ogether they made their way down the long and dusky corridor and slowly descended the first flight of the grand staircase richly carpeted in red. Adele held on to the polished oak banister to steady herself and Emma supported her other arm under the elbow. When they reached the central landing, where the two upper left and right flights converged to join the main staircase, Adele paused to catch her breath, clinging tightly to the intricately carved newel post.

An immense stained-glass window floated high above this landing and the staircase, and it blazed with brilliant jewel colours and threw off rafts of awesome fiery light that washed over the white walls and spilled into the cavernous hall below. Emma glanced down and she shivered unexpectedly. The deserted hall looked gruesome, even frightening, in the unearthly bluish-red radiance that made crouching beasties and grotesqueries of the dark wood furniture and the huge potted palms. Once again terror trickled through her veins and she wanted, as always, to flee from this oppressive house full of secrets and concealed violence.

Don’t be daft, she told herself firmly, but she held on to Mrs Fairley’s arm more tightly, as much to quell her own fears as give support to Adele.

When they finally reached the hall, Adele looked around swiftly and then she also shivered and drew her robe about her. It seemed she echoed Emma’s own sentiments when she said, ‘It’s awfully gloomy and unwelcoming in here, Emma. Please turn up the gaslights.’

Emma did as she was bid and hastened after Adele, who was already sweeping grandly into the library, her back stiff, her head lifted proudly on her tense shoulders, herface as unmoving as white onyx. Murgatroyd was busy polishing the crystal glasses on the black-walnut chest, in readiness for the evening, when Adele entered with Emma close on her heels. He straightened up quickly and looked in some amazement at Mrs Fairley, who rarely appeared downstairs during the day, if at all.

‘Why, madame, how nice ter see yer looking so well. Can I get yer owt, Mrs Fairley?’ he asked deferentially.

‘No, thank you, Murgatroyd,’ Adele said, trying to smile.

‘There’s nowt wrong, is there, Mrs Fairley?’ he asked, peering at her closely.

Adele, walking across the floor with Emma in her wake, said quickly, ‘No, no, of course not, Murgatroyd. I wish to speak to the children about a certain matter, that’s all. But thank you for your concern.’

‘Not at all, madame,’ said Murgatroyd. His curiosity aroused, the butler hovered solicitously around Adele, who declined the chair he proffered and stood in front of the fireplace. Emma retreated into the background, her face grim, her eyes watchful.

Adele turned to him. ‘If I need anything I will ring for you, Murgatroyd,’ she said, dismissing him with a slight nod.

‘Certainly, madame,’ said the butler, bowing servilely. He picked up his cloths and backed out of the room. As he left he threw an ugly look at Emma. The way that lass has wormed her way in with the missis and Mrs Wainright is summat ter fair tek yer breath away, he mumbled enviously. He closed the door sharply behind him.

Adele remained standing, one hand gripping the edge of the mantelpiece, the other in the pocket of her robe, clenched in such a tight ball her nails dug into the palm. Her instinct was to run upstairs and retreat behind locked doors. Only her solicitude for Edwin kept her firmly rooted to the spot and prepared to face Gerald, whom she knew to be vicious.

The door opened and Gerald came in, followed closely by Edwin, who took up a position next to his father’s desk. His face was a picture of dismay, and he trembled.

Gerald rolled ponderously across the room, his obese body bulging in his tight riding jacket and breeches. The sly Gerald had just decided it was infinitely preferable to deal with his mother, rather than his father. In his opinion that vain and vacuous woman could easily be manipulated. He knew his father could not.

You stupid bitch, he thought, smiling at Adele lovingly. He came to a standstill and positioned himself directly in front of her. He arranged a bland look on his face and said with unfamiliar pleasantness, ‘Mother, please excuse me for being so rude to you. It was quite unpardonable, I know. But we were a little excited, I’m afraid. However, I didn’t mean to be impertinent or hurtful to you in any way. I hope you can forgive me, Mother dearest.’

Having anticipated an angry and abusive display or, at the most, further insolence, Adele was momentarily startled. A little surge of relief flooded through her and she was about to relax her taut muscles. She instinctively checked herself. Despite Gerald’s low opinion of her, she had more insight than he credited her with, and she knew what he was and she did not trust him. She also recognized that, like all bullies, he was a coward.

She held herself perfectly still and rigid. And she was unbending. She knew if she relented she would not only lose face but would expose Edwin to further mistreatment at Gerald’s hands.

‘You did behave with the most appalling rudeness, Gerald,’ said Adele. ‘I will overlook it this time, but I expect more respectful and gentlemanly conduct in future.’ Her voice was steady. She looked him right in the eye unflinchingly, and went on, ‘You will now give me an explanation of your abominable behaviour in the courtyard. I wish to know why you—’ Adele paused and glanced coldly at her son. ‘Why you were treating Edwin so unspeakably. I think it is quite reprehensible the way you continually pick on him. Your own brother, indeed. I will not permit it to continue, Gerald.’

Gerald, shifting about impatiently, realized this was not going to be as simple as he had thought. Moreover, he was confounded by his mother’s control. Now understanding that a mere apology would not suffice, as he had misguidedly imagined, he took a deep breath and began to explain, in a conciliatory tone. ‘It was really all a storm in a teacup, Mother dear. Please believe me, that’s the absolute truth. It was unfortunate I became so—er—er ruffled.’ He paused and flashed her a falsely loving smile. ‘We were out riding on the moors, as you know. On our way back we came across a dog, probably from the village, caught in one of those traps Father has had put down for the rabbits and other vermin. Edwin became upset about this, excessively so, I would say, and actually wanted to release the dog. I wouldn’t let him. We argued about this, Mother, mainly because I didn’t want Edwin injuring himself. Those traps are extremely dangerous, you know. I persuaded Edwin to ride on, and for some reason, quite unknown to me, he became more tearful as we reached the house. That’s all there is to it, Mother dearest.’

