‘All of them but her grandmother who was not – not a suitable guardian. The chain had been her mother’s. Greer was most distressed. Hettie vowed that she could find it.’

‘Where was it?’

‘It had dropped to the beach on the stones there. Almost impossible to see, but Hettie went straight to it apparently.’

I leaned forward with interest. ‘Had she been out with Greer? Perhaps she saw it fall.’

‘No,’ Miss Gillies shook her head, ‘that is what is so mysterious. She had not been out at all that day. She was with the children all morning as rain kept them in.’

‘Greer must have been very grateful,’ I said.

She gave me a curious look. ‘I expect that she was.’

‘You say that her grandmother was unsuitable?’ I said.

She paused and frowned, seemed about to say something but thought the better of it.

‘I must write to Hettie’s family now, Elspeth. Onerous as the task will be. Goodnight.’ Her gaze lingered on my face with a strange expression and then she left the room.

As I ascended the stairs, a new anxiety attacked me. I stopped at Mary’s door and remembered how I had seen her slip something into her pocket earlier. I was fairly certain what I had witnessed. Careful not to wake her, I searched her bedding until I found it. It was heavy in my hand, the hair rough against my skin. This pebble I had not seen before. There was no doubt as to the hair’s colour – even in the dull light of the candle it burned red. A binding spell. One that bound a person to someone they loved or to someone they wished to die. My heart sank at Mary’s disobedience. I had not thought she would play further with them after my admonition but I could not doubt her intentions now, not at the moment I had made the decision to stay.

I closed my eyes, saw Hettie’s body unfurling from the canvas like strange coral, her hair ribbons of red kelp. I gazed down at Mary’s sleeping face and wondered what thoughts lay beyond the pale lids.

Wind tore at the house and my heart banged. I held the stone warm against my skin and tried to sense if it gave off poison or desire, whether it spoke of love or hate.

But my palm was blind.

22

The day of the funeral brought dark skies and dense cloud that scudded low over the sea. We set out to a damp wind that pulled at the black overwear we wore. The screech of gulls was a mockery and Miss Gillies’ steps hesitated as we reached the valley. One or two others had left their cottages to join us but most stood and watched in silence as our procession ascended to the tolling of the bell.