Mrs Tournier lay in her bed, her pillows fluffed and towering up behind her head and shoulders just the way she liked it, her hands folded on top of the blankets. Her candle was snuffed out and she was ready to leave another day behind her. But she could not. In the silence of the house, she could hear her daughter’s soft steps in her room, no doubt preparing for tomorrow’s departure. Mrs Tournier clenched her fists at the thought and tugged at her sheets in frustration.She closed her eyes and tried to breathe slowly. “Oh Jean,” she finally sighed. “I am so angry; all I can see and think about is her.”She realised that in order for her to successfully conjure up her departed husband’s face, she needed to calm down. She twirled her wedding ring like a talisman and then rubbed the locket with his picture in a secret ritual. “She’s pacing around there right now, preparing to go to Edinburgh with that . . . man,” she said dryly. At that thought, her resentment threatened to destroy the faint image she had been able to summon and almost reverted to her daughter again.“Oh non,”
