The villagers lingered outside even though the rain began to snap upon the church tiles. My skin was numb and I hardly acknowledged Bridget as we left, although she clasped my hands in both hers, concern for me in her face. I did not feel the cold on my cheeks or pay attention to the dull ache in my ears.

Back at the house, the rooms were smoky, fire back-draughting from the chimneys. Mrs Lenister served coffee in the drawing room to which Miss Gillies added whisky and we sat for a while in appalled silence, interrupted only by the ring of china and the soft scrape as Mary turned cards in a game of Patience.

My thoughts strayed to the stretch of sand where Hettie’s body had been brought in. The stuffed birds in their cages and the butterflies pinned to their velvet backdrop reminded me only of death.

‘Mary,’ Miss Gillies said eventually, ‘why don’t you run off and see if Mrs Lenister has some cake and perhaps bring down one of your jigsaws from the playroom to do by the fire.’

As soon as Mary had gone, Miss Gillies leaned towards me, her skin taut. ‘I cannot believe that she is dead.’ Tears hovered at the corner of her eyes. ‘Dear Lord, when will it stop?’ And she put her hands to her face. I got up and sat on the arm of the chair and placed a tentative palm on her shoulder.

‘You’ve had a terrible year,’ I said.

‘Terrible. Terrible. How am I supposed to endure it?’ Her expression was full of bewilderment. ‘My sister, William and now Hettie. It’s as if those that come close to me are cursed.’

I was aware that her feelings were all for herself and thought with pity of Mary and what she had just seen. However wicked Hettie had been, she had had the care of Mary for four years and Mary would feel it badly. How must she have felt knowing whose bones she was witnessing? Greer came in to collect the tray and I felt the high vibration of her energy as if Hettie’s body had excited her. Rain began to patter on the window and candles flickered in the draught.

‘Why is Mary taking such a long time?’ Miss Gillies said, rising to her feet. ‘She’s usually such an obedient girl.’

‘I will look.’ And I left the room, taking the stairs slowly, mulling over events. The landing was dim and the whistling of wind in the eaves echoed through the passageway. Mary’s door was open but her room empty.

The sound of crying drifted from above. I swallowed and steeled myself to climb to the garret. Outside Hettie’s room I listened. It was quiet now.

‘Mary?’ I said with a courage I did not feel. ‘Mary?’ And I turned the handle.