Mary explained how William had confessed to her that he had seen Hettie’s body dragged from the beach, wrapped in sailcloth and taken out to sea. He was afraid that he had been witnessed but refused to tell Mary who had been in the boat. He knew the risk, even then. Although William had not divulged the identity of the culprit, she had understood his fear. Not more than two weeks later, his body had been found on the rocks. She had guessed he had been murdered and could think of no other way of protecting herself except by not speaking. I wanted to weep at this – at the childish trust that holding back her words might keep her safe. The weeks had passed and she had held on to her silence and then I had come and begun to ask questions and Mary had found a note on her pillow.

William died because he could not keep his tongue still. If you speak of what you know I shall still not only yours but Elspeth’s too.

The weight of her burden was so heavy on my heart that I thought it would break. She threw herself into my arms and wept, and in her tears I felt the grief and fear that had haunted her since the day of my arrival.

When she had finished, the silence grew around us. ‘What will you do, Elspeth?’ she whispered.

I did not know what I could do. But I looked down and stroked her cheek. ‘I will think of something. And your voice, it is a lovely thing, Mary. So many would be pleased to hear it.’

‘I’m afraid,’ she said again. ‘I am too afraid to speak to anyone but you.’

I understood.

‘Will you stay here tonight?’

I climbed in beside her. No more questions remained and it did not matter whether or not she knew who wrote the note; what mattered was they believed that she did. I thought of Greer’s pen inscribing the paper – printing in ink a threat to the child who had once been in her care – and was disgusted.

As I held her warm body to mine, I felt the slipping of hope. I nearly gathered up all the evidence that I held to take to Miss Gillies, but she would not want to believe Greer responsible, and what would she do?

As if sensing my thoughts, Mary pulled away. ‘You must not say anything.’

She was right, I must not. So I lay next to her and watched the shadows play against the walls and listened to the endless exhalation of the sea.

The next day the cold settled damply on everything it touched.