Putting it down she reached across and took a strand of mine in her fingers. I could smell the dry smoke of her breath. ‘You say you found it in Hettie’s room?’ Her eyes were sly. ‘It could almost be the colour of yours,’ she said.

My eyes flew to the stone and yes, I saw now from the streaks of darker hue that the hair could indeed have been mine.

I took the pebble back. ‘Thank you,’ I said, preparing to stand.

But she clutched my wrist. Her hand was warm and rough like a man’s, her eyes troubled.

‘There are other binding spells.’

‘Others?’

‘These spells can bind you to love but they can also be cast to bind the person to illness or death.’ She watched my face and I felt that she knew that I had lied about where it had come from.

I had to look away to conceal how much her utterance appalled me.

‘I don’t believe in witchcraft,’ I said with more confidence than I felt at that moment, ‘only that some might believe themselves capable of carrying it out.’

‘Then why does this concern you?’

I swallowed, feeling trapped; she had found the chink in my reasoning. ‘I thank you for telling me,’ I said and tried to pull my hand away, but she held it fast.

‘This was not where you said, was it? Do you know who made it?’

I shook my head and wondered if she could feel the pulse that beat so hard beneath my skin. ‘It was in a drawer in Hettie’s room,’ I insisted and she let me go, her eyes bright with disbelief.

At the door, she studied me again. ‘You should be careful,’ she whispered. Her eyes bored into mine and I felt her plucking my secrets like fruit from a tree. ‘But you know that already, don’t you?’ I only nodded and stepped into the cold.

I was grateful for the air that pummelled my body. The muscle of the wind was in the bent trunks and in the twist of birds. Below, the waves rose and grabbed at the shoreline and battled with the rocks. There was fury everywhere. Clutching my hat, I raced down the valley and back to Iskar.

And then we were walking up the path to the chapel and its familiar smells where we shuffled into the pews, the smell of wax smudging the air. I glanced at Mary and at the space that would remain forever empty beside her. The rustle of the Bible brought me back to the present as Robert Argylle began to read, but I struggled to concentrate, losing my place in the sermon.

I did not want to talk to the villagers and so I hurried down the path. At the strand I met Reid Paterson. I started and he moved to stand before me. His hair was slick beneath his hat.