‘That is what everyone hopes,’ but there was a note of doubt in her voice. ‘I see you have a strong character and a good one. Miss Gillies has chosen well.’

‘What happened to Mary’s mother?’

‘Too sad, too sad. Evangeline took a bad fever although she had been in ill-health for some time.’ A shimmer of grief sparked in her eye. ‘She always had a weak chest. It was not an easy death.’

‘And her father?’

‘A wound took an infection. The children were only three or so. Mary has indeed been through so much.’

Sensing her discomfort, I glanced about the room. ‘You have made a lovely home,’ I said, and as Mrs Argylle let her own gaze roam, I took the opportunity to study her. She was neat and strong with translucent skin and pale brows and lashes. A bump halfway down her nose made me wonder if she had met an accident as a child. Her manner was lively and keen to please and there was also a little something of mischief and humour. With pleasure, I realized that she was someone I could grow fond of and hoped that we might become friends.

She leaned forward, polite curiosity and something a little keener shifting in her eyes. ‘Has Mary attempted to speak since you came?’

‘She has not spoken yet,’ I said and placed my cup down, ‘but she has laughed and there is a companionship between us.’ There was pride in my voice. It was good to share these things, since with Miss Gillies conversation about Mary was generally met with a change of subject.

‘This is wonderful, Miss Swansome. Now that you mention it, I believe she has an easier look about her.’

‘Thank you,’ I said with warmth. I paused, recalling the conversation I had overheard that first morning and how Miss Gillies was so reluctant to have her nephew talked of. ‘I have wondered about William. Miss Gillies does not like him discussed but I am curious as to how he met his accident.’

‘They have not told you? It does not entirely surprise me – Miss Gillies is very private – but it’s no secret. William fell from Stack Mor. That’s the cliff you see to the east. The highest on the island.’

I recalled the peaks as viewed from the boat. This was not what I had expected. She must have seen the shock on my face. It was too easy to imagine the impact of rock.

‘What was he doing up there?’

‘William was a great one for wildlife. He made collections – feathers, butterflies. I’m sure you know the sort of thing. Climbing down from Stack Mor is an island tradition here. Eggs are taken to be pickled for the winter. In summer, the men take the young fulmar for oil and food.’ Her eyes would not meet mine.

‘He was allowed to do such a thing? Was there nobody watching him?’