Rain flashed at the windows and the sea rose and threw itself upon the rocks. I had dreamed that I was back at the MacAllisters’ on a day when the sun burned through the glass of the panes and on to my cheek. I had been lying on the bed, my neck and hands wrapped in dressings. The medicine I had been given was wearing off and I was in that place of gnawing realization that Clara would never return. From the open window the perfect blue of sky and the scent of sweet pea had been unbearable and I was ripping at the dressings, pulling skin from the wounds; the sound of feet running on the stairs. I was unaware that I had been screaming. Some of the shock of that moment and the many others of those early days returned again, making my throat harden with pain.

After lunch, in spite of Mrs Lenister’s concerned looks, I went out into the wet. I had to be away from Iskar.

A curl of smoke drifted from Bridget’s chimney and I thought longingly of her company, but some compulsion to revisit the graveyard found me walking that way. I do not know what I expected to see – the earth cleared and the coffins standing empty? I knew that whatever dark magic made it possible for them to slip from death and haunt the living was achieved by more than the ability to free themselves from the physical confines of their plots. But I wanted to see for myself that the soil lay undisturbed, although it could bring little comfort.

Mist seeped in from the ocean and I walked slowly to Evangeline’s grave and then to William’s. Even away from the house I felt haunted. I knew that I should not be there with the ground still fresh from burial and I did not like the way the cold air wound about me, or the untethered screech of gulls, but somehow I was standing over Hettie’s grave.

I shivered. It had grown colder and a sea-fret had closed in, falling across the valley and obscuring the view. I felt a moment of alarm and made my way to the gate.

It came then, braided upon the other sounds, and panic swept through me – Hettie’s lullaby. I tripped, put my hand upon the mossy dome of a marker and recoiled at its fleshiness. My breath rasped in my throat. The cloud now was so dense that I could no longer see and I imagined her just behind me, watching me with her dead gaze, reaching out a hand to touch my face. I stumbled out of the gate.