mma sat at the table in the kitchen of Fairley Hall, sewing a white lace collar on to a silk blouse which Olivia Wainright had given to her as a gift, along with a dark green cotton dress and a thick woollen shawl of the brightest red.

It was warm and snug in the large kitchen. The fire burned merrily in the hearth, the sun poured in through the sparkling windows, and the whole room gleamed in the bright afternoon light, which bounced off the shining copper and polished brass and struck the flagstone floor sharply, so that this, too, looked golden. The atmosphere was exceptionally tranquil, it being Sunday. Murgatroyd had just departed for Pudsey to visit his sister, and Annie, the betweenmaid, was upstairs in the dining room, following Emma’s instructions and setting the table for dinner. The roaring fire spurted and crackled almost in unison with the little whistles and snores that issued forth from Mrs Turner’s spherical body. The cook was sprawled in a chair, dozing in front of the fire, her cap askew, her ample bosom rising and falling contentedly as she slumbered on, dreaming her untroubled dreams. The only other sounds were the ticking of the clock and the occasional roar of the wind as it rattled against the windows. Although it was sunny, and the sky was a clear cerulean blue, it was a blustering April day outside.

Emma smoothed out the silk and held the blouse up in front of her, gazing at it appraisingly. With her innate sense of taste and her keen eyes she was quick to recognize its elegance. It was almost new, and such a lovely blue. Like the sky outside, Emma thought, glancing out of the window. Like me mam’s eyes, she said to herself, and decided she would give it to her mother when she went home later in the week. The idea of being able to give her mother something so beautiful filled Emma with immense pleasure, and her usually sober face was suddenly illuminated by a most joyful smile. She picked up a lace cuff and started to stitch it neatly on to one of the long, full sleeves, her mind turning with thoughts of Leeds, and her Plan with a capital P.

Just then the outside kitchen door flew open so violently, and with such rattlings and bangings, Emma was startled. She looked at the door expectantly, and decided it had been blown open by the force of the gale which was raging outside. She was about to go and close it when a cheery face appeared around the doorjamb. Vibrant black curls blew in the wind, bright black eyes danced merrily above tanned cheeks, and the wide mouth broke into a mischievous grin.

‘Sure and I hope ye won’t be turning a cold spalpeen away on this bitter day.’ The voice was full of lilting brogue and laughter and love of life. ‘’Tis a cup of tea I hope ye’ll be offering me.’

‘Blackie!’ shrieked Emma, totally forgetting the sleeping Mrs Turner in her delight, and she leapt up and ran across the room, her skirts swishing around her long legs, her face wreathed in smiles. Blackie eased his great frame through the door, and came down the steps in three swift jumps. He swept Emma up into his brawny arms, swung her around several times until the room whirled before her eyes, and then he put her down carefully. He studied her gently and held her at arms’ length, scrutinizing her intently.

‘Ye get to look more fetching every time I be seeing ye, mavourneen,’ he exclaimed. ‘I do believe ye are the prettiest colleen in the whole of England, and that’s the God’s truth, I am thinking.’

Emma blushed prettily. ‘Aay, Blackie, yer a real tease. Don’t be so silly.’ This was said somewhat scathingly, but nevertheless she beamed with pleasure.

The noise and bustle and sudden flurry had awakened Cook, who sat up with a start and rubbed her eyes. She blinked, momentarily confused. ‘Now, lass, what’s going on?’ she shouted, glowering at Emma. ‘Yer making enough noise ter waken t’dead!’

Before Emma could announce the arrival of their unexpected visitor, Blackie was striding across the kitchen to pacify Cook. ‘Faith and are ye not a sight for sore eyes, Mrs Turner me luv,’ Blackie said. ‘’Tis only me, come to pay me compliments and give ye this.’ He paused at her chair and, with a small flourish, pulled a brown paper bag out of his coat pocket, which he gave to her, bowing elaborately. Mrs Turner’s irascibility instantly evaporated at the sight of Blackie O’Neill, of whom she had grown very fond.

