The rest of the day, I tried to hold on to the peace I had found with Bridget, but slowly the fear seeped back like an incoming tide. I thought of the dolls lying in my drawer, their sightless eyes open to the darkness. Much later, as I made my way to bed, I stopped and let myself into Mary’s room. Her expression was peaceful in the glow of the candle, but as I sat beside her, I felt the shimmer of misgivings and the queasy knowledge that I did not truly know what lay behind her face.

I lit candles but I did not find much comfort in their thin light. From the table, I took a book and tried to ignore the sounds of the house around me, tried not to focus on Greer’s nightly visit. I wondered now what ran through her head as she stood outside my door but could not afford to let my thoughts travel in that direction.

Restless, I got up and went to the window and stared out on to the island. It was in full darkness now with a slice of moon veiled behind cloud. I laid my head against the glass, feeling its cold touch to my skin, and as my eyes grew accustomed to the lack of light, I saw something in the Fiaclach near Stack Mor. I leaned in to the image, searching for what had caught my attention, and there it was – someone had lit a lamp. It was not possible to see the face, but the light caught the movement of arms as they worked at the patch of ground and I knew by the dread that crushed my ribs that it had not stopped with Hettie’s leaving or William’s death – that they had not taken their practices to the grave. Someone here continued to whisper spells and spill blood in the name of some ungodly religion.

I thought further: what if Hettie had not been the one to bring the dark art with her? What if she had been taught by someone here – Ailsa or Greer? How many of the islanders still clung to such primitive beliefs? And felt once again that I had been tricked.

I was woken by a thin scream that brought me to jolting wakefulness. Mary. Fumbling into my shawl and picking up a candle, I rushed to the corridor. It was silent now but for the hissing of the oil lights. The door to Mary’s room lay open. But not only hers, the door to William’s wing was also ajar. There was a bang from beyond, and another cry.