I could feel the vibration of Mary’s emotions as we returned from the sands. From time to time, she looked at me, a furrow of anxiety on her brow. She walked so close to me that irritation bit into my mood and I snapped, telling her to run off along the beach by herself. I could not bear to examine how I felt or to dwell on the way guilt twisted inside me. Clara would not have run, a voice whispered; Clara was brave. I gritted my teeth against the rawness of feeling until once again I felt only numbness.

The day passed in a blur, and after church Mrs Argylle came back and took dinner with Miss Gillies while Mary and I picked at ours in the playroom. The night drew in and I went to stand at her window where a triangle of ocean caught the moon. The vastness of the sea pulled at me like a chain. I tried to estimate how many days might be left before the boat next came. It could not come soon enough. After I had put Mary to bed I went downstairs to beg a hot drink from the kitchen and something to help me sleep.

As I passed the drawing room I heard Miss Gillies’ voice. ‘It cannot go on. She’s half raving in these nightmares and they are not less frequent but more so, Greer tells me.’

‘You’ve done your best.’ It was Bridget. ‘Perhaps Elspeth should be allowed to try a little longer.’

‘The doctor felt she should have improved greatly by now and I fear nothing has changed. I must consider what is best for her. Mary is clearly not right. Not at all.’

‘I am sorry. Those children were born under unlucky stars.’

‘I think,’ Miss Gillies said, ‘that she must go. It’s too late now for her to leave on the next boat but I will send a letter with it back to the mainland. The winter is drawing in and travel becomes more uncertain.’

Whatever Bridget answered I did not hear.

I placed a hand on the mantel to steady myself, knocking the peat scuttle. ‘Is that you, Greer?’ Miss Gillies called. I did not answer but fled upstairs. My hands trembled. I knew what Miss Gillies intended. She meant for Mary to go to an asylum. What of the three months? Had she given up already? I imagined the doctor coming up the path with his silver-topped cane and Mary’s little case packed for the return journey to the mainland. I saw her standing on the boat watching the only place and people that she knew grow distant. And any affection that she had held for me would be a new wound upon her breast.