a grey bonnet and her twins were both in dark colours. Only Dr Donaldson had a splash of colour – a hint of his mustard waistcoat emerged from the top of his coat. She inclined her head a little in acknowledgement of his nod. He was beaming, a smile she knew was directed at her, even though he took in the entire family.

‘Let us pray,’ intoned the Reverent Arbuthnot from the high pulpit and the entire congregation bent their heads low.

* * *

Outside the church after the service, Ann and the children watched the Baxters and Miss Graham walk gingerly down the hill. Ann looked round to see the Donaldsons approaching.

‘Oh, Ann, my dear, how did you feel when the minister said those special prayers for those drowned?’ Margaret whispered in her friend’s ear.

‘It needed to be done,’ said Ann, turning to face Archibald, who was chatting to the children.

He smiled, showing his dimples. ‘The sermon was tasteful, do you not think, Ann?’

‘Indeed, although I do wonder about the choice of hymns. Surely Eternal Father was unwise, since its theme is saving those in peril upon the sea.’

‘Oh, my dear,’ said Margaret, ‘you are of course right. I had not thought.’