In the mirror, my lids were swollen and I witnessed my own grief for the first time, not as me but as Clara might have done, and some of the bitterness left me. I knew in that moment that I could not surrender Mary to the destiny of an asylum; that if I did, what remained of my life would be forever haunted by it. The room was still and the rightness of my decision left a deep sense that my destiny had always lain here, here at Iskar. To leave now would be a betrayal not only of her but of myself.

Calm washed my tears free and I took up the doll and the bangle and walked to Mary’s room. She was not asleep but sat up against the headboard in a huddle of misery. Her eyes were hopeful when she saw me. I sat beside her. Taking her arm from the covers, I slid the bracelet over it and handed her Bobbity.

‘I’m sorry,’ I said. ‘Forgive me.’ And she buried her face in my chest.

‘I promise you,’ I said, ‘I promise I won’t leave.’ And instead of returning to my bed, I climbed in beside her and held her warm body, not only for her comfort but for mine.

A few days later the boat came and the boat left and it went with Miss Gillies’ letter and my resolve to stay. I unpacked my clothes and felt the tightening of Iskar’s embrace. The sky darkened. Rain splashed upon stone and the sea battled with the rocks, spitting white spray against the cliffs. The boat was gone. I had made my choice.

This was my life now.

For better or for worse.

Part Two

Night spilled from th’garret stair

And weaved a shadow on the air

Now something lives inside the spaces

Of those silent, secret places.

Anon (1748)

21

The day after the boat’s departure brought bad weather: wind tore at the sea and threw surf high up on the strand. Nobody was surprised when the church bell rang out announcing that the service would be held that morning.

Muffled in our coats, we stepped into the blustery air and spray. As we approached the bay, the frenzied activity of gulls called our attention to where a group of fishermen stood around something on the pebbles.

‘What is it?’ I asked. Already the villagers were making their way down.

‘Probably a big fish of some sort, a basking shark,’ Mrs Lenister said. ‘The birds soon find carrion, if it’s to be had, and a storm like this will often bring it in.’

But whatever lay there was not a fish. As I moved closer I could see it was bundled in a greyish material, and I was gripped by a sense of foreboding. The pace of the household ahead slowed as we reached the parcel of sailcloth.