n a warm Sunday afternoon, in June of the following year, Edwin Fairley set out from Fairley Hall for the moors. He carried a picnic basket in one hand, laden with all sorts of delicious tidbits from Cook’s groaning pantry, and in the other a sack containing some gardening implements and a few necessary items.

He and Emma had some hard work to do at Ramsden Crags, a task they had been planning for several weeks. Because of the inclement and frequently rainy weather, they had had to postpone this venture several times. On Friday, when Emma went home for her weekend off, Edwin had walked with her as far as the Crags. They had made an assignation to meet there at three o’clock today, the weather permitting.

And the weather does permit, Edwin thought. He glanced up. The pale sun was continually flitting in and out from behind the patchwork of grey and white clouds that littered the powder-blue sky, but there was no hint of rain. Even the light wind barely rustled the trees and the translucent air was so mild it was almost balmy.

Edwin purposely avoided the stables. A few minutes earlier, when he had gone down to the kitchen to collect the picnic basket, he had observed Annie Stead and Tom Hardy chatting and laughing together in the yard. They were courting, so Emma had informed him, and it was more than likely they would have paid no attention to him whatsoever, as immersed in each other as they appeared to be. On the other hand, he did not want to put them to the test, for he had no particular desire to arouse even their mildest curiosity. Not that it was unusual for him to picnic on the moors, but the sack might create a flicker of interest. He walked swiftly through the walled rose garden and out under the clump of old oaks. In a short time he was across the Baptist Field and mounting the slope rising on to the flat plateau of moorland and the narrow track that ran all the way to the Ghyll, and Ramsden Crags beyond.

Edwin breathed deeply, filling his lungs with the pure air, which was so much more bracing on this higher ground. His health was now fully restored and he felt vital again. At the beginning of May he had caught a summer cold, which had settled on his chest and developed into a bronchial condition. After two weeks in the school sanatorium he had been sent home to recuperate at the insistence of the school doctor.

Tom Hardy had driven the carriage over to Worksop to collect him, since his father was away, not an unusual circumstance these days. As far as Edwin could ascertain, his father made only periodic trips to Fairley, when absolutely necessary, and was often in London, or travelling on the Continent attending to unspecified business. However, his father had engaged a tutor for him, so that he would not fall behind in his studies. Although Edwin was a disciplined student, and perfectly capable of working alone, his father had wanted to be certain he sustained his brilliant scholastic record. It had been decided he would go to Cambridge when he was eighteen, to study for the bar under the Downing Professor of English Law at Downing College. Edwin and the tutor were alone at the Hall, except for Gerald and the servants. Edwin did not mind. Actually, he rather relished it. He was pretty much left to his own devices, except for the mornings of intense study with the tutor. Gerald ignored his existence, and barely addressed a remark to him. He was far too busy. Because the mill in Fairley, and the other two in Stanningley Bottom and Armley, took up most of Gerald’s time, the two brothers only saw each other at meals, and not always then. Sometimes Gerald took one of Cook’s packed lunches to the Fairley mill and ate there, an idea so unpalatable to Edwin it positively nauseated him.

Edwin began to whistle merrily as he headed along the ridge to Ramsden Crags, striding out at a brisk pace, his fair hair blowing in the breeze. He was looking forward to seeing Emma, and also to their impending project. Emma had challenged a theory he had about the Crags, and for some reason he felt compelled to prove his point. He wondered if he was being juvenile. Perhaps.

Edwin Fairley, who had just celebrated his seventeenth birthday, now considered himself to be quite grown-up, and he did appear much older than his actual years. This was due, not unnaturally, to the events that had taken place in the past year, not the least of which was his mother’s death, so sudden and tragic. Her passing away had had a more profound effect on him than on his brother, for he had been so much closer and more intimately involved with his mother than Gerald. Edwin’s sorrow was, at first, overwhelming, but being of a scholastic nature and a voracious reader like his father, he had inevitably buried himself in his studies. This intense dedication to learning prevented him from dwelling morbidly on her death, and its appalling circumstances. He had thrown himself, and with a vengeance, into innumerable other school activities, and all manner of sports, and these too had helped him to assuage his grief. They kept him busy from early morning until late at night. Eventually he had been enabled to adopt a more philsophical attitude, and now, finally, he accepted her loss with considerably less heartbreak.

Olivia Wainright had also played a crucial role in Edwin’s development, albeit indirectly but, nonetheless, most effectively. When he visited her in London, for a portion of the school holidays, he was exposed to a wide circle of her friends—politicians, writers, journalists, and artists, many of them celebrated and outstanding men in their fields. These privileged encounters, in a society that was gay, pleasure-loving, and sophisticated, always had a tremendous impact on him. Olivia, aware of his charming manners and acutely attuned to his intelligent mind, made a point of including him at many of her soirées, which he thoroughly enjoyed and at which he executed himself admirably. Consequently, he had matured and had acquired a measure of polish and self-confidence. In certain subtle ways he was quite a different boy from the pampered ‘mummy’s darling’ he had been when Adele was alive.

But, apart from the changes in his personality and attitudes, Edwin had also undergone an amazing physical transformation, due in no small measure to his newly acquired interest in sports. He had grown in height and filled out, and he was a strikingly handsome youth whose marked resemblance to his father was becoming more pronounced. He had inherited Adam Fairley’s expressive bluish-grey eyes, his sensitive mouth with its hint of sensuality, and his intelligent, well-articulated face, although Edwin’s was much less ascetic than his father’s. He was now almost as tall and as broad as Adam. His physique, which was already quite splendid, and his father’s classically handsome face, had earned him the nickname of ‘Adonis’ at Worksop, much to his irritation. He was constantly embarrassed by the flurry his looks created with the sisters and cousins of his school friends.

Edwin considered them twittering, inspid, and callow creatures. He loathed their vapid attentions, which flustered him. He much preferred to be in the company of Emma, who had been such a consolation to him during his bereavement. Not one of those young ladies of Quality, or the rich debutantes his father foisted on him, could compare to his Emma in beauty and grace, wit and spirit. And by God, she was beautiful. Every time he returned to Fairley she delighted him even more. At sixteen she was fully and exquisitely developed. Her shapely and feminine figure was that of a young woman and her face was sublime.

Edwin smiled happily. It would be grand to be with Emma, away from the prying eyes of the other servants. She made him laugh with her quick wit and her penchant for striking at the heart of the matter. He chuckled to himself. Murgatroyd came in for a great deal of her acerbity. She called him ‘Frozen Face’ behind his back, but only to Edwin. His brother Gerald had been dubbed ‘Skinny Ribs’, which made him laugh uproariously, since the obese Gerald was disgustingly fatter. These thoughts of Emma made him increase his pace and he was soon at the Crags. He put down the picnic basket and the sack and stepping forward, he shaded his eyes with his hand, scanning the landscape.

Emma, climbing up over the last crest, saw Edwin before he saw her. She began to run. The heather and bracken brushed against her feet, the wind caught at her long skirts so that they billowed out like puffy clouds, and her hair was a stream of russet-brown silk ribbons flying behind her as she ran. The sky was as blue as speedwells and the larks wheeled and turned against the face of the sun. She could see Edwin quite clearly now, standing by the huge rocks just under the shadow of the Crags above Ramsden Ghyll. When he saw her he waved, and began to climb upwards towards the ledge where they always sat protected from the wind, surveying the world far below. He did not look back, but went on climbing.