‘I see,’ said Adele thoughtfully. She gave Gerald a penetrating look and he flinched slightly under this fixed examination, but said blandly enough, ‘I have told you the truth, Mother. Ask Edwin.’

‘Oh, I fully intend to,’ said Adele grimly. Her legs had turned to water and a pulse in her temple was beginning to pound. She forced herself to continue, and she turned to regard Edwin. ‘I would now like you to tell me your side of this—this—ghastly tale, dear.’

‘Yes, Mother,’ Edwin said, joining her by the fireplace. His face was still chalk white and his alarm was patently obvious, although this was caused by consternation for his mother’s health, rather than fear of his brother. In spite of his sensitive nature, Edwin could stand up to him most of the time.

He coughed behind his hand and then said softly, ‘Gerald did tell you the truth. At least, most of it. He simply omitted the fact that the dog was still alive and writhing in the most terrible pain. When Gerald wouldn’t let me attempt to release it, I suggested we sent the yardman out to set it free. Or if that was not feasible, to shoot it and put it out of its suffering. That seemed to me to be the only merciful thing to do.’ Edwin stopped and stared accusingly at Gerald, who quickly averted his eyes.

Edwin’s voice rose in anger. ‘But he laughed at me. Actually laughed, and said I was being childish and hysterical. Gerald even went so far as to suggest that it would be a waste of time and also of the bullet. That’s why I became so heated.’ He pushed his hand through his fair hair agitatedly. ‘It was his cruelty that maddened me. And when I said I would tell Father about the dog Gerald became terribly abusive.’

Adele swallowed, attempting to subdue the feeling of revulsion that swamped her. ‘How disgusting you are. To let a poor helpless animal suffer like that and not try to put it out of its torment. Why, you are not even—’ Her furious gaze stabbed at Gerald, who did not budge but merely returned his mother’s condemning gaze steadily.

‘Please, Mother, don’t distress yourself so. You’ll make yourself ill again,’ said Gerald in a gentle voice that sheathed his deceitfulness. ‘The dog was on its last legs. It’s probably dead by now, anyway.’ He shrugged. Gerald knew he must dispense with this matter before his father returned from Leeds, otherwise there would be an uproar of no small proportions. So he said, again with fraudulent gentleness, ‘What would you like me to do, Mother, to make amends? I do so hate to see you in such a disturbed state.’

Adele had been staring right through the bulbous Gerald, an inscrutable look on her face. ‘I would like you to bring the yardman to me immediately, Gerald,’ said Adele.

Gerald blinked and his jaw dropped open stupidly. ‘You mean bring him here, into the house? Into Father’s library?’ he said, balking at this idea.

‘Yes, Gerald, into the house. I certainly have no intention whatsoever of going to the stables.’

‘But, Mother, perhaps—’

‘Don’t argue, Gerald.’

‘Yes, Mother. As you wish,’ he said grudgingly.

Adele’s eyes searched out Emma, who was standing in a shadowy corner, her face as ashen and as perturbed as Edwin’s. ‘Emma, please run down to the kitchen and get me a glass of water. This horrendous story has made me feel quite queasy.’

‘Yes, ma’am,’ said Emma, bobbing.

‘And you, Edwin’, Adele continued, ‘will be doing me a great service if you will be kind enough to get me the smelling salts from my bedroom. They’re on the dressing table, dear.’ Edwin nodded and slipped out after Emma.

Adele now focused her blazing eyes and all of her attention on her elder son. He was edging towards the door. ‘Gerald, before you go for the yardman I wish to speak to you.’ Adele’s voice was sweet and she smiled brilliantly.

Gerald was instantly confused by this radical change. ‘What about?’ he said rudely.

‘A matter of some importance. Come back here, Gerald.’ Adele beckoned.

Gerald reluctantly moved forward and it occurred to him too late that his mother’s voice had not been sweet at all. It had oozed acid and that smile had been a dangerous smile. He wavered, and, quailing, held back.

Adele took a sudden step forward and in a lightning movement grabbed the boy’s wrist. They were only a few inches apart and Adele lifted her other hand and struck him savagely across the cheek.

Gerald recoiled and tried to break free. Adele held him in a vice-like grip that was surprisingly strong, and she leaned forward urgently. She stared deep into his eyes, and with loathing.

‘If I see you endanger Edwin’s life in any way, ever again, or hear that you have done so, I won’t answer for the consequences!’

A quick denial sprang to Gerald’s facile tongue, but when he saw the knowing gleam in his mother’s eyes he thought better of it. For the first time in his life he was cowed by this woman who, in her towering rage, appeared more beautiful than she had ever been, and was awesome.

‘I saw you kick Russet Dawn,’ Adele continued in the same venomous hiss. ‘And in the rib cage. You know as well as I do that when a highly strung hunter is struck unexpectedly, and with force, it is guaranteed to bolt. That’s why you did it, of course! Edwin could easily have been killed. You know what they do to murderers in England, don’t you, Gerald? They hang them by the neck until they are dead! Need I say more? Do you understand me?’

Gerald had blanched. His mother’s long nails bit into his flesh and red weals were appearing on his blubbery face. ‘Yes, I understand you,’ he mumbled.

‘Good. You are fortunate I have decided not to reveal your wickedness to your father. But I warn you now, I will do so if anything like this ever happens in the future.’ Adele regarded Gerald for a long moment and then released her hold, flinging her son’s hand away violently, as if it were contaminated. ‘Get out of my sight! Now! Before I strike you again!’ she shrieked. Gerald fled.

The door slammed and Adele covered her jerking mouth with her hands. She was shaking. This was the first time she had ever struck one of her children, or anyone else for that matter, and her own violence appalled her. Adele leaned back on the sofa and closed her eyes. After a short time she heard Emma’s voice.

