‘It was the cake that brought me back from the post office,’ Nola said. ‘And there’s been no news coming through from England yet anyway. Mrs Doyle was very disappointed. She thought she might be getting to answer a call from royalty about the death of Captain Carter, and all she got was the mother superior from up at the convent wanting to know who would be paying the laundry bill when the delivery was made tomorrow.’

Peggy grinned as she looked over at the press, hungry for a slice of Rosie’s cake. ‘She’s all heart and godliness, that woman is. ’Tis the last convent where any novice willingly takes the veil.’ She did a guilty tiptoe over and with a stealthy hand lifted the cloche from the slate board on the press. Her face dropped. ‘God in heaven!’ she exclaimed, looking round at the others, her mouth open, the cloche hanging in mid air. ‘The flaming cake, it’s gone.’

‘It can’t have,’ said Rosie. ‘I only made it last night and no one touched it at breakfast.’ She sprang to her feet and joined Peggy at the press, peering at the empty plate.

Nola and Bridget were at her side in seconds.

‘Could it have been Finn?’ asked Peggy.

‘What, the whole cake? Are you mad? It’s more than his life’s worth and he knows it,’ said Nola.

‘There’s only one other answer,’ said Bridget. ‘’Tis the faeries, and I don’t like it. They only steal food when they’ve been crossed or something they don’t like is occurring.’

The three women looked at Bridget. They all believed every word she said. But Bridget was hiding the truth. She looked about the kitchen as if searching for evidence – a trail of crumbs to the back door or some other clue – but, as she’d expected, there was nothing; he was smarter than that. She’d been waiting for him to appear. Had dreamt it, had heard the whispers from the other side as she half woke, had seen his face in her crystal ball. He was back: McGuffey, Angela’s murderer. He was in trouble and she’d been dreading it.

The spirits had told her there was danger ahead, but they hadn’t told her what, only that McGuffey was not alone. The warning had been brought to her by Sarah, who’d become a restless ghost, crowding out Bridget’s thoughts, waking her, filling her with anxiety. Sarah would not rest and Bridget knew she would have to find a way to warn the Malones. But not tonight; she needed more time. Despite the heat in the kitchen a cold shiver ran down her spine.

‘Honest to God,’ said Peggy, ‘I would put money on it being one of Keeva’s lot. A right handful, they are.’

‘Right, well, I’m off to have a word,’ said Rosie.

‘Now, now,’ said Nola. ‘Be careful. We don’t want no falling out.’

‘Nola, those boys are out of control. Poor Keeva is run ragged with them,’ said Peggy.