‘Edwin! Edwin! Wait for me,’ she called, but her voice was blown away by the wind and he did not hear. When she reached Ramsden Crags she was out of breath and her usually pale face was flushed from exertion.

‘I ran so hard I thought I would die,’ she gasped as he helped her up on the ledge.

He smiled at her. ‘You will never die, Emma. We are both going to live for ever and ever at the Top of the World.’

Emma glanced at him out of the corner of her eye, and laughed. Then she looked down and said, ‘I see yer brought the sack.’

‘Of course. And a picnic, too, for later.’

‘I thinks we’ll be needing it, after all the hard work we’ve got ter do.’

‘It’s not going to be as difficult as you think, Emma, and I’ll be doing most of the work.’ He scrambled down over the small boulders that were like roughhewn steppingstones, and dropped to the ground. He opened the sack, removed a hammer, a chisel, and a large nail. These he stowed away in his pocket.

Looking up at Emma on the ledge above him, Edwin said, ‘I’m going to prove to you that this central rock is not part of the actual formation of the Crags, but is quite separate. And also that it can be moved.’ As he spoke, Edwin kicked the base of a rock about four feet high and two feet wide. This was wedged between the larger boulders that soared up well beyond the ledge and into the sky.

‘Well, maybe it can,’ Emma said, glancing down at him. ‘But I still thinks that even if yer moves it yer won’t find owt behind it. Only more rocks.’

Edwin shook his head. ‘No, Emma, I disagree. I am convinced there is a hollow space behind the rock.’ He climbed back up on to the ledge, edged past her carefully, and positioned himself next to the peak of the rock in question. This was adjacent to the ledge, but a few inches lower, and it protruded slightly. Edwin knelt down on the ledge and took out the hammer and chisel. He moved closer to the rock and leaned over it.

‘What are yer going ter do, Edwin?’ Emma asked curiously, and cautioned quickly, ‘Be careful yer don’t topple over.’

‘I’m quite safe,’ he responded, and went on, ‘You remember the crevice where I lost that shilling weeks ago. I heard it rattling as it fell, even though you say you didn’t. I am going to make this crevice larger, into a hole, so that I can look down and see what’s there, below the rock.’

‘Yer’ll see nowt but more rocks,’ she said bluntly.

Edwin chuckled, and began to chip away at the crevice. Emma watched him patiently, shaking her head. She was quite certain Edwin was wasting his time, but she had decided to humour him when he had first lost his shilling. After ten minutes of constant chipping he had made a hole in the crevice about two inches in diameter. He lowered his head and pressed one eye to the hole, gripping the sides of the rock to balance himself.

‘Can yer see owt, then?’ asked Emma.

Edwin straightened up and shook his head. ‘No, it’s all black.’ He pulled the nail out of his pocket, and half turned his head so he could see Emma. ‘Edge closer to me, Emma, and listen very carefully.’ She did as he told her, shuffling along the ledge and squeezing up to him. They both bent towards the hole and he dropped the nail into it. There was no sound at all for a few seconds and then they heard a distinct tinkle as it landed.

‘Now! Did you hear that, Emma?’

‘Yes, I did. But it might have dropped on another rock, that’s all.’

‘No, I don’t think it did. It took too long to fall. It’s on the ground,’ Edwin cried firmly. He returned the implements to his jacket pocket. ‘Move back along the ledge and climb down, but go slowly, so you don’t slip. I’ll follow you.’

Emma lowered herself on to the boulders below the ledge, backed down them cautiously, and jumped to the ground. Edwin was right behind her. He took off his jacket, threw it carelessly on one side, and rolled up his sleeves. Emma stood watching him as he fished around in the sack, a sceptical look on her face. ‘What are yer going ter do now?’ she asked.

‘I’m going to remove all the moss and bits of heather and weeds growing here,’ he exclaimed, indicating the base and lower sides of the rock. ‘And you can help me.’ He handed her a garden trowel and took up a small spade himself. ‘You work at that side, and I’ll work here.’

Emma thought this whole idea was a waste of time and energy; nevertheless, she began to work vigorously, digging out clumps of heather and moss which had crusted the rock for years. After a while she began to perspire. She put down the trowel, rolled up her sleeves, and opened the collar of her dress. Feeling more comfortable, she began to dig again. After about twenty minutes of hard toil they had accomplished a remarkable job of cleaning up the face and base of the rock.

Edwin stepped back and regarded it thoughtfully. ‘Look, Emma,’ he said. He took hold of her hand and pulled her to him. He pointed to the rock. ‘Do you see how the rock itself is more clearly outlined, now that we’ve removed all the overgrowth. It’s not part of the entire formation of the Crags at all. See how it has been wedged in between the great boulders. No rock could fall so accurately, Emma. I am certain it was placed there.’

Emma nodded her head. She had to agree. He was right, and she said so, adding, ‘But, Edwin, it’s still a fair size. How do yer think we’re going ter shift it?’

He strode over to the rock and said, with absolute self-confidence, ‘I am going to make this crevice here larger.’ He tapped the central rock, and pointed out a small space at the base, between the rock itself and the soaring Crags rising up behind it. ‘Then I am going to use a crowbar and a wedge to push the rock away from the Crags.’

‘It’ll never work, Edwin. And yer might hurt yerself.’

‘No, I won’t, Emma. And I’ve thought it all out very carefully.’

Working with the hammer and chisel, Edwin had soon made the space big enough to take the crowbar. He put the crowbar into the hole and wedged a small but strong log behind it, placing this on the ground to the left of the rock. ‘Stand back, Emma,’ he warned, ‘go over there by the trees. The rock will fall forward, and I don’t want you standing in its path.’ Using all of his strength, Edwin pressed on the crowbar, pushing the protruding end of it on to the log, using it as a lever to force the rock away from the Crags. But it did not move. Edwin began to sweat profusely, and his arms ached, but he forced himself against the crowbar determinedly.

Emma held her breath, clasping her hands together. Edwin was wrong. It would not work. She had no sooner thought this than she saw it moving.

‘Edwin! Edwin! I think I saw it coming away,’ she shouted.

‘I know,’ he gasped, ‘I felt it myself.’ With a final thrust of energy he pressed against the crowbar, and, as he did, the rock toppled forward as he had predicted it would. A small aperture on the face of Ramsden Crags was revealed. This was about eighteen inches wide and two feet high. Edwin could not conceal his excitement. He swung around.

‘Look, Emma! There’s a hole here,’ he cried triumphantly. He knelt down and peered into it, and then he inched his head inside. ‘It’s like a little tunnel. And here’s the shilling and the nail!’ He picked them up and pulled back. He held them out to show her, his face wreathed in smiles.

‘Where do yer think it goes?’ Emma asked, running to join him at the aperture.

‘I don’t know. Under the Crags, I suspect. They do stretch back for miles, you know. I’m going in.’

‘Oh, Edwin, do yer think yer should?’ A worried look settled on her face. ‘It might be dangerous. What if yer started a rockslide and got stuck in there?’

