In their attic room in the inn at Ferrixao the pale sunlight made patterns like lace on the single dirty pane of the window. Maribel knelt, dragging the trunk containing her camera from its place beneath the narrow iron bed. Inside she had wrapped the camera case in a blanket to keep it from damage. She unfolded the blanket and, opening the case, lifted the camera from its nest of padding. Despite the care with which she had wrapped it, it had grown dusty. She blew on it briskly and polished it with a clean cloth, working the rag carefully into the hidden cavities of the lens casing. When she peered at Alice through the viewfinder the maid scowled, scratching ostentatiously at the red bites on her wrists. ‘Be careful,’ Maribel said. ‘A face like that could crack the lens clean through.’ Alice stuck out her tongue. Then she picked up Maribel’s cape, shaking it out before holding it up for her mistress to put on. Maribel slipped her arms through the slits. Alice assessed her appraisingly, smoothing out the creases at the shoulders, and fastened the clasp at the neck.