‘Are yer feeling a bit faint, then, Mrs Fairley? Here’s the water.’ Opening her eyes, Adele saw Emma and Edwin standing before her. She drank the water gratefully and gave the empty glass back to Emma. ‘Thank you.’

Edwin knelt down at his mother’s feet and waved the smelling salts under her nose several times. Adele grimaced and drew back. ‘Thank you, dear. But that’s quite enough. I’m perfectly recovered.’

In spite of this assurance, Edwin continued to frown anxiously. ‘Are you certain? You look frightfully pale.’

‘Yes, Edwin.’ Adele smiled at him and patted his head. ‘You’re a good boy.’ She glanced at Emma. ‘But I would like another glass of water, please.’

‘Yes, ma’am. I brought a jug of it up.’ Emma ran to the walnut chest where she had left the water and poured a second glass.

‘Perhaps you should take a brandy, Mother. It might give you a little strength.’

‘No!’ cried Adele.

This was uttered with such fierceness that Edwin shrank back. He seemed hurt as he said, ‘I’m sorry, Mother. I just thought it would revive you.’

‘I know, dear, and at any other time I would take a small glass, for medicinal purposes only, of course. But I must keep a clear head for tonight’s dinner party, Edwin. It will be a long evening and various wines will be served. I don’t want to start drinking too early in the day.’ In fact, Adele needed a drink desperately, but she fought the desire. She threw him a tender look. ‘I didn’t mean to sound so sharp. Do forgive me, my dearest.’

‘There’s nothing to forgive,’ said Edwin, returning her loving glance. ‘I know how wearisome this has been for you. I’m sorry you had to get involved.’

The door opened to admit Gerald, accompanied by the yardman. ‘On our way over from the stables I took the opportunity to explain about the poor trapped dog and your grave concern about it, Mother dearest,’ said Gerald with a hint of sarcasm, his cocky manner fully restored.

Adele rose and regarded them both with coldness. ‘I see.’ She eyed the yardman. ‘I assume you know how to handle these traps and can release the dog easily. I want you to go and do that immediately.’

‘Aay, I don’t knows abart that,’ the man muttered. ‘T’maister won’t think owt much o’ this. Women laiking abart in t’men’s business. Mind yer, I allos told ’im yon traps were right dangerous. I know’d there’d be trouble, I did that. I told t’maister summat bad’d ’appen. Newfangled junk, that’s wot yon traps are.’

‘Quite so. But since you are apparently the only person here who can manipulate them, please go and do as I say. I will take full responsibility with the master,’ Adele said. ‘We cannot be certain the dog is dead. In fact, it is probably alive and suffering. Go and attend to the matter at once. If it is dead, bury it. Should it be alive, and if it has some chance of surviving, bring it back here and care for it. Otherwise, if the poor thing is beyond hope, shoot it and bury it out on the moors.’

She glared at the man shuffling in the doorway. ‘What are you waiting for? Go at once! Master Gerald will accompany you, so that he can report back to me on his return,’ she snapped, her nerves jangling.

‘But, Mother!’ said Gerald fractiously. ‘There’s no reason for me to go. He’s perfectly capable of handling this by himself.’

‘Don’t quibble! Do as I say,’ commanded Adele.

Seeing the obdurate look in his mother’s eyes, Gerald shrugged and said, ‘Let’s get on with it then, man.’ They left together, Gerald in a high dudgeon.

Adele sat down and stared into the fire. Although she was oddly oblivious to the suffering of people, paradoxically the thought of an animal injured and in pain always moved her.

Emma brought her the water. ‘They’ll do as yer’ve told them,’ she said. ‘Don’t worry so, Mrs Fairley.’

‘Shall I assist you upstairs, Mother?’ Edwin suggested. ‘You should rest for a while, before dressing for dinner.’

‘Yes, Edwin, that is a good idea,’ said Adele thankfully. She was drained. Dealing with Gerald had taken its toll and vitiated her energy. The impending evening would be a further strain, and she wanted to gather her diminishing strength in readiness for it. At this moment she fervently wished she could retreat to her comfortable enveloping bed with a bottle and lose herself in her inner world. She stood up abruptly and Edwin took her arm and led her out of the library.

They mounted the stairs slowly and Emma followed dutifully behind. As Edwin shepherded his mother into the bedroom with great gentleness, Emma caught Edwin’s attention and motioned for him to follow her. He excused himself to his mother and hurried after Emma, who was waiting in the sitting room.

‘What is it, Emma?’ he asked with misgiving, conscious of the worried expression on her face.

‘Don’t leave yer mother alone, Master Edwin,’ Emma cautioned softly. ‘Can yer stop a bit and read ter her, or chat with her, till I changes me uniform and comes back ter help her get ready?’

‘Why, of course I can, Emma. But wouldn’t it be wiser if she slept for a while?’ he asked. ‘Why shouldn’t she be left alone?’

‘Because she frets about things and she’s ever so nervous about this blinking dinner party. And I knows she won’t sleep ’cos she had a long rest this afternoon. Just sit with her and keep her company. Help ter get her mind off the dinner. I’ll be back in a tick, ter start doing her hair,’ said Emma.

Edwin nodded in agreement. ‘Yes, you are quite correct, Emma. She does worry and easily becomes distracted.’ He reached out impulsively and touched Emma’s arm lightly. ‘Thank you so much, Emma, for taking care of my mother with such kindness. I do appreciate it, really and truly I do,’ he said with warm sincerity, his eyes soft and gentle.

Emma looked up at Edwin, who was tall for his age, surprised but delighted at this show of gratitude. ‘That’s ever so nice of yer ter say that, Master Edwin. I do me best, yer knows,’ she answered sweetly, glowing with genuine pleasure. And then she smiled. It was the most dazzling of smiles, one that illuminated her face with such radiance it actually appeared to shimmer in the dying afternoon light, and her eyes, widely open and tilted upward, were so spectacularly green and brilliant they were breathtaking.