Edwin stood up and pulled out his handkerchief. He mopped his damp face and brushed his hair back. ‘I’ll only go in a little way. And I brought candles and matches. They’re in the sack. Would you get them for me, Emma, and that length of rope, please.’

‘Yes, course I will.’ She brought him the items he had requested. ‘I’m going in with yer,’ she announced.

He stared at her and frowned. ‘I don’t think so. Not at first. Let me go and investigate, and then I’ll come back for you.’

She compressed her lips and said stoutly, ‘I’m not afraid, yer knows.’

‘Yes, I know that. But I think you should stay here, just in case I need something.’ As he spoke Edwin tied the rope around his waist. He handed her the other end. ‘Hold on to this. There could be a labyrinth of tunnels in there. I’ve been reading up on rock climbing and potholing, and potholers always tie a rope around themselves, for safety.’

Emma, who was now visibly impressed that Edwin’s deductions had been accurate, immediately saw the sense of this. ‘Well, just be careful—’ She looked at Edwin, so tall and muscular, and then at the aperture. ‘How are yer going ter get in there? That’s what I wants ter know. It’s ever so tiny.’

‘I’ll have to squeeze in, and then crawl along.’

‘Yer’ll get yerself all mucky, Edwin Fairley. Cook’ll wonder what yer’ve been up ter. Yer’ll cop it!’

Edwin’s mouth twitched and he burst out laughing. ‘Emma, do stop worrying so much, and about trivialities. Cook’s not going to say anything. We’ve come this far. Let’s at least complete the project.’

Emma sighed. ‘All right. But go ever so slow like, and if yer needs me, tug on the rope. Promise?’

‘I promise.’

It was with a certain amount of trepidation that Emma watched Edwin disappear into the aperture. Slowly the length of rope unwound itself, as he moved further into the tunnel, until she was finally clinging to the very end of it, straining against the outer wall of the Crags. A flicker of anxiety crossed her face, and she lowered her head and called into the tunnel. ‘Edwin! Are yer safe?’

‘Yes,’ came back his voice, echoing hollowly as if from a long distance.

‘Yer’ve used up all the rope,’ she cried, her voice rising shrilly.

‘I know. Let go of it.’

‘No! I won’t!’

‘Emma, let go of it!’ he shouted in a commanding tone. She did so, much against her better judgement, and knelt down, looking into the aperture, suddenly afraid for Edwin. It seemed ominous in there.

But within minutes she heard a small scuffling sound, and to her great relief she saw the top of Edwin’s fair head. She moved away from the opening so that he could squeeze out. His shirt and trousers were covered with dirt and his face was smudged with grime. He straightened up, grinning broadly. ‘What’s in there?’ she asked, with mounting curiosity.

‘A cave, Emma! A fantastic cave!’ he cried, his light eyes shining. ‘You see, I was right after all. Come on, I’ll show you. And we don’t need the rope. The tunnel is fairly straight and leads right into the cave.’

‘A real cave. Fancy that!’ Emma said, and then she smiled a little shamefacedly. ‘I’m sorry I was doubting yer, Edwin.’

He laughed. ‘That doesn’t matter. If you hadn’t doubted me I might not have felt obliged to prove myself right. Come on. Let’s go.’ He collected additional candles, and continued, ‘You follow me. Keep your head down at first. The tunnel is very low at the outset.’

Edwin entered the hole and Emma wriggled in behind him, blinking her eyes as she adjusted to the darkness after the bright sunlight. They crawled along at first, but the deeper they went the higher and wider the tunnel became and they were able to walk in a crouching fashion the rest of the way. Soon Emma could see the faint flickering of the candle Edwin had left in the cave, and a few seconds later he was helping her to her feet in the cave itself.

Edwin began to light the extra candles and arrange them neatly in a line along a narrow ledge near the entrance. Whilst he was engaged in this task, Emma looked around with enormous interest. As the candles flared and illuminated the darkness, she saw that the cave was indeed fantastic, as Edwin had said. It was a large cavern with a ceiling that soared up into a weird conical shape. There were flat little ledges extending out from some of the rocky walls, while other portions had great indentations juxtaposed next to flat areas that were so perfectly smooth they looked as if they had been polished by a giant hand. There was a breathtaking grandeur about this ancient and spectacular interior, which was as old as time itself perhaps. It was cool and dry and absolutely silent. Emma felt a sense of awe.

Edwin handed her a candle and took one himself. ‘Let’s investigate,’ he announced. He moved ahead and his foot struck something on the floor of the cave. He looked down, lowering the candle so that he could see better. ‘Emma, look at this! It’s the remnants of a fire!’ He kicked the blackened and charred wood, which instantly crumbled. ‘For heaven’s sake, somebody discovered the cave before we did.’

‘Yer right,’ Emma asserted, staring at the charred wood. Then she caught a glimpse of what looked like a heap of sacks in the far corner. ‘Over there, Edwin. Sacks, I thinks.’

He followed the direction of her pointing finger and strode rapidly across the cave. ‘They are, indeed. And on this ledge above them there is an old piece of tallow candle. Oh, come on! Let’s see what else we can find. You go around that side, and I’ll poke about here,’ he finished, his voice vibrating with eagerness.

Emma walked slowly, holding the candle out in front of her. She looked from side to side alertly as she moved, glancing down at the hard earth floor, scanning the high-flung walls. To her immense disappointment the far side of the cavern appeared to be quite empty. She was about to turn back and rejoin Edwin when the frail light from the candle illuminated a patch of smooth wall. She was certain she could make out faint markings on the wall, like writing scratched on to the surface. She ran over and held the candle close to it. It was writing. How interesting.

And then Emma sucked in her breath in amazement, for the first word she read was Elizabeth. She moved the candle. Written underneath was Elizabetta. And below, Isabella. Slowly, Emma’s eyes followed the column running down the wall of the cave. Lilibeth, Beth. Betty, Bess. Eliza. Liza. Lisa. Next to this column was one single word, carved in giant capital letters. ADAM. She swallowed. Under the name was a small heart with an arrow piercing it, and inside the heart were the simple initials A E.

Emma’s eyes were pinned to the wall and those initials. A coldness settled over her, as she remembered the locket she had found in her mother’s wooden box. Not me mam and him!

‘Emma! Emma! Where are you? Cooee! Cooee!’

She pulled herself together as Edwin’s footsteps drew closer, echoing on the hard ground. She opened her mouth and closed it at once, for a moment not trusting herself to speak coherently. Finally she called, ‘Over here.’

‘What did you find?’ Edwin asked, rushing to her side. She pointed to the writing on the wall mutely. Edwin’s eyes lighted on his father’s name at once. ‘Adam!’ he read wonderingly, staring at the giant letters. ‘Why, my father must have found this cave years ago!’ He sounded jubilant. ‘And look, here’s every derivation of the name Elizabeth, even in Italian and Spanish. This is very intriguing, indeed. Who do you think Elizabeth was, or is?’

Emma was silent. Edwin appeared not to notice her lack of response, or her utter stillness, for she was as rigid as stone standing next to him. ‘Well, I don’t suppose I can very well ask Father. However, let’s search around a bit more.’ Edwin was buoyed up with enthusiasm. He left Emma standing in front of the scratchings on the wall, still staggered at their dreadful implications.