‘Why, Blackie, aren’t yer the one,’ said Cook, positively glowing. She peeped into the bag and her birdlike brown eyes lit up. ‘Ooh, Blackie, me favourite toffees and humbugs. Thank yer, lad. That’s right thoughtful of yer. It is that. And have yer heard our news? We don’t have ter worry no more about the likes of Murgatroyd. No, by gum, we don’t.’ A gloating look settled on Cook’s face as she confided. ‘He’s had his wings clipped, Blackie lad. He has that. Things have changed around here since Mrs Wainright came.’ Cook gave him the benefit of a gratified smile and went on, ‘Mrs Wainright is ever so good to us all. Yes, she is indeed. Why, that woman’s an angel.’

‘From all I be hearing she must be an angel,’ said Blackie, his eyes merry. ‘And can I not see with me own eyes that things have improved, Mrs Turner? To be sure they have, thank God.’ Blackie stole a quick look at Emma, and was further impressed. She was blossoming into a truly lovely young woman. She looked cared for and beautiful, with her glowing face and silky hair, wearing her crisp blue dress and starched white-apron.

‘Yes, indeed, it warms the cockles of me heart to see the colleen so well fed, and dressed in a bit of decent clothing,’ Blackie added, nodding his head approvingly. Cook clucked her agreement and leaned back in the chair. She popped a humbug into her mouth and propped her feet up on the hearth, toasting her toes.

Now Blackie sat down at the table opposite Emma. He fished around inside his coat and brought out a small package. ‘And this is for ye, mavourneen,’ he said importantly, placing it on the table in front of her. His gay black eyes regarded her fondly.

Emma stared at the package and then she looked up at Blackie with large eyes. ‘What is it?’ she asked, her voice hushed.

‘Just a little bit o’ nonsense. A birthday present for ye,’ said Blackie. His mouth twitched with pleasure as he observed her growing curiosity mingled with anticipation.

‘But it’s not me birthday till the end of April,’ said Emma. She picked up the package and turned it over in her hands, examining it with mounting interest. She had never received a present like this before. A present wrapped in silver paper and tied with a silver ribbon. Never in her whole life. It looked almost too beautiful to open.

‘Yes, I know when it is,’ Blackie told her. ‘But me Uncle Pat’s sending me to Harrogate, to do a big building job, and I’ll be gone for three weeks or more. I didn’t want to be missing the special occasion of ye birthday. That’s why I brought it for ye today, me bonny mavourneen.’

Emma looked down at the gift in her hands. Her face was flushed and her vivid eyes sparkled with shimmering green light. ‘Can I open it now then?’ she asked, unable to contain her excitement. ‘I don’t have ter wait, do I?’

‘Sure and ye don’t, Emma. Open it this minute,’ said Blackie, enjoying the scene enormously.

Emma untied the silver ribbon and removed the silver paper with the greatest of care. A small black box was revealed, which Emma stared at wide-eyed, her heart fluttering. Slowly she lifted the lid. ‘Oh, Blackie, it’s lovely,’ she gasped, her eyes growing larger. With trembling hands she took out a small brooch designed in the shape of a bow and decorated with bright green stones. She held it up to the light. The cheap little brooch glittered with such radiance in the sunlight its tawdriness was diminished and, in her hands, it seemed to take on a special kind of beauty, and even Blackie was amazed.

‘Look, Mrs Turner,’ Emma shrieked, running to show her. Cook said, ‘Well, aren’t you a lucky lass. That was right kind of Blackie ter remember yer fifteenth birthday.’

‘It’s only glass,’ Blackie said in an apologetic tone. ‘But when I saw it in the shop in Leeds, in one of them grand arcades, I said to meself, “Why, ’tis the colour of Emma’s emerald eyes, sure and it is.” So buy it I did, without another minute’s hesitation.’ Blackie grinned in his engaging way. ‘When I’m a toff, that millionaire I’m planning to be one day, I shall be buying ye a brooch exactly like this one, mavourneen. But it will be made of the real emeralds, I can promise ye that,’ he announced with the utmost confidence.

