I arrived at Iskar to find that the hall was cold. No fire burned. The smell of something unappetizing drifted from the kitchen. I returned the key. Miss Gillies was in the drawing room in her customary seat, her head fallen back in sleep. I studied her with new distrust, then backed out, closing the door quietly.

There was still some time before tea and I lay down upon my bed. When it was four, I made my way downstairs where the chilled hallway was speckled with sand. There was no smell of coffee or food.

The house felt different, apparently empty of its inhabitants, and I stood to listen but there were no noises suggesting activity in the nearby places.

Finally I reached the chapel and stood at its entrance. I heard Miss Gillies then and put my hand on the knob, but her voice came, hard and angry.

‘Tell me, Mary. May God forgive you. Tell me the truth. Why don’t you speak?’ There was silence, then the groan of a pew. I pulled my palm away and felt the urge to turn and run.

Miss Gillies spoke again, her voice cutting through the corridor like the snap of a whip. I wanted to protect Mary from the verbal blows but cowardice sent me fleeing back along the passageways and to the drawing room, where the flames had nearly gone out in the grate. I crouched, ashamed, and built the fire up and waited. It was some twenty or so minutes before they joined me. Miss Gillies’ face was drawn and pale, her lips colourless. I searched Mary for a response but she looked as she so often did – as closed as a locked room.

‘Mrs Lenister is unwell having succumbed to the head cold that is going round,’ Miss Gillies said. ‘Greer too. Angus has gone to fetch Mrs Brodie who sometimes does for us.’ She closed the door and leaned in close. ‘Her cooking is nothing to Mrs Lenister’s, but we must smile and pretend gratitude.’

With a sigh, she levered herself into the chair and pulled her shawl closer.

‘Mary, go upstairs and wash. When Mrs Brodie arrives, she will be able to prepare our tea.’ Miss Gillies dusted her hands. ‘The chapel is filthy.’ She glanced at me. ‘Mary and I went to say a few prayers for those so recently lost.’

There was a noise in the hall and then a knock and a woman I recognized from the island entered, her face lined with smiles. She was as small and hunched as a beetle, with leathered skin and thin lips.

‘Mrs Brodie,’ Miss Gillies rose with a look of relief and accompanied the woman to the kitchen.