Why, she’s beautiful, Edwin thought, momentarily staggered and blinded by her radiance and that beguiling smile and those incredible emerald eyes full of vivid intelligence, honesty, and innocence that gazed at him unwaveringly and with perfect trust. How odd that I never noticed her beauty before, he thought in wonderment, unable to tear his eyes away from hers. Imperceptibly, Edwin’s young heart shifted and tightened and he was besieged by an overpowering emotion, one he had not previously ever felt and which he did not understand. They continued to gaze at each other, as if mesmerized, locked in a prolonged moment of silence so intense the air seemed to vibrate around them, and they were like two figures isolated and petrified by time. Edwin’s naked face was bleached, the bones stark and pronounced. His limpid eyes were registering every plane and angle and smooth contour of that face before him, as if he felt compelled to commit it to memory for eyer. A light flush began to permeate Emma’s neck and cheeks, and her pale pink lips parted slightly. She was puzzled by that strained and staring look in Edwin’s eyes and concern flooded her face, extinguishing the radiance. It was then that Edwin recognized obtusely, just below the level of his conscious, that something of tremendous importance had happened to him, although he was not sure what this was. He did not comprehend, in his youthfulness, that he was now beholding the only woman he would ever truly love. The woman who would tragically haunt him for all the days of his life, and whose name he would cry out, and with yearning, as he drew his last breath.

Quite unexpectedly tears pricked the back of Edwin’s eyes and he was forced to turn his head. He swallowed hard, coughing behind his hand with embarrassment, humbled and oddly shy in front of this girl who had wrought such sudden upheaval within him. ‘Excuse me,’ he said, coughing again, hardly daring to look at her, but he could not resist and his eyes swept back to hers. Emma smiled gently and with kindness, and her face was so exquisite, so fragile, so tender, Edwin had to curb the strongest impulse to reach out and take it between his hands and touch it reverently. Eventually he managed to say in a strangled voice, ‘You are a fine girl, Emma. And I will stay with Mother, as you suggest, until you can come back.’

He turned on his heel and went towards the bedroom. As he crossed the floor, with that easy gracefulness inherited from his father, he experienced a peculiar sense of loss, a sensation of such profound loneliness it overwhelmed him and brought him to a standstill. Shaken, he swung around with involuntary force and Emma was startled. He stared at her with great intensity and his eyes were questioning and perplexed. Emma studied him gravely, and with a new understanding remarkably mature in its perception. She smiled faintly, and before he could say anything else she hastened out of the room with the tea tray, the dishes rattling noisily.

Miraculously, the hubbub in the kitchen had abated, and although Mrs Turner was flushed and perspiring, she seemed less irritable and anxious about the dinner. She was presiding over the steaming pots and pans with a certain bombastic pride, a self-congratulatory smile on her plum-coloured face, the ladle hooked on to her apron pocket, her hands on her hips.

Emma placed the tray near the sink and said, ‘If yer don’t need me for owt, Mrs Turner, I think I’d best go and get ready for tonight.’

‘Aye, luv, yer had, and right sharpish,’ responded Cook, looking at the clock on the mantel. ‘Everything’s under control here. It’s plain sailing from now on, I’d say.’ She bestowed a complacent smile on Emma. ‘There’s nowt much ter them there fancy recipes, once yer get the hang of ’em,’ she continued in a satisfied tone. ‘Next time we have a big dinner, I’ll be able ter do ’em with me eyes closed!’

Annie, who was polishing a large silver meat dish in the corner, looked up and grinned. She winked at Emma, who turned away, bit back an amused smile, and said, ‘I’m sure yer will, Mrs Turner. I’ll see yer later.’

Emma climbed the steep and twisting narrow stairs that led to her room in the attic. She shivered as she entered it. The window was wide open, and the blue curtains were billowing out wildly in the cool evening breeze from the moors. Emma ran to the window and closed it, and then quickly undressed. She stood at the washstand in front of the small leaded window and scrubbed her face with cold water and a flannel until it shone with rosy freshness. She brushed out her long hair, deftly twisted it into a thick bun, and then put on the evening uniform she had recently made. This was a black wool dress with long tight sleeves and a long straight skirt, and it was considerably more severe than her daytime uniform. But a white silk collar and cuffs relieved the starkness of the black, as did the frilled organdie apron she now tied around her slender waist.

Emma stared at her reflection in the mirror and was suddenly pleased with what she saw. She secured the jaunty white organdie cap on top of her head, smiling happily to herself. It had just occurred to her that she looked pretty. Blackie was always telling her that she was fetching, and Master Edwin obviously thought the same thing. She knew that, if only from the way he had looked at her earlier. She dwelt on Edwin. He was not a bit like the other Fairleys. She shuddered, thinking then of Gerald and the horrifying story of the dog. He was cruel and full of malice, whereas Edwin was kind and good. In fact, he did not seem to belong to Fairley Hall at all. She wondered if he had been stolen away from some other house by the gypsies, and sold to the Squire for a lot of money. She laughed out loud at her vivid imaginings which she knew were foolish. Things like that only happened in the tales her brother Frank made up on his bits of paper, and then read to her when she had the time to listen. She sighed suddenly. She would be sorry when Edwin returned to school. Tomorrow, she had heard the Squire say. She would miss his friendly smiles and his daily pleasantries and his thoughtfulness. His mother will miss him, too, she thought, overcome by a feeling of deep sadness for Adele. Intuitively Emma realized that Edwin was the only person who could give a measure of comfort to that troubled and haunted woman.

Now, in a hurry as always, Emma turned away from the mirror, hung up her day uniforn on a peg behind the door, and hurried downstairs. She must help Mrs Fairley to dress for dinner. The sitting room was empty and when Emma went through into the bedroom she was surprised to find Edwin alone. ‘Where’s yer mother, Master Edwin?’

