At the village, there was a pause and the usual flurry of conversation, but instead I turned and viewed Iskar: its gabled roof, arabesque arches and then higher up the tiny panes of the attics. I felt like a giant then – as if my fingers had prised open the house to examine the contents, to move furniture from this room to that and to pick up the people – Hettie, Greer and Mary – as if they were dolls.

I heard nothing of the service or the echoing hymn and earnest sermon. Afterwards, I waited in line behind Miss Gillies as she made her goodbyes to the Argylles with the half-light of dusk beyond the doors. Even before Miss Gillies had finished, I felt Bridget’s eyes upon me and I pricked awake. Mary turned and watched me with such intensity that I believed she knew what was in my thoughts.

As Argylle clasped my hand and muttered pleasant good wishes, I could feel the urgency of Bridget’s mood, and when she took my palm the quickest of glances showed me that she had passed a folded note into my fingers and I closed my glove around it and slipped it into my pocket. Beyond the clatter of voices the island was still. The weather vane barely turned. My heart began to beat hard in my chest.

Back at the house, I made my excuses and took the stairs to my room and pulled out the note with trembling fingers:

Be at the North Beach tonight at 11. Bring only what you cannot leave and money for the boat. Dress warm and take care.

Your friend

Tears pricked my eyes and I tried to envisage our escape and the London I had been imagining with its boarding house. I pictured the plump-breasted owner and narrow rooms – a press with a faulty hinge – tables laid for breakfast and dull polished silver, cheap candlesticks and outside the rattle of wheels on the cobbled streets. I saw us in twin beds in a whitewashed room. Saw Mary’s open expression, free finally of the ghosts and fear that had followed her on Skelthsea. I would teach her all she needed to know to lead a useful life. I would be the sister I had been to Clara. I would be all those things.

My mind turned over what could be kept and what could be left: I had to consider Mary too, but I was not so poor that I could not buy what we needed in London, and had enough for some months in cheap lodgings until I found a position. Yes, it was all possible.

And once free, Mary would have the confidence to speak to all who addressed her, and as for her abilities, hadn’t I heard that children grew out of their peculiar sensitivities with age? This strange gift that she had, might she not leave it behind with the years? And would Miss Gillies even seek for her?