‘Come here, Emma. I’ve found something else,’ Edwin shouted after a few seconds had elapsed. Emma stifled the desire to run out of the cavern and it was with considerable reluctance that she joined him in the corner where the sacks were stacked. Edwin was holding a flat oval pebble, about three inches long and two inches wide. He handed it to her and held the candle over it. ‘Do you see, Emma? The pebble has been painted on. It’s a miniature, in oils, of a woman. See! I think it’s Aunt Olivia. Yes, I’m positive it’s her.’

Emma said nothing, but thought grimly: No, it’s not. It’s me mam.

‘Don’t you think it’s Aunt Olivia?’

‘Yes,’ Emma responded dully.

Edwin put the stone in his pocket. ‘I think I shall keep this,’ he said.

Emma shivered and the candle wavered about in her hand. Edwin did not fail to notice this. ‘Emma, you’re cold.’ He clucked sympathetically, and put his arm around her. Emma tried hard not to shrink away from him.

‘Yes, I am. Let’s get out of here. It’s warmer in the sun.’ Without waiting for him to reply, she extracted herself and ran to the opening of the cave. She blew out the candle and placed it on the ledge, and crouching, and then crawling, she moved with incredible speed along the tunnel until she was out in the fresh air. She heaved a sigh of relief. She would never go back in there. Never.

Edwin emerged a few moments later. His eyes sought out Emma. She stood under the shadow of Ramsden Crags, shaking her dress free of the dirt and dust, her hair blowing about her in the wind, her face inscrutable. As he continued to gaze at her he recognized that the strange coldness which sometimes invaded her face had crept back on it. Sensitive as he was by nature, and especially to Emma, he at once detected a change in her mood, and a change that was radical. It distressed him.

He walked over to her and took her arm. ‘Emma, is something wrong?’ She did not answer, and averted her face. ‘Is something wrong?’ he said again, more loudly.

She shook his hand off. ‘No, nowt’s wrong.’

‘But you look peculiar. And you fled like a frightened rabbit out of the cave.’

‘No, I didn’t. I was cold, that’s all.’

Edwin turned away, realizing he would not make any headway with her at this moment. He brushed the dirt off his trousers, and began to busy himself collecting the tools. He felt suddenly deflated. Emma had seated herself on the flat rock where she always sat. He watched her as she lifted her long hair and moved it back over her shoulders gracefully. Then she folded her hands in her lap and sat staring ahead, looking out across the moors, and to the valley far beyond. He smiled to himself. She looked so prim and curiously dignified. No, regal, he told himself; it’s the way she holds her head so high, and keeps her back so straight.

He wandered over to Emma, attempting a show of casualness. He sat down on the ground at her feet and looked up at her. ‘Do you feel better now? Out here in the sunshine,’ he ventured gently.

‘Yes, thanks,’ Emma said quietly, without so much as glancing at him.

Edwin winced. She sounded so cold and remote. He rested his head against the flat rock and closed his eyes, wondering why she was adopting this stern attitude. She had shut him out most purposefully, he recognized that. He felt a twinge in his chest, and that sense of loss he had experienced before.

Meanwhile, Emma’s fertile brain was racing. How could her sweet and gentle mother have been friendly with Adam Fairley? That terrible man. And anyway, her mother had spent part of her girlhood in Ripon with Cousin Freda. It struck her then, and quite forcibly, that Elizabeth was not a very unusual name. Might it not be some other Elizabeth whose name was carved on the wall? A girl from the gentry perhaps, who had known Adam Fairley when he was young. There was more likelihood of him being friends with a girl of Quality than with one from the working class. But there was the stone Edwin had found. Still, that might really be a painting of Olivia Wainwright, just as Edwin believed. It certainly looked like her. She thought then of the locket. Yet even that didn’t mean anything significant. Lots of people had names beginning with an A. Anybody could have given it to her mother. Emma now found all of these conclusions quite irresistible. And because the idea of a friendship between her mother and Adam Fairley was intolerable and unacceptable to her, for it would besmirch her mother’s memory, Emma slowly convinced herself that her mother was not the Elizabeth of the cave.

In no time at all she felt more cheerful. She looked down at Edwin resting peacefully at her feet. Poor Edwin. She had been mean to him and unfair, when he was always so nice to her. She tapped him lightly on the shoulder, almost playfully.

Edwin opened his eyes and glanced up, not without apprehension, uncertain of her mood. To his delight Emma was smiling at him, that lovely and most radiant smile, and her emerald eyes danced with the brightest of lights.

‘I feel like it’s teatime. Are yer hungry, Edwin?’

‘I’m absolutely famished!’ He was overjoyed to see her good humour fully restored. He jumped up and strode over to his jacket. He pulled out his small gold pocket watch. ‘Why, Emma, it’s already four-thirty. I’ll unpack the picnic basket at once.’

Emma began to laugh, shaking her head. Edwin stared at her nonplussed. ‘What is it?’ he asked.

‘I wish yer could see yerself, Edwin Fairley. Yer looks like a chimney sweep. Yer face is all mucky, and yer hands, and just look at mine.’ She held up her hands, palms outward, to show him. He joined in her laughter.

‘I’ll race yer ter the beck down yonder,’ she cried. She leapt up and flew down the adjacent hillside. Edwin raced after her. He caught up with her and snatched at her belt. She laughed and struggled, but he held on to the belt tightly. tripped and fell, and rolled down over the moorland, still laughing with hilarity. They landed at the edge of the beck, and Emma would have fallen in if Edwin had not held her tightly in his arms.

‘Now look what yer’ve gone and done, Edwin Fairley,’ Emma remonstrated with mock annoyance through her laughter. ‘Yer’ve got me frock all wet in the beck.’

Edwin released his grip on her and sat up, impatiently pushing the lock of hair away from his forehead. ‘I am sorry, Emma. But it’s only the hem. It will dry quickly in the sun.’

‘Aye, I hopes it will.’

‘You mean, “yes, I hope it will”, Emma,’ Edwin corrected her.

She threw him a knowing look and said in a mimicking tone, ‘Yes, Edwin, you are quite right. I was not speaking properly.’ She pronounced the words very carefully and her voice, always sweet and melodious, was now so cultivated he gaped.

Emma poked him in the ribs. ‘I can speak like you if I want to,’ she said, and then confided, ‘I used to listen to your aunt. She has a lovely voice.’

‘So do you, Emma, when you pronounce your words correctly and don’t lapse into the Yorkshire dialect.’ He smiled at her fondly. ‘I hope you don’t mind when I point out mistakes in your speech. But you did ask me to do that.’

‘Yes, I did. And I am grateful.’ She smiled to herself. She knew she had surprised him and this tickled her tremendously. She leaned over and washed the dirt off her hands in the beck, then cupped them and splashed water on to her face.

Edwin took out his handkerchief and gave it to her with a boyishly gallant gesture. ‘Dry yourself on this.’

When Emma had finished her toilet, Edwin also washed himself, and then they sat at the edge of the beck that tumbled down over the rocky hillside, talking happily, enjoying being together as they always did. Edwin chattered enthusiastically about going to Cambridge to study for the bar, and explained in great detail what a barrister actually was. In turn, Emma spoke proudly of Winston and how handsome he had looked in his uniform, when he had come home on leave from the Royal Navy.