Edwin looked up from the book he was reading and stifled a small gasp at the sight of her. Emma was even more beautiful, if that were possible, and he gazed at her in entrancement. The black dress made her look much taller, and willowy, and it gave her a certain elegance that was striking. Also, the black enhanced her ivory complexion, which had taken on the appearance of lustrous porcelain, creamy and rich and tinted with the palest of apricots. The white cap, perched provocatively atop her shapely head, set off her tawny russet-brown hair, and her eyes glowed with intense colour and were brilliantly alive. Cat’s eyes, he thought. Yes, there was something decidedly feline about Emma at this moment and it was highly arresting.

‘Excuse me, Master Edwin, but where’s Mrs Fairley?’ Emma said with a hint of impatience mingled with concern.

Edwin was interrupted from his contemplation of her. ‘She’s bathing, Emma,’ he answered quickly.

Emma frowned. ‘But she usually waits for me ter draw her bath for her,’ she said, biting her lip. She eyed the clock. ‘And I’m not late! It’s only just six o’clock.’

‘Please don’t worry, Emma. Mother’s not upset. She simply wanted to start dressing earlier than usual. In fact, I went in and drew the bath for her,’ he explained.

‘Yer should’ve rung for me, Master Edwin,’ Emma pointed out reprovingly, her mouth sternly set.

Edwin laughed gaily. ‘For heaven’s sake, Emma, don’t look so cross. No harm has been done. And don’t you think you have enough to do tonight? It was no bother for me to run Mother’s bath.’

‘If yer say so, Master Edwin. And thank yer,’ said Emma politely. She then asked quietly, ‘How is yer mam? She’s not gone and got herself all worked up again, has she?’

‘Not at all, Emma. I read to her, as you suggested, and we chatted for a while. I made her laugh, in fact, telling her about the boys at school and their antics. She’s in good spirits, Emma, truly she is.’

‘Thank goodness for that,’ said Emma with some relief. She gave him a tentative smile and began to busy herself in the bedroom. As she continued her small tasks, Emma chatted unselfconsciously to Edwin, who was observing her every movement studiously and with admiration. ‘So what happened to the dog, then, Master Edwin? Did Master Gerald come back and report about it, as Mrs Fairley told him ter do?’

‘Yes, Emma. Gerald was here a little while ago. The dog was still alive. But the injuries were so bad there was little hope for it. They shot it and dug a grave out on the moors.’ He sighed heavily. ‘Well, now it’s out of its suffering. That’s the most important thing. I cannot abide cruelty, Emma,’ he finished on a confiding note.

‘Aye, I knows that, Master Edwin,’ said Emma. ‘What a shame the poor little dog got caught,’ she murmured sympathetically. ‘Them traps are right dangerous, yer knows.’

Before Edwin had a chance to comment further, Adele came into the bedroom, wrapped in a thick woollen bathrobe. ‘There you are, Emma.’ She glanced at Edwin. ‘Would you excuse me now, my dearest boy. I have to dress, you know.’

‘Yes, Mother,’ said Edwin, as respectful as always. He ran over and kissed her. ‘Have a lovely evening, darling,’ he added, smiling at her.

‘Thank you, Edwin. I am sure I will,’ said Adele, not sure at all that she would. But she determined not to give one thought to the forthcoming evening, or she would become hysterical and quite incapable of leaving her room at all. After Adele had dressed herself in her underclothes, Emma laced her into her corset. ‘Tighter, Emma,’ cried Adele, with a small gasp, gripping the bedpost to steady herself.

‘Nay, Mrs Fairley, ma’am, if I makes the laces any tighter yer won’t be able ter eat owt,’ Emma pointed out. ‘Come ter think of it, yer won’t be able ter breathe either!’

‘Of course I will! Don’t be foolish, Emma,’ said Adele crisply. ‘I like a tiny waist.’

‘Well, tiny waist or no, yer don’t want ter be fainting away at the dinner, now do yer, Mrs Fairley?’

Adele paled slightly as she recognized the truth of this. It would be a catastrophe if she passed out during the evening. Adam would never believe it was actually from lack of breath, and for no other reason. ‘Well, perhaps you are right,’ she conceded reluctantly. ‘Don’t make the laces any tighter then, but don’t loosen them either, Emma. They are perfect just as they are. And please tie them in a strong double bow, so they won’t work open.’

‘Yes, ma’am,’ said Emma, finishing the task quickly. ‘Now we’d best start on yer hair, Mrs Fairley. Yer knows it takes me ages.’

Adele sat down at the glittering mirrored dressing table, studying her face admiringly and with loving self-absorption, whilst Emma brushed out the long shimmering hair and started the tortuous procedure of shaping it into a magnificent coiffure. This was an elegant pompadour, currently the height of fashion, which Adele had noticed in an illustrated magazine showing the latest London and Paris haute couture. The previous week, when Emma had copied it for Adele, she had taken a degree of licence and had elaborated upon it, adding her own special touches and adapting the original style so that it was more flattering to Adele’s fragile looks. To Adele’s astonishment the finished results had been not only quite outstanding and distinctly original but extraordinarily professional as well.

Now Emma swept the masses of hair up and away from Adele’s face, working the great lengths into the basic pompadour that was the foundation of the style. She rolled and folded the hair all around Adele’s head, so that it framed her exquisite features dramatically, anchoring it securely with hairpins. Emma worked patiently and skilfully in silent concentration, and at one moment she actually stood back to admire her handiwork, nodding her head with satisfaction, her eyes glowing. She had almost finished when she realized she had exhausted her supply of hairpins.

Emma clucked to herself with annoyance. Adele stared at her through the mirror, frowning. ‘What is it? No problems, I hope, Emma! My hair must be beautifully dressed tonight.’

‘Oh, it will be, ma’am,’ Emma reassured her. ‘It is already. But I need a few more hairpins, for the top curls. I’ll just pop along ter see Mrs Wainright, and ask ter borrow some. Excuse me, ma’am.’ Emma put the silver, monogrammed hairbrush on the dressing table, bobbed a curtsy, and flitted out.