‘Yer don’t have ter do that,’ Emma exclaimed quickly. ‘This is the most beautiful brooch I’ve ever seen. Why, I shall keep it always. I don’t want no emeralds, Blackie. This is perfect. Thank yer, ever so much.’ She smiled at him radiantly and kissed him on the cheek.

He hugged her to him and said, ‘I am glad ye be liking it, Emma.’

Emma sat down, the smile lingering on her face, and after a few seconds she returned the brooch safely to its box, but she left the lid off, so that she could admire it.

‘Well now, how about a nice cup of tea, lad?’ said Cook, heaving herself up out of the chair with a great deal of huffing and puffing. She straightened her cap, smoothed down her apron, and went on, ‘The kettle’s on t’hob and I’ll have a pot mashed in two shakes of a lamb’s tail.’ As she spoke the cook padded over to the dresser, took down a brown pot and a tea caddy, and began to busy herself at the dresser.

‘Thank ye, Mrs Turner, I don’t mind if I do,’ said Blackie, crossing his great legs and sitting back comfortably in the chair. He gave his full attention to Emma. ‘And what are ye doing here on Sunday, might I be asking?’ he queried, frowning. ‘I thought ye would be having the day off, as ye always do. I was going to stop off at ye dad’s and leave ye the present, after I’d dropped in for a little visit with Mrs Turner here.’

‘The Squire gave a dinner party last night and Mrs Wainright asked me ter work over the weekend, seeing as how there was a right lot of clearing up ter do,’ explained Emma. ‘I won’t be going home till Thursday, but Mrs Wainright’s ever so kind, Blackie, and she’s given me four whole days off. Two ter make up for this weekend, and next Saturday and Sunday as well.’

‘I am glad to be hearing that,’ said Blackie. ‘So, the Squire had a dinner party, did he? I bet it was real posh, Emma, eh? Lots of toffs here, I am thinking.’ Blackie grinned. ‘I’ve no doubt about that, at all, at all. Ah, yes, the money is a wonderful thing to be having.’

Emma nodded solemnly, her eyes glittering. ‘Yer right, Blackie, anybody can be a toff with money.’ She eyed him appraisingly and continued, ‘Yer don’t look so bad yerself. Is that a new suit, then?’

Blackie beamed and sat up straighter, smoothing down his sombre black jacket made of good broadcloth. ‘It is indeed. And a new tie,’ he said, touching the dark blue cravat proudly. He winked. ‘Sure and I’m all in me Sunday best today. Ye don’t think I’d come visiting an ejicated young lady in me working clothes, do ye now?’

Emma smiled and, ignoring this comment, said, ‘Yer should’ve seen Mrs Fairley and Mrs Wainright. They looked ever so beautiful. Like the pictures from the illustrated magazines. Real elegant.’

‘I can just imagine,’ said Blackie. He gazed at Emma affectionately and added, ‘And that’s the way ye’ll be looking one day, me spry young colleen, when ye are the grand lady.’

Emma blushed. ‘Oh, I don’t knows about that,’ she murmured, suddenly bashful. ‘But tell me, what’s happening in Leeds? Tell me some more about Leeds, Blackie. What’ve yer been doing there lately?’

‘Not much news,’ said Blackie cautiously, his eyes wary as he became conscious of that look on her face, that look which always appeared when she mentioned the city. ‘Things are just the same, I am thinking. I have nothing exciting to be telling ye, mavourneen, sure and that’s the God’s truth. And all I’ve been doing, since I last saw ye in March, is work hard. Me and me Uncle Pat, why, we’ve more jobs than we can handle these days. Thanks to the Squire. Sure and it is himself who has helped us to prosper. Giving us the recommendations and all.’ Now unable to conceal his jubilation, he added exuberantly, and without stopping to consider the effect it might have on her, ‘I not be telling ye a lie, Emma, when I say that business is booming in Leeds.’

Emma looked at Blackie intently. She thought: Then I must go there soon, but said, ‘And what’s in it for the Squire? Recommending yer for all this work?’