‘He’s been back ter Fairley twice now,’ Emma said, ‘and me dad’s much better. More settled about Winston being away—’ She sat up abruptly and looked at the sky. ‘That’s funny, I just felt a splash of rain.’

Edwin lifted his head. ‘But the sky’s blue and there are only a few grey clouds.’

‘We’d best get the picnic basket and hurry back ter the Hall,’ Emma announced quickly.

‘Oh, don’t be silly. It’s only a summer shower. It will pass in a few minutes.’

But as he spoke the pale sun was doused by bloated clouds moving up over the rim of the moors with gathering speed. There was a loud blast of thunder. It appeared to crack the sky wide open, releasing searing blades of brilliant white lightning and then an eerie greyness that flooded out swiftly, staining the sky as effectively as black dye colours cloth, and obliterating the light.

‘Come on!’ Edwin cried. He pulled Emma up to her feet and with urgency. ‘The weather is so unpredictable on these wretched moors. You never know when a storm will blow up.’

Together they scrambled up the hill. The rain came down in lashing torrents. It was heavy driving rain that fell like a relentless waterfall. By the time they reached Ramsden Crags almost all of the light had vanished and the only illumination came from the staccato flashes of lightning charging the sky with electricity, and the thunder boomed, echoing and reverberating against the towering structure of Ramsden Crags. Edwin and Emma were drenched to the skin, their clothes, faces, and hair streaming with water.

Edwin grabbed the sack and his wet jacket and tossed them over to Emma. ‘Take these,’ he shouted, and pushed her towards the opening of the cave.

‘Don’t yer think we should make a dash in for the Hall?’ she protested.

‘We’ll never make it, Emma. We’re in for a real thunderstorm. Look at the sky. It’s as black as night. Don’t argue! Into the cave, my girl. We’ll be safe there, and dry.’

Although Emma was decidedly disinclined to return to the cave, she had to admit that Edwin’s suggestion was sound. They had no alternative, really. The moors could be extremely dangerous in this kind of stormy weather. She clutched the sack and his jacket to her, and, with her lips grimly tightening, she crawled into the aperture. Edwin followed, pushing the picnic basket in front of him.

Once they were inside the cave, Emma stood at the entrance, trying to get her bearings. Edwin pulled out his handkerchief, wiped his hands, and gave it to Emma. Then he immediately took charge, and with such a burst of energy and efficiency Emma was momentarily startled. He lit the candles on the ledge at the entrance and opened the picnic basket.

‘Here’s the Sunday Gazette,’ he called. ‘I brought it to read, in case you were late. Good thing, too. Make some paper spills with it.’ He dropped it at her feet, and went on, ‘I saw a pile of logs and twigs over by the sacks earlier. They were perfectly dry. We’ll soon have a fire going.’ He picked up a candle, took Emma by the hand, and led her to a far corner.

‘We’ll make the fire about here,’ Edwin said, scuffing the earth with the toe of his boot. ‘It’s about the best spot, since it gets the cross-ventilation from the tunnel to the outside and that one back there.’ He gestured to another aperture Emma had not noticed before.

‘Where does that go, Edwin?’

‘I’m not really sure. It was too small for me to crawl into when I investigated earlier. But there are currents of air coming in from the moors. Now, come on, Emma. Let’s hurry. Then we can sit on the sacks and attempt to dry ourselves. I’m freezing, and I’m sure you are.’

‘Yes, I am.’

It did not take them long to get the fire started. The paper and the twigs caught hold at once, and when they were burning Edwin placed a couple of small logs on top of them. He began to busy himself with the empty sacks. There were about a dozen of them and these he arranged on the floor, rolling others into bolster-like shapes which he propped against the wall. ‘It will be quite comfortable, Emma,’ he said, turning and smiling at her reassuringly.

Emma was standing by the fire, shivering and shaking with cold. Her face still glistened with water and her wet hair streamed down her back. She was trying to wring out her dress, which was thoroughly soaked.

Edwin hurried to the fire, shivering himself. He began to cough. Emma looked across the flames at him and frowned. ‘Oh, Edwin, I hopes yer don’t catch another cold, just when yer better.’

‘So do I,’ he gasped, coughing behind his hand. After a moment the rasping subsided, and he said, ‘I think you had better take off your dress, Emma. We can then spread it out to dry.’

She stared at him askance. ‘Take me frock off!’ she echoed disbelievingly. ‘Oh, Edwin, I couldn’t do that.’

‘Don’t be so ridiculous. You’re wearing petticoats and—and—things underneath, are you not?’

‘Yes,’ she muttered between her teeth, which were now chattering.

‘So, please do as I say,’ he insisted in a brisk tone. ‘I am going to take my shirt off. It’s absolutely sopping, and if we sit around in our wet clothes we will both catch pneumonia.’

‘I suppose yer right,’ she replied grudgingly. Emma turned her back to him and began to unbutton her dress, feeling shy and awkward.

‘Give me the dress,’ Edwin ordered in the same firm voice, after she had stepped out of it. She handed it to him behind her back, without looking around. It was then that she decided she was being silly. After all, she was wearing a petticoat and a camisole top which completely covered her body, except for her arms.

She peeped over her shoulder and then slowly wheeled. Edwin was hanging her frock on a ledge, next to his shirt and undervest, anchoring them down with some small stones he had obviously found on the floor of the cave. Adopting a nonchalant air, Emma returned to the fire. She warmed her hands and face in front of the flames, and then tried to dry her long hair, squeezing the rain out of it and rubbing it between her hands. Edwin, who seemed quite oblivious to her state of partial undress, and also unperturbed, picked up the picnic basket and carried it over to the sacks. He knelt down and lifted out the stone jug of elderberry wine, and unpacked all of the food, which Cook had carefully wrapped in serviettes. Suddenly he let out a long low whistle of surprise.

Emma glanced at him. ‘What is it?’

‘Good old Mrs Turner,’ he exclaimed with a wide grin as he continued to rummage about in the bottom of the basket. ‘By Jove, she thinks of everything. She not only put in a serviette and tablecloth for my picnic, but a carriage blanket as well. What luck. The blanket, at least, will help to keep us warm.’ He looked up, showing them to her triumphantly, and then his face fell. Water was dripping from her petticoat, making a puddle under her feet. ‘Good Lord, Emma. You’re really quite thoroughly soaked and still shivering. Don’t you feel warmer?’

‘A bit. But me legs are cold from me petticoat. It’s as wet as me dress was.’ She stepped nearer to the fire. Her boots squelched. She began to wring out the hem of the petticoat, striving to control her shivering.

Edwin stood up and looked down at his trousers, frowning. ‘I am afraid my trousers are in the same condition.’ He grimaced and joined her at the fire and they hovered together in front of the flames, hoping to dry their clothes. But this was to no avail, since the fire was really quite meagre and was therefore throwing off insufficient heat, and the atmosphere in the immense cavern was cold.

‘This is futile!’ Edwin declared after a short while. His legs were turning into blocks of ice and the coldness was now beginning to permeate his whole system. He began to cough, almost convulsively.

Emma looked at him with alarm, thinking how prone he was to taking chills. ‘Are yer all right?’