The corridor was gloomy and wreathed in amorphous shadows, and the pieces of ornate Victorian furniture that punctuated its long expanse were like nebulous phantoms in the cold murky light emanating from the gas fixtures on the walls. Emma had to traverse the entire length of the shadowy corridor to reach Olivia Wainright’s room and, since it was deserted, she ran all the way, although this was prompted not so much by nervousness or fear as by her pressing need to save time, as usual. She was panting when she tapped on the door.

‘Come in,’ Olivia called out in a light melodious voice. Emma opened the door and stood politely on the threshold, as always surveying the room with grudging approval. It was the only one that appealed to her at Fairley Hall, apart from the cheerful kitchen.

Olivia Wainright was sitting at the carved oak dressing table with her back to the door. She swivelled around quickly. ‘Yes, Emma, do you need me for something?’ she asked with her usual courtesy.

Emma had taken a step forward, smiling in return, but she suddenly stiffened and stopped short. Olivia’s face was unnaturally pale, denuded as it was of the French rouges and powders and the other cosmetics she normally favoured. This intense pallor gave her a wan and exhausted look, as did her very white lips. Her aquamarine eyes were glittering and appeared larger and bluer in the paleness of her delicate face, their almost supernatural colour emphasized even more by the sky-blue silk robe she wore. Her dark brown hair, usually beautifully groomed and upswept in a fashionable style, fell around her shoulders like a glossy velvet cowl in the refracted light from the dressing-table lamps.

Emma knew she was gaping at Olivia Wainright and that this was the height of rudeness. But she could not help herself, and she could not turn away, so stupefied was she. That pallor, the tumbling hair, those brilliant eyes, all merged to form a face that overflowed with gentleness and poignancy, a luminous, haunting face with which Emma was only too familiar.

Olivia, meanwhile, had immediately perceived Emma’s strong reaction. She was mystified and regarded the girl at first curiously, and then with mounting nervousness, the powder puff dangling in her hand.

‘Good gracious, Emma, whatever is it? Why, you look as if you have seen a ghost, child. Are you feeling ill?’ she cried in a voice unusually vehement for her.

Emma shook her head. Finally she spoke. ‘No, no, Mrs Wainright. Nowt’s wrong. Please don’t fret yerself, ma’am. Excuse me, if I looked a bit funny like—’ Emma paused, uncertain of how to correctly explain her behaviour, which she knew must have seemed queer and was also improper. She coughed behind her hand. ‘I felt a bit faint for a second,’ she lied, and continued more truthfully and in a stronger voice, ‘I ran ever so fast down the corridor. Yes, that was it.’

Olivia relaxed, but she continued to frown. ‘You are always running, Emma. One of these days you will have an accident. But never mind that now. Are you sure you are perfectly all right? You are very white indeed. Perhaps you should lie down until the guests arrive,’ Olivia suggested with obvious concern.

‘Thank yer, ever so much, ma’am. But I’m better. Honest. I was just puffed. And I can’t rest now, Mrs Wainright. I’ve got ter finish getting Mrs Fairley ready. That’s why I came. Ter borrow some hairpins, if yer can spare a few,’ Emma explained in a rush of words to camouflage her considerable embarrassment.

‘Of course. You may have these,’ Olivia said, gathering up a handful.

Emma took them from her and attempted a smile. ‘Thank yer, Mrs Wainright.’

Olivia’s perceptive eyes contemplated Emma thoughtfully. She was not at all certain she believed the girl’s explanation. However, since she could not imagine any other logical reason for her ashen face and her apparent distress, she had no alternative but to accept it.

‘You do look a little peaked to me, Emma,’ she said slowly. ‘After the guests have arrived, and when you have attended to the ladies’ wraps, I want you to rest in the kitchen until it is time to serve dinner at eight-thirty. I don’t want you collapsing from fatigue. Inform Murgatroyd that is my wish.’

‘Yes, ma’am. That’s kind of yer,’ said Emma. She felt guilty and ashamed for pretending to feel faint, and also for having lied to Mrs Wainright.

Olivia reached out and patted Emma’s shoulder. She shook her head in fond exasperation. ‘Sometimes I think you are much too diligent for your own good, Emma. You know I am more than satisfied with your work. Try and take things at a slower pace, child,’ she said with the utmost kindness.

Emma, staring up at her fixedly, felt her throat tighten with emotion and tears stung her eyes. She cleared her throat. ‘Yes, ma’am.’ She bobbed a curtsy and left the room as sedately as she could. Once she was safely in the corridor, Emma exhaled deeply and with enormous relief. She leaned against a small carved table to steady herself. Her legs felt wobbly and her heart was hammering. She looked back at the door, shaking her head from side to side in total disbelief. Olivia Wainright looked like her own mother. As incredible as that seemed, Emma had just seen it with her own eyes. She’s the spitting image of me mam, she whispered to herself with awe, and still disbelieving.

Emma then wondered why she had never noticed this likeness before. Instantly she understood. It was very simple really. In all of the time Olivia had been staying at Fairley Hall, Emma had never seen her so intimately revealed, undressed and ungroomed in the privacy of her room, until a few moments ago. Sitting at the dressing table in the diffused light, so informally attired, her face naked of cosmetics, she looked a different woman from the one Emma was accustomed to seeing moving around the house so elegantly and with cool authority. In her naturalness Olivia was still stunningly lovely, but without the stylish clothes, the elaborate hairdos, and the other artifices of fashion, she appeared ingenuous and vulnerable, and there was a sweet simplicity about her that was girlish and even innocent.

