‘It is,’ I admitted, ‘but I like the work.’

‘Well, that’s good now. Poor Mary. We all felt for her losing her brother like that.’ She had a coarse, high voice that reminded me of the gulls. ‘And,’ her tone was tentative, ‘do you believe that she’s getting better?’

‘Yes,’ I lied. ‘She’s improving all the time.’

Mrs Brodie’s eyes were flat with doubt. ‘And Iskar, miss. What do you think? It’s a fine house, wouldn’t you say?’ She laid down her brush and I could feel her keen anticipation for an answer.

‘It is a fine house,’ I said. ‘And you will be filling in for Mrs Lenister until she’s better?’

Mrs Brodie nodded. ‘I will. I’ll be here again before dawn, but I go back to my own home at night.’ Her look was pierced with some intent.

‘I expect you have your own family to get back to?’

Her eyes darted to the door. ‘Not young ones, no,’ she paused. ‘I could work later and stay overnight if I chose.’ There was something in her tone that made me look up.

She watched me conspiratorially, a sheen of excitement on her face. Her voice dropped, ‘You see, miss, not many of us would stay here the night, you know. Only Mrs Lenister, Greer and yourself. I bet it’s why yon Hettie left.’

‘What do you mean, Mrs Brodie?’ I was irked at her forwardness and because she had agitated my own doubts when for a moment they had retreated.

She leaned closer. ‘They say there are ghosts here. That Mary talks to ghosts.’

‘There are no such things as ghosts,’ I said, although my mind echoed back that I no longer wholly believed that.

‘He has been seen,’ she whispered.

‘Who?’ I said but my heart already knew. Hadn’t I thought I’d glimpsed him too – upon the beach and in reflection in Mary’s bedroom?

‘William is seen from the attic rooms at night looking out.’

‘You cannot see into a window from outside. It’s too dark,’ I said with more force than I intended, upset to have my own fears affirmed.

‘Not when someone lights a candle. People have seen him. A candle on the sill and his face at the glass.’

There was a tremble along my fingers and I put them on my lap to hide it and recalled the sound of his engine on the boards. ‘It must be Mary. She goes up there from time to time and they were very alike.’

But her look told me that she did not believe me. ‘He’s seen late at night, at the window, just a candle on the sill.’ She smiled coldly. ‘He was up to mischief in life and he can only be up to mischief in death.’