Ann remembered walking barefoot with her mother every day from Glenisla to the mill in Alyth and at the end of the village passing Mattie’s cottage, a wisp of smoke coming out of the chimney. Ann used to be scared when she saw her standing at the door, pipe in hand, facing them with her dead, blank eyes. Everyone in the village knew the story of how Mattie had started in the Alyth mill at twelve and soon became better than everyone else at stitching the jute bags. Then when she was only sixteen she became ill with a fever and, though she eventually recovered, it left her blind. The minister had said the doctors in Dundee might have done something to save her sight if she’d been taken there quickly. Her parents believed it was God’s will and so she stayed home to look after the family. Now everyone else was gone, she lived with her only relative, a young niece, in Dundee. Ann’s mother had told her to be kind to her, that although she could now see nothing in their world of hills and glens and streams, she had an inner sight.

Ann was thankful Mattie had not remembered more about her from the village. When Ann’s mother had died and Ann was only fifteen, she had been taken into the care of Robert’s aunt in Perth and groomed to become a lady. Aunt Ethel had doted on her only nephew and said she would help provide him with a perfect bride. When he told her that he was infatuated with one of the mill workers, she had been shocked. But she soon realised that nothing would change his mind.

Aunt Ethel taught Ann everything about being a lady. Ann twisted her wedding ring round and round her finger as she recalled their wedding. She was just eighteen. It was a splendid affair and she looked beautiful, everyone told her. So tall with such clear, pale skin. All Robert’s family and friends had marvelled at this flower who had been hidden away for three long years. Where had this divine young woman come from?