‘I’m freezing. I hope I don’t come down with bronchitis again.’ He shivered. ‘It’s these wet clothes.’ He hesitated. ‘I’m afraid there’s only one thing to do, Emma. I think I must take off my trousers, and you must take off your petticoat and—’

‘Take off all our clothes!’ she gasped, shrinking back against the wall of the cave, a look of horror on her face. ‘Edwin! We can’t! It wouldn’t be proper like,’ she finished, and with fierceness.

A faint half smile glanced across his lips. He shrugged. ‘Well, you may do as you wish, Miss Harte. But I have decided to undress, and hang my trousers and underclothes on the ledge to dry out. I am not going to catch my death because of any false modesty on my part.’

Emma positively glared at him. ‘I thinks that would be very rude of yer, Edwin,’ she said tartly. ‘By gum, I do. It wouldn’t be—be—gentlemanly.’

Chagrin crossed his face. ‘Emma, I don’t mean to offend you.’ He thought hard, wondering what to do, fully understanding her feelings. His eye caught the tartan carriage rug and a solution instantly occurred to him. ‘I have an idea. I shall wrap the carriage blanket around myself—like a kilt. It will cover me completely,’ he reassured her. ‘But I do think I must remove these wet things. We could be in here for hours.’

Emma bit her lip. What he said was sensible, but it did not diminish her embarrassment at the thought of him undressing in front of her. On the other hand, she did not want to be responsible for him getting sick. It also struck her that she herself did not necessarily have to take her clothes off. She could still try to dry herself in front of the fire. After a moment, she said slowly, ‘Well, afore yer do take yer trousers off, crawl back ter the opening and see what the weather’s like,’ she insisted, and sharply. ‘Maybe the storm’s passed over and we can leave.’

‘That is a possibility,’ Edwin agreed, and hurried off to follow her instructions. Arriving at the end of the tunnel, Edwin was utterly dismayed when he poked his head out through the aperture. The rain was still falling in a deluge. A gale had blown up and was acting as a powerful lash against the rain. This was being driven in sheets on to the Crags. Bolts of lightning ripped through the blackened sky and thunder rolled down the hilly slopes like unceasing cannon fire. They were undoubtedly in for a long siege. He pulled his head back in quickly. It was then Edwin realized, and to his fury, that to return along the tunnel he would have to either crawl outside and re-enter, or shuffle backwards. He decided the former was the most feasible way and he edged himself out of the opening. He turned quickly on his knees and pushed back through the aperture, but not without getting drenched. When he finally crawled back into the cave he was shaking with cold and dripping rain.

Emma looked at him aghast. ‘Now why did yer go outside?’ she demanded. ‘That was a daft thing ter do!’

He sighed, and explained. He picked up the serviette and dried his face and hair. Then he took the blanket and strode to the far side of the cave. He turned. ‘My apologies, Emma. But now my trousers are wetter than ever. I have no alternative but to take them off now.’

During Edwin’s absence, Emma put another small log on to the fire and sat huddled in front of it, continuing to squeeze water from her petticoat, her face set in obdurate lines. And she was resolute in her determination not to undress, even though she was feeling the cold more intensely. Within a few seconds, Edwin was hanging up his trousers, underpants, and socks on the ledge, weighting them down with more small stones. Then he carried his boots over to the fire, where he deposited them to dry. Emma kept her face down, unable to look at him.

Observing her closely, Edwin began to laugh at the ridiculousness of the situation. ‘It’s all right, Emma. I am quite decent. I can assure you of that.’

Slowly, but with some unwillingness, Emma raised her head and she couldn’t help smiling. Edwin had wrapped the carriage blanket around his waist and knotted it. It fell well below his knees, revealing only his bare ankles. ‘It does look a bit like a kilt,’ she said, adding with relief, ‘and it does cover yer proper like.’

Edwin lowered himself next to her, and picked up the bottom of her petticoat, shaking his head sadly. ‘You are being foolish. You’ll take a chill, Emma. Why, you’ve only managed to dry the hem of this. The rest is soaking.’ He dropped the skirt, with an impatient gesture. Suddenly his face brightened and he reached for the tablecloth.

‘Look here, Emma. You can wrap this around you. Like the saris the Indian maharanees wear.’ He jumped up and shook it out. ‘See, it’s quite large.’ Edwin gave her a small demonstration. He wound the tablecloth around his chest and knotted the two ends together. Then he slipped his left arm down under the cloth, pulling the knotted ends up on to his left shoulder. ‘It does work remarkably well!’ He smiled, glancing down at himself. ‘Of course, I think it’s more like a Roman toga than a sari,’ he conceded in a serious voice.

‘But it’s one of Cook’s best tablecloths!’ Emma cried with consternation. ‘I’d really cop it if I messed it up. I would that!’

Edwin concealed an amused smile. ‘Under the circumstances, I don’t think that is a matter worthy of our consideration. Now, is it?’ He stretched out his hand to her. ‘Come along, you silly girl,’ he continued in a gentler tone, pulling her to her feet. ‘Go to the other side of the cave and do as I say.’ He shrugged himself out of the tablecloth and handed it to her.

Emma took it from him in a tentative way, and with such a show of nervousness her manner brought a smile to Edwin’s face. He watched her as she scrutinized it carefully, a diffident expression flickering into her eyes.

Now laughter bubbled up in Edwin. ‘Emma, you are behaving so fearfully I do believe you think I am some scurrilous reprobate who has dishonourable intentions,’ he said, still laughing, and continued, ‘and that I am endeavouring to manoeuvre you into a situation, so that I can take advantage of you. Please be reassured I have no lascivious motives.’

‘I don’t think that at all,’ said Emma, scowling darkly, not truly understanding all of his long words, yet intuitively grasping what he meant. ‘I knows yer wouldn’t do owt—owt wrong, Edwin. I knows yer’d never harm me.’

He patted her shoulder and looked down at her, smiling with tenderness. ‘Of course I wouldn’t, Emma. Why, you are my best friend. My dearest friend, in fact.’

‘Am I really?’ she cried, her eyes lighting up with pleasure.

‘Yes, you are. Now, run along and change into the’—Edwin paused and chuckled—‘the sari, such as it is. There are plenty of stones over there, and you can hang your things up to dry with mine. Meanwhile, I will prepare our picnic.’ Edwin watched her retreating figure and thought: She is so sweet and so very endearing. She is my best friend. I am truly most fond of her. It did not occur to him that he actually loved her.

The candles on the ledge in the corner had burned down and Edwin took two more out of the sack. As he lit them he was thankful he had had the foresight to bring a plentiful supply. He was arranging the food on the serviettes when Emma returned to the fire. She dropped her boots next to his.

Looking up, Edwin saw at once that she approached the corner somewhat timidly, with an air of bashfulness and extreme modesty and rectitude. The tablecloth surrounded her like swaddling clothes and she held it tightly to her, arms crisscrossed over her breasts. It draped her lithe body more than adequately, but he was startled to see that it came only to her knees, revealing shapely calves and the slenderest of ankles. He had not known she had such long legs or such pretty feet. Still hugging the tablecloth to her, Emma sat down and looked up shyly, not speaking.

‘Don’t you feel better, being out of your wet underclothes?’ he asked, his manner purposely insouciant, which he hoped would alleviate her timorousness, as well as the awkwardness he knew she was feeling.