Blackie threw back his great head and roared with laughter. ‘There be nothing in it for himself,’ he said. ‘Whyever should ye be thinking such a thing, mavourneen?’ Blackie pulled a red kerchief out of his pocket, wiped his eyes, and blew his nose.

‘’Cos I knows the Squire, and he would never do owt for nowt,’ she said pithily, contempt curving her mouth. ‘Talk about hard-faced, yer could straighten nails on his.’

Blackie laughed again and slapped his knee. ‘Emma! Emma! Not everybody’s on the take or on the make,’ he remonstrated gently. ‘Especially a fine gent like the Squire. He recommends us because he is acquainted with our work. He knows we are good bricklayers and builders, me and me Uncle Pat. Sure and he does.’ He paused and said with a degree of certitude, ‘He also recommends us because he likes us, I am thinking.’

‘Oh, aye,’ remarked Emma, dryly, her eyes doubtful. She found this hard to believe.

Blackie leaned forward across the table, and said confidingly, ‘Well, it is more than the liking of us. Ye see, mavourneen, me Uncle Pat saved the Squire’s life three years ago, and himself has been grateful ever since.’

‘Saved the Squire’s life,’ Emma echoed coldly. ‘And how did he do that, then?’

‘The Squire was driving through Leeds in his gig. Down Briggate, I believe it was, and the horse bolted. Sure and it did. Me Uncle Pat saw it happening, and with the great presence of mind he leapt on the horse and brought it to a standstill, after a great struggle, terrifying to behold, so I understand,’ said Blackie, unconsciously throwing back his shoulders. ‘He’s a big man and strong, me Uncle Pat is, but it took all of his great strength, indeed it did! The Squire could have been killed, sure and he could, if it hadn’t been for me Uncle Pat. And mighty dangerous it was. Why, me Uncle Pat was almost trampled under the horse and maimed for life.’

Blackie gave Emma a knowing look. ‘Anyway, mavourneen, the Squire was grateful, as I said, and impressed with me Uncle Pat’s bravery and he wanted to reward him—’ Blackie shook his head and went on scoffingly, ‘Me Uncle Pat, well, he wouldn’t be taking the money. “Only a heathen takes money for the saving of a man’s life,” so says me Uncle Pat to the Squire. So, the Squire, out of his eternal gratitude, gives us the work and recommends us,’ Blackie finished triumphantly, nodding his head. ‘And glad we are to be getting it, mavourneen.’

‘Yer Uncle Pat must be very brave,’ said Emma. She pondered for a moment and then her mouth compressed into a thin line. ‘Well, I hope yer charge the Squire plenty, and them that he recommends,’ she commented with acerbity.

‘Why, Emma Harte! What a thing to be saying,’ cried Blackie, feigning horror. He concealed his amusement and exclaimed, ‘I can see ye are growing up to be a real hardheaded Yorkshire lass.’

‘The tea’s ready,’ announced Cook, interrupting their conversation. ‘Emma, get out the best cups and saucers, and put the best lace cloth on the table, being as it’s Sunday and we’ve got company.’ Cook waddled over with the tea tray. ‘What can I do to be helping ye, Mrs Turner?’ asked Blackie, standing up.

‘Nowt, lad. Sit yerself down. We’ll have it all ready in two ticks.’ She bustled away, returning a few seconds later with another tea tray laden with plates of thick ham sandwiches, slices of delicious veal-and-ham pie, hot sausage rolls, small dishes of pickled onions, beetroot, and piccalilli, warm buttered scones, blackberry jam, and a giant-sized caraway-seed cake.

‘I swear I’ve never set eyes on a tea party like this, Mrs Turner. Faith and that’s the truth,’ said Blackie. ‘Ye have outdone yeself, Mrs Turner, me darlin’. Sure and it’s the finest spread I’ve ever seen.’

‘Sounds ter me as if yer kissed the Blarney stone afore yer left Ireland,’ said Cook, but her eyes were laughing and full of fun. She glanced at Blackie warmly and slapped him on the shoulder. ‘Aay, get on with yer, lad. There’s nowt ter be gained from flattering an old body like me.’

