‘Mrs Lenister is improving but Greer still has a heavy cold and has lost her voice. I don’t think we can expect her back at work for a few days yet. I must see if Magda can manage extra hours. There is so much to do. More than Mrs Brodie can manage.’

The day was fine and Mary and I took the kite to the beach. The sun lit up the valley and clouds ran in the sky as white as goose feathers. Mary unwound the kite string and as the triangle of red took to the wind, her lips parted in something like a smile and for a moment she was as any other nine-year-old, without a care.

I wondered at the things inside her head to which I did not have access. But I smiled too as I looked up, watching as the kite was whipped towards the blue. It swooped and climbed and her hair lashed about her cheeks, and for the first time, I saw a likeness to her mother and aunt. One day she would be beautiful, and I tried to imagine her growing into womanhood, but again my mind refused to create the image. I could not visualize her anything other than this young girl, and my fear for her fell like a shadow over my thoughts.

Later we took out our sewing boxes to finish Bobbity’s dress. The gown was finally complete and Mary buttoned the smock and held the doll up to admire her new appearance.

‘We shall have to make her a whole new wardrobe with dresses for all occasions.’ I fished in my pocket. ‘Now, Bobbity,’ I said, ‘I have a small gift for you.’

Her eyes were questioning.

‘This is for Bobbity’s dress.’

My excitement was almost as great as hers, and with grave ceremony, I passed her a pin with a ladybird enamelled at its centre. It was a trinket, picked up at some market and of no monetary value. But for a moment, Mary went completely still as if it were made of gold and studded with jewels. Then, carefully, she took it and fixed it on the doll with fingers that trembled. I looked down at her face and my heart squeezed. After it was done, she looked at me and in an impulse flung her arms about my neck and placed a kiss on my cheek.

I laughed at her delight and returned it with one of my own.

Mrs Brodie had prepared a lunch of hard biscuits and a tasteless broth which we ate in silent distaste, and then there were lessons and I left Mary to her aunt.

I was putting things away in the playroom when Mrs Brodie came up to re-stock the fire buckets. She had a quick, nervous manner but despite her slight frame she was strong, making short work of it.

‘And how are you enjoying Skelthsea, miss?’ she asked. ‘A bit different from the city?’