And Emma was not mistaken. Olivia Wainright, stripped of the outer trappings of the chic society woman, did resemble Elizabeth Harte. In fact, the resemblance was so extraordinary as to be uncanny. They might have been created from the same mould, except that Elizabeth’s beauty was now only a faint echo of Olivia’s. Worn out as she was by the struggle to survive, riddled with consumption, undernourished, and in constant pain, her fine looks had blurred and slowly begun to fade. Yet Emma had seen in Olivia her mother’s beauty as it had once been, and this had not only startled her but moved her as well. Emma was not the only one to have noticed the strong likeness between these two women from such different worlds. Another occupant of Fairley Hall had also detected it and, like Emma, had been rocked to the core at this discovery.

But Emma was unaware of this as she stood staring at Olivia Wainright’s door, still shaking her head. She regained some of her composure and for once in her life she did not run. She walked down the corridor, and slowly, benumbed by this odd coincidence. As she made her way back to Adele’s bedroom, it did not occur to Emma that perhaps she had unconsciously recognized the similarity earlier, and that this might partially explain her secret adoration of Olivia. Only years later did this thought strike her, and quite forcibly so.

In Emma’s absence, Adele had attended to her face. For once she had decided it was necessary to resort to her jars of French cosmetics. She had applied a little rouge, just enough to highlight her cheekbones and dispel the paleness of her skin, and had also touched her lips with it. She was lightly powdering her nose when Emma entered.

‘Here I am then, Mrs Fairley,’ said Emma in a low voice hurrying to the dressing table, and the waiting Adele.

Normally too preoccupied with self to be conscious of anyone else, Adele was particularly keyed up and alert tonight, in readiness for the important and perhaps trying evening that lay ahead. She was so acutely aware, in fact, she noticed the subdued note in Emma’s voice, which was always so cheerful, and she gave her a piercing look.

‘Did Mrs Wainright give you the hairpins? Was there a problem?’ she asked quickly.

‘Oh no, ma’am,’ responded Emma, already starting to work on the remaining curls. ‘She had plenty ter spare.’

‘What is Mrs Wainright wearing tonight, Emma?’ Adele continued curiously, watching Emma carefully through the mirror.

‘I didn’t see her dress, Mrs Fairley,’ said Emma quietly, her face closed and still.

Adele pursed her lips in frustration and disappointment. She had been longing to know which one of her many exquisite gowns Olivia had selected. Adele had always been highly competitive with her older sister, and this was now more pronounced and consuming than ever. Adele was filled with mortification, and infuriated by the fact that Olivia managed to appear elegant and arresting on every occasion. She smiled, and not a little smugly. She would outshine everyone tonight. Olivia will be dowdy in comparison to me, she thought, gloatingly.

‘There we are ma’am, all finished!’ exclaimed Emma with a triumphant flourish of the brush, stepping back to regard Adele’s hair. She gave Adele the small silver hand mirror. ‘See if yer like the back, Mrs Fairley.’

Adele moved and twisted and swivelled in the chair, viewing her pompadour from all angles. ‘Why Emma, it’s positively divine,’ she cried with delight. She laughed gaily. ‘It’s a work of art. A masterpiece. And so flattering to me. You are a clever girl.’

Adele put on her evening slippers and then stepped into the gown Emma was holding for her. She stood in front of the cheval mirror, and Emma patiently fastened the long line of buttons up the back, praying Adele wouldn’t remember the roses she had removed earlier. They were ugly, and Emma was convinced they ruined the gown, which was elegant and dramatic in its basic simplicity. As she did up the last button, Emma said hurriedly, hoping to divert her attention, ‘All we need for the finishing touch are yer jewels, Mrs Fairley.’

‘In a moment, Emma,’ said Adele, stepping back to view herself. She was ecstatic at the vision she made. The black velvet gown stunningly emphasized her tall, lissom figure and its excellent cut drew attention to her tiny waist. It had a low neckline that was draped adroitly across the shoulders, and a tightly moulded bodice that hugged her figure deliciously. She decided it was her most becoming gown as, intoxicated with herself, she swirled around on her elegantly shod feet that peeped out beneath her skirt. Emma was quite right about the roses. They were ghastly, she thought, marvelling that her young maid had such an innate sense of taste.

She sat down and took the diamond chandelier earrings out of the red velvet case and put them on. She added two bracelets and several rings, and then Emma placed the diamond necklace around her throat, securing it carefully. It was a glittering lacy web of brilliant, perfectly cut and mounted stones. The diamonds had such fire, such life, such matchless beauty, Emma gasped.

‘It is exquisite, is it not?’ remarked Adele. ‘The Squire gave it to me,’ she went on, and sighed. ‘He used to give me so many lovely jewels,’ she confided softly.

‘It fair takes me breath away, Mrs Fairley, it does that,’ Emma said in awe, wondering what it had cost. A fortune, no doubt. Bought from the toil of others, she thought with a stab of bitterness, thinking of Frankie and her dad labouring at the mill.

Adele did not see the scowl on Emma’s face, and she threw her a gratified smile and opened another velvet case. She lifted out a large diamond brooch and commenced to pin it on the small draped sleeve that barely covered the top of her left arm.

Emma compressed her mouth. ‘Er—er—Mrs Fairley, ma’am, I don’t knows that yer needs that there brooch, if yer don’t mind me saying so—’

‘It was my mother’s,’ said Adele peremptorily.

‘Oh! Then please excuse me, Mrs Fairley. I understand. Yer wants ter wear it for sentimental reasons,’ said Emma with the utmost politeness. But she was dismayed. The brooch was unnecessary, and it ruined the whole effect she had been striving for.

Sentimental reasons, repeated Adele inwardly, gazing into the mirror. Her eyes, narrowing perceptibly, were as cold and as glittering as the diamonds she wore. She looked down at the brooch absently and thought of her mother and then slowly lifted her head.

Vaguely, Adele removed the brooch and returned it to its case. She wanted no reminders of her mother. Nor did she want Olivia to be reminded either. Olivia thought she was mad, just like their mother had been mad. So did Adam. They were plotting against her. Oh yes, they were. Adam and Olivia. She saw them, whispering in corners of this hideous house.