At this moment, Annie, the betweenmaid, came down the steps from the upstairs quarters. Tall and robust, with a creamy pink-and-white complexion, flaxen hair, and pale blue eyes, Annie looked for all the world like the typical buxom milkmaid and her manner was also decidedly bovine. Emma, putting out the cups and saucers, looked up. ‘Did yer finish upstairs, Annie? Is everything all right, luv?’ Annie nodded slowly, but her usually placid expression had disappeared, which Emma noticed instantly. ‘Come ter the sink and wash yer hands then, luv, and we’ll be having our teas,’ Emma went on hurriedly, manoeuvring Annie across the kitchen, and out of Cook’s earshot. ‘Did yer break summat, luv?’ asked Emma.

‘No, Emma. I was ever so careful, like yer told me ter be,’ said Annie.

‘Well, what’s wrong, then? Yer look worried to death. I can see yer not yerself.’

‘It’s Mrs Fairley,’ Annie whispered conspiratorially. ‘She fair give me a right turn, she did that, Emma.’

‘What happened?’ Emma turned on the tap and made a show of washing her hands to drown out their voices.

‘I went up ter see the missis, like yer told me ter, after I’d finished setting the table. But when I knocked on her door she didn’t answer. Anyroads, I went in ter the sitting room, and there she was, sitting in the dark, talking a mile a minute—’

‘So what’s wrong with that?’ interrupted Emma impatiently.

‘Yer don’t understand, Emma! There was nobody there with her. She was talking ter the empty chair,’ whispered Annie, her eyes like saucers.

‘Nay, Annie luv. That can’t be so. Maybe Mrs Wainright was there. Perhaps she was somewhere in the room and yer didn’t notice,’ countered Emma with a deep frown, although she guessed, as she spoke, that this was probably not the case.

‘Mrs Wainright’s not back from Kirkend,’ murmured Annie. ‘Anyroads, when Mrs Fairley sees me, she stops talking ter the chair. I asked her if she wanted her tea, ever so polite like, as yer told me ter be. She said she didn’t, but ter tell yer she’ll have her dinner in her room later,’ said Annie. She began to breathe a little more easily, now that she was safely back in the kitchen.

‘I’d best go up ter see her,’ said Emma worriedly.

‘No, yer don’t have ter, Emma. The missis told me she was tired, so I helped her ter bed. She laid herself down and was off in a few minutes—’ Annie stopped and took hold of Emma’s arm. ‘Emma—’ she began hesitatingly, and paused again.

‘Yes, luv, what is it now?’ asked Emma.

‘Mrs Fairley smelled ever so funny. She smelled of whisky. Least I think it was,’ confided Annie.

Emma’s eyes narrowed, but she adopted a sceptical tone. ‘Oh, Annie, yer must be imagining things.’

‘No, I’m not. Honest, Emma!’

Emma glared at Annie. ‘First of all, how do yer knows what whisky smells like, Annie Stead? All yer dad sups is beer.’ She gave Annie a penetrating look, and added protectively, ‘Mrs Fairley has a special medicine that she takes. That’s what yer smelled, Annie Stead.’

‘If yer say so,’ said Annie, for she was in awe of Emma, and also afraid of her. Nonetheless, she found the courage to add, ‘Still, the missis was talking ter herself. Make no mistake about that!’

Emma, who felt compelled to defend Adele Fairley, thought quickly, and said with a small, knowing smile, ‘Come ter think of it, Mrs Fairley often reads aloud ter herself. That’s probably what she was doing when yer went in ter see her. Yer just didn’t notice the book, that’s all.’ She gave Annie such a threatening look the girl blanched and shrank away. ‘But if yer that concerned, I’ll go up and see her right now,’ remarked Emma coolly.

Annie shook her head. ‘No! No! Leave her be, Emma. She was fast asleep when I left her a few minutes ago.’

