Ann pulled a small purse from her pocket and took out a sixpence. She put it in Mattie’s hand and tried to pull away but the woman held fast.

‘Where did you stay in Glenisla? The big house? The manse?’

‘It was a long time ago, Mattie.’ Ann managed to retract her hand and watched as Mattie turned the sixpence round and round in her fingers. ‘So, can you say if my husband is there?’

Blind Mattie pocketed the coin and extended both hands. ‘Give me them again, both this time. Elspet, go to the door and stand still, I don’t want your spirit to get in the way.’

Slowly, Ann reached forwards with both hands.

‘Look straight at my eyes. Nowhere else.’

Ann felt her hands being gripped tight then loosened then gripped once more, the bony fingers playing up and down her palms in an increasingly frantic rhythm. This went on for some time as Mattie’s head moved from side to side, her dead eyes glazed. Her lips moved but no noise emerged.

After what seemed an interminable time, Ann’s hands were released and she sat back. Mattie stopped rocking and spoke. ‘Your husband is not in the water; he is not one of those poor bodies floating to the surface. There are so many, down in the icy depths, but I can see nothing of yours down there.’

Ann took a deep breath.

‘Elspet, fetch my melodeon.’

‘It is by your side, Auntie Mattie.’

The woman patted her hand around her until she found the instrument. When she played, the haunting melody filled the air and a deep, visceral ache swept over Ann. The tune was once more ‘To the Weaver’s Gin Ye Go’ and for the first time in years, Ann felt tears begin to trickle down her face. The music continued and she began to shake as she sobbed silently. The past came flooding back and she felt she was in a place she did not want to be.

Mattie finished the tune and placed the melodeon at her feet. Ann sat up straight, pulled a handkerchief from her pocket and dabbed her eyes.

Mattie pulled the sixpence from her pocket and stretched out her hand. ‘Elspet, gang out for some kindling. And get a wee poke of meal from Janet Smith. We’ll have porridge today.’

Ann, now more composed, got to her feet. She looked down at Mattie who was picking up her pipe.

‘Thank you, Mattie. I hope you enjoy your porridge.’

Mattie put her pipe to one side of her mouth and turned her head up towards Ann. She beckoned with a finger and Ann drew closer.

‘It is a good thing you are not wearing mourning. For he is not dead, but sleeping.’

Ann went towards the door and turned as Mattie called to her.