Her eyes fixed on Emma, who was closing the jewel cases, and she grabbed hold of her arm tightly. Taken by surprise, Emma flinched. But noting the sudden glazed and febrile expression, she did not struggle or attempt to free herself. ‘Yes, Mrs Fairley? What is it?’ she asked gently.

‘You must get away from this place, Emma! Away from this house. Before it’s too late. It’s pernicious,’ Adele whispered.

Emma looked at Adele, baffled by this statement. ‘Per—per—what? I don’t know what that means, Mrs Fairley.’

Adele laughed her shrill laugh, and it sent an icy chill through Emma. ‘It means wicked. Wicked! Wicked! Wicked!’ she shrieked, her voice almost a scream.

‘Hush, hush, Mrs Fairley,’ said Emma as calmly as she could. She was shaking and gooseflesh made prickles up and down her arms. What a queer thing for her ter say, she thought fearfully. But she didn’t have time to think about that now. She had something more important to worry about: Mrs Fairley herself. Emma freed her arm carefully and peered at the clock. Her heart sank. The guests would soon be arriving, and in her present state Mrs Fairley was hardly in a fit condition to go downstairs and join them.

Emma looked around helplessly, considering the best course of action to take, her face white and tense. She wondered if she should run and fetch Mrs Wainright, or perhaps Master Edwin. And then some instinct warned her to avoid involving them. She alone would have to pull Mrs Fairley out of this distracted mood. Emma knelt on the floor and took hold of Adele’s slender, aristocratic hands with her own small scarred ones. They were as cold as death. Emma squeezed them so tightly she thought they would snap in half from the pressure. ‘Mrs Fairley! Mrs Fairley! Listen ter me,’ Emma said urgently, making her voice strong and compelling. ‘Yer must listen ter me. The guests’ll be here any minute. Yer must pull yerself together and go down ter meet ‘em. Yer must, for yer own sake!’ she exclaimed fiercely, passionate in her determination to reach Adele.

Adele appeared not to hear. Her opaque eyes regarded Emma blindly. Emma tightened her grasp on Adele’s hands, even though ugly red marks were beginning to appear. She gripped them so strenuously her own fingers hurt. ‘Please, Mrs Fairley! Get a hold of yerself. At once, do yer hear! At once!’ Emma’s voice was now enormously cold, and commanding, and all of her stubborn will rose up in her. It surfaced on her face, stern in its fixity of purpose, as she forced Adele to listen to her. The older woman’s expression remained closed. Emma contemplated slapping her cheek, to rouse her from this stupor. She changed her mind. She did not dare. She was not afraid of the consequences. She simply did not want to mar Adele’s fragile skin.

Finally Adele’s eyes flickered with a hint of life, and her pale lips parted. Emma took a deep breath and gripped her by the shoulders. ‘Yer must go downstairs, Mrs Fairley. Now! Afore it’s too late! Yer the Squire’s wife. The mistress of this house. The Squire’s waiting for yer, Mrs Fairley.’

Emma shook her more forcefully. ‘Look at me, Mrs Fairley. Look at me.’ Emma’s eyes blazed hard green light. ‘Yer must get control of yerself. If yer don’t, there’s bound ter be trouble. There’ll be a right scandal, Mrs Fairley!’

Adele heard her dimly, above the sound of splintering crystal that reverberated in her head. Slowly the shattering and tinkling began to ebb away, and she saw Emma more clearly as her eyes became focused and lost their cloudiness. Now Emma’s voice was penetrating her tired mind. It was strong. ‘I’ll be there, if yer needs me, ma’am. All yer have ter do is signal me during dinner, if yer needs owt. Or ring for me later. I’ll see yer all right. I will! I’ll look after yer, Mrs Fairley. I promise!’ Emma said, her tone cajoling yet firm.

Adele blinked and sat up with an abruptness that was almost violent. What had Emma been saying? That she was the mistress of this house…the Squire’s wife. Yes, that was what she had said. And it was true. Adele passed her hand over her brow and it was a gesture that bespoke her confusion and weariness and despair.

‘Shall I fetch yer a drink of water, Mrs Fairley?’ asked Emma, relieved that a semblance of comprehension, of normality, was returning to Adele’s face.

‘No, thank you, Emma,’ Adele whispered, looking directly at her. ‘I don’t know what happened. My head began to ache again. Yes, that was it, Emma. Another of my dreadful headaches. They are so debilitating, you know.’ She smiled faintly. ‘But it has passed, thank goodness.’

‘Are yer sure, ma’am?’ Emma inquired solicitously, studying her closely.

‘Yes, yes. And I must go downstairs!’ She stood up shakily and moved to the cheval mirror. Emma hurried after her.

‘Now just look at yerself, Mrs Fairley. See how beautiful yer are,’ Emma pointed out, adopting an admiring and reassuring voice, in an effort to bolster Adele’s self-confidence. ‘The Squire will be right proud of yer, ma’am. He will that.’

Oh! My God! Adam! She must go down there and conduct herself with propriety and dignity and grace and charm; otherwise Adam’s wrath would come tumbling about her head, and that she could not survive. She regarded her own image in the glass, and suddenly she saw it objectively, as one views a stranger. That image was of a stunningly beautiful woman. Then she remembered. She was supposed to hide behind the mask of her beauty, so that everyone would be deluded, including Adam.

Her smile wreathed her face with loveliness and her luminous eyes sparkled with silvery lights. She smoothed the skirt of her gown and swung around lightly. ‘I’m ready, Emma,’ she said sweetly.

‘Shall I come with yer, Mrs Fairley?’

‘No, thank you. I can manage on my own,’ Adele answered with absolute sureness. She glided through the adjoining sitting room and out into the corridor, just as the porcelain lions’ clock on the mantelshelf struck the hour.