‘Now, there, lasses! What’s all this ’ere whispering by the sink. Yer knows I don’t like that sort of thing,’ cried Mrs Turner crossly. She clapped her hands. ‘Emma! Annie! Come ’ere at once and get yer teas. I won’t have that there whispering!’

‘Don’t say owt ter Cook,’ Emma cautioned. She turned off the tap, dried her hands, and attempted to look unconcerned. So Annie has smelled the drink, too, Emma thought with dismay. But, as she sat down at the table, she acknowledged to herself that there was no point in going upstairs, if Mrs Fairley was sleeping. That’s the best thing for her right now, Emma decided, with her usual common sense.

Under Blackie’s ebullient influence Emma soon cheered up. He was a marvellous raconteur and he kept them laughing during tea with his amusing stories and teasings. Emma found she was able to put Adele Fairley out of her mind completely, and she began to enjoy herself as much as the others. She laughed a great deal, much to Blackie’s satisfaction. In his opinion, Emma was always too serious by far, so that he derived great pleasure from her gaiety.

The atmosphere was frivolous, and the kitchen rang with Blackie’s boisterous laughter, the girls’ high-pitched giggles and squeals of delight, and Cook’s occasional reprimands ‘ter keep the noise down’, uttered goodnaturedly enough through her own pealing laughter.

When they had finished eating, Emma said, ‘Sing us a song, Blackie. Will yer, please?’

‘Sure and I will, mavourneen. And what will ye pleasure be?’

‘Would yer sing “Danny Boy”, Blackie? Mrs Turner likes t—’ Emma broke off and looked at the kitchen door, which had burst open wildly and was swinging on its hinges in the wind. She was flabbergasted to see her brother Frank standing on the threshold. He banged the door shut furiously, and hurtled down the stone steps, his boots clattering loudly, his small face white and cold, his thin body shivering in his threadbare jacket.

‘Good gracious me! What’s all this, then?’ cried Mrs Turner, looking perturbed.

Emma jumped up and flew across the room. ‘Frank lad, what’s wrong?’ she asked, pulling him to her protectively. Frank was gasping for breath, his eyes were wide with fright, and the freckles stood out on his drawn face. Emma led him to the fire gently, clucking to him in her motherly way and patting his shoulder soothingly. The boy’s breathing was laboured, for he had run all the way from the village, and, as yet, he was unable to speak. Finally he managed to gasp, ‘Me dad says yer’ve got ter come right sharpish, our Emma. Now!’

‘Whatever’s the matter?’ said Emma, staring into his face with alarm, her mind racing. Frank’s eyes filled with tears and before he spoke Emma knew instinctively exactly what he was going to say. She held her breath and prayed to God she was wrong.

‘It’s our mam, Emma. Me dad says ter tell yer she’s right badly. And Dr Mac’s there. Come on!’ he yelled, frantically tugging at her arm.

Emma’s face went chalk white and fear darkened her eyes, so that they took on the colour of malachite. She pulled off her apron, ran to the kitchen cupboard, and grabbed her coat and scarf without uttering a word. Blackie and Mrs Turner exchanged worried glances. Mrs Turner said, ‘Now, lass, I’m sure it’s nowt serious. Don’t be fretting yerself. Yer knows yer mam has been a lot better lately.’ Her tone was reassuring, but her plump face was the picture of concern.

Blackie had risen and solicitously helped Emma into her coat. He squeezed her arm and said consolingly, ‘Mrs Turner’s right. To be sure she is, Emma. Don’t be afeared now. Ye mam’s in good hands with the doctor.’ He paused and looked into her stricken face. ‘Would ye like me to come with ye?’

Emma looked up at him and shook her head. ‘But if Dr Mac’s with her it must be summat serious.’ Emma’s voice quavered and her eyes brimmed with tears.

‘Now, don’t be jumping to the conclusions,’ Blackie said with great gentleness, endeavouring to calm her fears. ‘Ye mam will be fine, mavourneen. Sure and she will.’ Emma looked up at him sorrowfully and she did not answer. Blackie put his strong arms around her and hugged her to him. After a few seconds he released her and touched her face tenderly. ‘Ye must have faith,’ he whispered softly, gazing into her eyes.