‘Yes, I do,’ she muttered with a certain nervousness. She half smiled and glanced at the food spread out before them. ‘I’m ever so hungry,’ she announced, attempting to sound normal.

‘So am I. I’m sorry there’s only one plate and one mug. We’ll have to share them.’ He poured some of the elderberry wine and handed it to her.

‘Thank yer, Edwin.’

‘Now we’re drier and warmer, this is quite a lark, isn’t it?’

‘Yes,’ she responded softly, sipping the elderberry wine. ‘My goodness, Cook did yer right proud!’ Her eyes swept over the appetizing selection of sandwiches and other food. ‘She must think yer’ve now got an appetite like “Skinny Ribs”, packing up all this stuff.’

‘Well, you know what Cook is like. Flapping around me like a mother hen. She thinks I need building up.’ He gestured to the food. ‘Take your pick first, Emma. There’s bacon and egg pie, crab and tomato sandwiches, fruit cake and apples.’

Emma selected a piece of the pie, which she herself had made. But she did not bother to mention this. They munched hungrily at the food, sharing the mug of elderberry wine, which Edwin kept refilling. He chattered gaily to her and gradually Emma’s embarrassment began to slip away. Edwin seemed unaware of her semi-naked state, much to her intense relief. In point of fact, he was diligently ignoring it. When they had finished eating they sat back against the rolled sacks, warming their feet in front of the fire. Emma said carefully, without looking at Edwin, ‘What do yer think ter the writing on the wall, then? Do yer think yer dad made the carvings of the names?’

Edwin nodded his head vigorously. ‘Yes, I do. In fact, I’ve been giving some considerable thought to the matter, particularly to all those derivations of the name Elizabeth, and I do believe I’ve guessed the identity of the lady in question.’ He looked at her, his eyes brightly gleaming in the firelight. Emma held her breath. He continued, ‘It occurred to me that it must be Lord Sydney’s sister. Her name was Elizabeth, and my father and the Sydneys grew up together. I am certain they all played up here as children.’

‘I didn’t know Lord Sydney had a sister,’ Emma said, with a little intake of breath. Her eyes fastened on Edwin’s face. ‘I’ve never seen her hereabouts, or heard mention of her.’

‘She died about ten years ago in India, where her husband was in the Diplomatic Service. I have heard Father speak of her with great affection, on many occasions. She was about his age. The more I think about it, I am sure that’s the truth.’

There was such a lessening of tension in Emma, such an alleviation of the painful thoughts in her troubled mind, her body sagged. How misguided she had been, jumping to such an unworthy conclusion about her mother and him. Of course Edwin was right, as he always was.

‘That’s got to be it!’ she exclaimed, and smiled. After a small silence she said, ‘I wonder what time it is.’

‘I’ll look at my watch.’ Edwin went to the entrance, where he had carelessly thrown his jacket when they had rushed in from the storm. ‘It’s six o’clock,’ he called, carrying the jacket back to the fire. ‘This is very damp. I’d better spread it out on the floor to dry.’ He glanced at her, a concerned look crossing his face as he said, ‘Will your father be worrying about you, Emma?’

She shook her head. ‘No. He knew Cook wanted me ter come back this afternoon, instead of termorrow, ter help her with the jam making. She expected me at five-thirty.’

‘Oh dear, then she must be worrying about you,’ Edwin cried.

‘She probably thinks I’m still at home, what with the storm and all. She knows me dad wouldn’t let me come over the moors in this weather,’ Emma explained. ‘But I bet she’s fretting about yer, Edwin. Wondering where yer are.’

‘Most probably. But she may conceivably think I made a dash for the village, which is closer than the house.’ He sighed. ‘Oh, well, it can’t be helped.’

‘Do yer think it’s stopped raining yet, Edwin?’

‘Would you like me to crawl along the tunnel and see?’

‘Yes, perhaps yer’d better. But don’t go outside and get yerself all wet again!’ said Emma a little dictatorially.

He picked up a candle and left. He was back in a matter of seconds. ‘It’s still pouring and the thunder is cracking and booming,’ he announced as he deposited the candle on the ledge. ‘We can’t leave just yet.’ He sat down cross-legged on the sacks, carefully covering his knees with the carriage blanket. ‘You know what these thunderstorms are like, Emma. They can last for hours.’

‘Aye, I knows.’ She stood up. ‘I’d best see if our clothes are dry, so that we can get dressed.’

Emma glided lightly across the floor of the cave in her bare feet, her hair flowing down her back. She felt the clothes in her expert way, and said in a distraught voice, ‘Oh, Edwin, they’re still ever so damp. We’ll have ter leave ’em a bit longer.’ She swung around as she spoke and stared at him with the utmost dismay.’

‘We have to stay in here until the deluge subsides anyway,’ he answered. ‘Perhaps in half an hour they will be drier and by then the storm might have passed.’

‘I hopes so,’ she said, hurrying back.

They sat in the corner shivering, for the air in the huge cavern was now considerably colder and the fire was low. Edwin threw on another log and told her, ‘The supplies are diminishing. We must be frugal with these last few logs.’ They huddled together, attempting to draw warmth from each other. Edwin put his arm around her and pulled her closer to him. Emma looked up, her eyes wide. ‘Yer don’t think we’ll get trapped in here, do yer?’ she asked tremulously.

He smiled reassuringly and his light eyes were soft and filled with the tenderest lights. ‘Of course not! Don’t be silly,’ he exclaimed cheerfully. ‘And don’t be afraid. I am here to protect you Emma. Look, as soon as the clothes are in a better condition, we’ll get dressed and see what it’s like outside. If necessary we’ll just have to brave the weather, depending on the time. We can’t get back too late.’

‘All right, Edwin,’ she said, crouching closer to him.

Edwin put his other arm around Emma and began to rub one hand up and down her arm briskly, trying to warm her. ‘There, is that better?’ he asked gently.

‘Yes, thank yer, Edwin.’

It all began perfectly innocently on Edwin’s part. Slowly the brisk rubbing turned to slower stroking, the stroking into languorous caressing of her face and neck and shoulders. Emma did not demur. It was only when Edwin’s hand accidentally brushed against her breast that she flinched and drew back, staring at him with surprise tinged with apprehension. She quickly moved away from his embrace and settled herself against the rolled-up sacks, putting distance between them.

‘I’m sorry, Emma. I really didn’t do that on purpose. Truly. Come back here. You’ll soon be shivering over there,’ he warned, irritated with himself and his carelessness, and also worried about her.

‘I’m all right here. Thank yer,’ she said coolly, leaning back and adopting a dignified posture that repudiated him.

‘Please yourself,’ Edwin muttered in dismay, drawing his legs up to his chest and wrapping his arms around his knees.

A long silence developed between them. Emma gazed into the fire, striving to control her shaking limbs, hoping he would not notice how cold she was growing. Edwin rested his head on his knees and stole a surreptitious look at her. At this precise moment the log blazed into sudden flames and his eyes started open in surprise. In the brighter firelight her figure was extraordinarily revealed to him. He had not realized before how flimsy the cotton table cloth was, since she had hitherto hugged it so tightly to her. He could now clearly see her firm and voluptuous breasts pressing tautly against the fabric, the outline of her thighs, the long column of her legs, and that triangular smudge, faintly dark, just above them. He could not tear his eyes away from her. As he gazed at her with yearning, he felt a thrill rushing through him.

