I turned the possibilities in my mind. Could we find a way to take the boat when it next came? Could I make friends with one of the fishermen, beg him passage to the mainland? But the idea that someone would keep such a secret, would undertake such a venture, seemed impossible.

I began to visit Bridget more often again. In spite of her open manner and gentle questions, I found I could not speak of the things that preyed on me. I had heard the way she talked of ghosts and witchcraft and she would think less of me for believing, and how would that make her feel about me as nanny to Mary – Mary who was already so blemished in the eyes of the island? She could see I was unhappy and she showed her friendship in the gentleness with which she treated me, and afterwards a little dread was always temporarily eased.

It was one such afternoon, when I was tidying myself after a visit to Bridget, that rifling through the drawer, my finger caught on something sharp, drawing a bead of blood. I investigated and came across the dolphin brooch nestled among my clothes. I clearly recalled putting it back into the lining of the curtain. I opened the window but could not, at the last moment, bring myself to dispose of an object so lovely.

Once again, I found myself in Hettie’s room. From the window the island and sea merged in a marriage of blue and grey shadow. I felt at the curtain but the letter remained. Who had come and taken the brooch? Hettie herself? And I wiped my fingers down my dress.

In my room I laid out the pebble and dolls. I pondered again the strange warmth they gave. Had they been manufactured before the deaths to bring death itself? Or to summon them from death? Were Mary and I to die too? And then the thought came to me. It had not occurred to me before: if the dead could be drawn from their graves, could they also be returned there? And I felt a prickle of hope.

Before lessons came again the next day, I collected all the objects I now associated with spells and put them in a bag. It seemed to take an age before we were draining our coffee cups and Miss Gillies was checking the drawing room clock.

‘Lessons already,’ she said, as she did every day.

She barely glanced at me as I took my leave. In spite of the sun, there was a grating cold to the air and even the gulls that perched on the flat rocks huddled in their cloaks of feather.