‘Yes, Blackie,’ she whispered, tying on her scarf. Then she grabbed Frank’s hand and hurried him across the room. ‘I don’t think I’ll get back in time ter help yer with dinner, Mrs Turner,’ she called, running up the steps. ‘But I’ll try. Ta’rar.’ The door slammed behind Emma and Frank.

Mrs Turner sat down heavily in the chair. ‘It seemed too good ter be true. The way her mam improved in the last few weeks. The calm before the storm, if yer asks me,’ she muttered dourly. ‘Poor bairn, and she was having such a good time for once.’

‘Let’s not look on the black side, Mrs Turner. Her mam might be having a small attack, that’s all. It could be a false alarm,’ said Blackie with a show of cheeriness, but his heart was heavy and a melancholy look clouded his black eyes.

Once they were outside, Emma did not attempt to question Frank at all. She knew, deep in the marrow of her bones, that it was imperative for her to get home as quickly as possible, without wasting a minute of precious time. Her father would not have sent for her unless her mother had taken a turn for the worse. In spite of the confident reassurances Blackie and Mrs Turner had given her, Emma was quite positive of this, and she trembled as her alarm fired into cold terror.

Hand in hand, Emma and Frank ran across the stable yard, down the path by the copse of great oaks, and through the Baptist Field. Together, they struggled up the small slope rising to the plateau of moorland and the wide track that led to the village. By this time, Frank was fighting for breath and he found it difficult to keep up with Emma’s increasing pace. She gripped his hand tighter and pulled him along after her relentlessly, ignoring his protestations and little gurgling cries.

He tripped and fell, but Emma did not stop, nor did she pay any attention to him. With an almost superhuman strength she dragged him along in her wake, his little body trailing limply in the dirt behind her. His wailing cries and ear-piercing screams finally registered, and pulled her up short.

‘Frank! For heaven’s sake,’ she yelled wildly, staring down at him furiously. ‘Get up, lad! This minute!’ She attempted to pull him to his feet, but Frank lay inertly on the path.

‘I can’t keep up with yer, our Emma.’

Emma, who was not a naturally cruel person, was now disturbed almost to the point of hysteria. Her only thought was to get home to her mother, who needed her. ‘Then yer’ll have ter follow me,’ she shouted with coldness.

Emma set off along the rough moorland track, her iron will pushing her forward with a preternatural energy. She gathered speed as she ran, her skirts flying out behind her in the wind. And one thought filled her mind as she ran: Don’t let me mam die. It was a prayer really, and she repeated it over and over again. Please, God, don’t let me mam die.

When she reached Ramsden Ghyll, Emma stopped and looked back. She could see Frank following on behind. But she could not wait for him, and she plunged down into the Ghyll without slowing her pace. At one moment she stumbled and almost fell, but she recovered herself quickly, and flew on. It was dark in the Ghyll, where the overhanging rocks cast giant shadows and excluded all light, but Emma did not notice the eeriness or the gloom. She was soon scrambling up the path on the other side of the Ghyll, and out into the bright sunlight. She was panting excessively and her breathing was impaired. Yet she did not stop. She hurtled forward along the top path, stones and bits of dirt flying out behind her, until, sobbing and breathless, she staggered up to Ramsden Crags. She rested against a rock, trying to regain her breath. The sound of pounding horse’s hooves thundering along the path suddenly broke the silence. Emma looked back, startled. She was surprised to see Blackie galloping towards her on one of the Squire’s horses. He held Frank in front of him.

Blackie brought the horse to a standstill and Emma recognized Russet Dawn, Master Edwin’s chestnut. Blackie leaned down and gave her his large hand. He stuck out his foot and said, ‘Jump up, Emma. Use me foot to mount.’ Emma did as he instructed and pulled herself up on to the horse behind him. ‘Hang on,’ he cried as they set off again at a brisk canter. Soon they were in sight of the church spire and within minutes they were pulling up at Top Fold.