Half an hour later, Bee’s basket was as heavy as she could carry and she began to make her way back to the shore. The sky was cloudless and deceptively bright, the cold wind having robbed the sun of its warmth. She pulled her shawl around her as she stood on the hard, wet sand and looked up at Angela’s cottage on the cliff for any sign of Mary Kate. There was none. She had a bad feeling. Her blood had run cold in her veins all day and it wasn’t just because of the weather. She had heard the whisperings and they disturbed her. No matter how hard she strained to hear and make sense of the ghostly voices, she couldn’t make out what it was they were trying to tell her.

Turning back to the ocean, she watched as Bridget, standing knee high in the shimmering water, lifted out her last clump of seaweed and hauled it into her pot. Bridget waved to indicate that she was returning to shore and Bee waved back then walked to the rock where she’d left her shoes and stockings. She sat down to wait for her.

‘My feet are so cold, they’re numb,’ Bridget said as she waded over.

‘Have we enough seaweed now?’ asked Bee.

‘We have. We’ll let it dry out and then I’ll grind it to a powder. It’s great for wet wounds. The dried seaweed absorbs the nasty pus and fluid and also has magic healing. The ulcer turns red at the edges and gets a bit smaller each day. Only the seaweed can do that.’

‘I’ve seen it on Nola’s leg,’ said Bee. ‘’Tis a miracle.’

‘Aye, and one you are about to learn how to make happen.’ It was as Bridget stood up from fastening her boot that she stopped dead.

‘What?’ asked Bee. ‘What’s the matter?’

Bridget’s eyes narrowed. ‘Look, over there, at the foot of the cliff.’

Bee turned to follow her gaze just as Joe’s car pulled up beside the path to the door of Angela’s cottage. He jumped out of the car and began frantically waving his arms at them. Bridget felt the words coming at her before she heard them. She knew exactly what had happened before Joe could tell her, and she knew what she had to do next. She dropped the lobster pot onto the sand.

‘Bee, over there, that red boot at the foot of the cliff, it’s Mary Kate’s, isn’t it?’

Bee placed her splayed hand over her eyes. ‘Aye, it looks like it. What’s it doing there? ’Tis just the one. She wouldn’t have took them off and only put one back on. Bridget…’ Bee turned and put her hand on Bridget’s arm. The whispers became clear to her for the first time. ‘It’s him – McGuffey. Mary Kate’s in trouble.’ Her nails dug into Bridget’s arm.

‘Shh,’ said Bridget. ‘Don’t worry. She is in danger, but we are here now.’

They both looked up at Joe and Bridget waved him down to the shore. ‘Joe isn’t here waving like a madman to talk about his new hotel,’ she said. ‘He knows. Come on, let’s go and meet him.’