This was not the first time Edwin had been excited. Like most youths of his age, he had been sexually stimulated before, in the usual boyish ways. But he had never actually been aroused by a girl in such a potent manner, for he had never seen one in dishabille and been in such close proximity to one so scantily dressed. Consequently, he was shaken by the intensity of his emotions. He was breathless, almost panting, and his throat felt tight. After a few seconds he managed to drag his spellbound eyes away from her tantalizing figure, staring at the wall in front of him. Flickering shadows floated about there in the soft firelight, creating amorphous little shapes, resembling animals and trees. There’s a rabbit and that’s a great old oak, he told himself, inventing living forms for those dancing images. He concentrated hard on that wall pushing his desire down, turning his mind away from Emma, striving to ignore his throbbing excitement.

It was Emma who broke the silence. Eventually she said in a small voice, ‘Edwin, I’m ever so cold.’ Immediately he swung his head to look at her. She was curled up, shuddering uncontrollably and her teeth were beginning to chatter.

‘Shall I come over there and help to keep you warm, Emma? he asked diffidently, almost afraid of suggesting this for fear of her anger or her rejection.

To his surprise she whispered, ‘Yes, please.’ She looked at him shyly through her thick lashes and added, ‘I’m sorry I got cross with yer, Edwin.’

Without answering he scrambled over to her. He wrapped his arms around her and, with one hand, pushed down her knees. Very gently he eased her on to the sacks until they were both supine and reclining on them full length. He partially covered her shivering slender body with his own broader one.

‘This is the only way we’ll keep warm,’ he said. She edged closer to him, drawing comfort from him, cradled like a small child in his arms. ‘Yes, I knows,’ she murmured softly.

‘Look at the dancing shadows,’ he pointed out, ‘and all the strange shapes they make. Animals and trees and mountains.’

Emma smiled, following his gaze. Miraculously, the cave had been transformed before her eyes. She was no longer intimidated by it and she no longer associated it with her mother and Adam Fairley. It had become a magical and wondrous place. Their very special enchanted, secret place. Hers and Edwin’s.

Edwin began to rub her arm and shoulders, which were icy. Soon the goose pimples began to disappear and it seemed to him that her skin now felt like the smoothest of satins. It was not long before the caressing started afresh, for Edwin could not resist the feel of her. Emma looked up at him, her large eyes spilling green fire, her pink lips slightly parted so that he could see her small white teeth. He moved his hand up and brushed the russet-brown hair away from her face, running his fingers lightly over her rounded cheeks and down her throat so whitely vulnerable in the candles’ glow.

‘You are so beautiful, Emma,’ he said in a low hoarse voice echoing with awe. ‘Please let me kiss you. Just once. Please,’ he begged.

She did not reply, but continued to gaze up at him. And there was so much trust and innocence and undisguised love in that pure face he was excessively moved. He bent towards her. He thought he would drown in the shimmering greenness of her eyes. His lips touched hers lightly. Her mouth was moist and sweet and so inviting one kiss did not suffice for Edwin Fairley. He kissed Emma again and again and again, with mounting intensity, allowing her no opportunity to protest.

When Edwin finally raised his head and looked down at her he saw that her eyes were closed. He stroked her face and her shoulders and his hand travelled down lingeringly until it was covering her breast. Only then did her eyes fly open wildly. ‘Oh, Edwin, no! You mustn’t!’

‘Please, Emma. I won’t do anything wrong. Just let me hold you for a moment,’ he implored.

She hesitated, and he pressed his mouth to hers before she could refuse him, and he continued to fondle and stroke her. Almost without his conscious knowledge and quite unable to control himself, Edwin slipped his hand under the tablecloth which was draping her. He ran his fingers over her satin-smooth skin, his touch delicate but lightly quivering in his spiralling excitement. Emma pulled away from him with a small cry, a blush rising on her face, but he took hold of her and lovingly enfolded her in his arms, kissing her forehead.

‘I love you, Emma,’ he whispered, his face close to hers.

‘But it’s not right, ter be together like this,’ she whispered back, trembling and afraid, her mind awash with dire thoughts of wickedness and temptations of the flesh that sent you to hell.

‘Hush, my sweet Emma,’ Edwin said consolingly, his voice reassuring. ‘I am not going to do anything improper. I only want to feel you close to me. I won’t harm you in any way. One never harms the person one loves the most in the whole world.’

His words filled her with sudden joy and she drew closer to him, searching his face hovering above hers, that sensitive face she knew so well. It appeared to shine with radiance in the candlelight. His eyes were widely open and full of adoration.

‘Do yer really luv me, Edwin?’ she asked in the softest of voices.

‘I do, Emma. Oh, how I love you! Don’t you love me?’

‘Yes, Edwin. Oh, yes!’

Emma sighed, aware of his hands fluttering over her again, smoothing and patting and feeling every part of her, but so soothingly she began to relax, enjoying his warm and affectionate caresses. Suddenly his finger touched that most forbidden place of all, insistent but as light as a feather. She was hardly conscious of what he was doing at first. And she could no longer protest or stop him, for she was overwhelmed by unexpected and strange but delicious sensations that sent small tremors through her, and made her heart pound. His mouth, his hands, his body, all enveloped her and he drew her closer and closer until she felt as if she was melting into Edwin. A lassitude settled over her as he continued to fondle her, arousing her to the pitch he himself was aroused to.

Edwin paused and looked at Emma. Her eyes were closed and he saw that she trembled slightly. He slipped out of the carriage blanket and, with the lightest of movements, he parted the tablecloth that still half covered her. She did not stir, although her eyelids fluttered and her eyes opened, became wider, as she stared at him kneeling over her. Edwin Fairley’s not a boy, he’s a man, she thought, with a flash of amazement, and a trickle of fear, for that masculinity was now fully revealed. Edwin sucked in his breath, gazing at her wonderingly, filled with a yearning desire to possess her completely. And he marvelled at her loveliness. Her skin had a floral pallor to it, but it was dappled golden, here and there, from the candlelight and the fire’s rosy glow. She resembled a perfectly sculptured marble statue.

Slowly and with great tenderness and delicacy Edwin helped Emma to overcome her terror, her reticence, and her inherent shyness. In spite of their mutual virginity, Edwin began to make love to Emma, and eventually she to him, under his softly whispered guidance. His desire flared into a passion he could no longer check, and it was this passion that imbued in him a finesse that was unconscious yet remarkable in its expertise. Only once did she stiffen, and he heard a small cry strangled in her throat as she bit it back. But he was so exquisitely gentle with her and adoring, this moment instantly passed, and soon he was carrying her along with him on a mounting wave of ecstasy. They were clinging together,moving now in perfect unison, engulfed by the sweet warmness of their fresh young bodies. Emma thought she was slowly dissolving under Edwin, becoming part of him. Becoming him. They were one person now. She was Edwin. She moaned and moved her hands down to the small of his back which vibrated under her touch. It was then that Edwin experienced such a sensation of joy he thought he would scream out loud. As he rushed headlong into the very core of her he did not know that he shouted her name and begged her never to leave him.