“It must be yer father’s,” Mrs. Daniel said, eyeing the case again.

Emma seized on this, and said, “It is, yes.”

“Is he still alive? Or did ye inherit it?”

Emma, cautious, wary, suspicious and self-protective, did not answer at once. As was her clever way, she weighed the odds. If she said he was dead, it left her vulnerable to a certain kind of person. If she implied he was alive, it might encourage too many questions.

Mrs. Daniel exclaimed, “Oh dear, ye must think I’m a nosey Parker—”

“No, no, I don’t!” Emma exclaimed, grabbing the moment. “My father lent it to me.”

“Oh, I’m glad yer dad’s alive, Mrs. Harte. So, where does he live then?”

Caught unawares, Emma hesitated, but only for a split second, and said, “Harrogate. He lives in Harrogate. With my aunt and her family.”

“That’s a real posh place,” Mrs. Daniel announced in an awed tone, inwardly congratulating herself. She had been right in her assessment of Mrs. Harte, in believing she was quality. Of course, she came from Harrogate. It was written all over her. The clothes, the black leather reticule, the bonnet and the suitcase. All spelled money. Old money, at that. She could tell that from the young woman’s voice and her manners. In fact, it was obvious she was to the manner born. Very upper class, maybe even gentry.

Mrs. Daniel walked toward the door, but before leaving she said, “I’ll bring ye a jug of water and a glass.”

“Oh, but I—”

“Back in three shakes of a lamb’s tail,” the older woman answered as she went out.

Emma sat back on the bed and sighed, a feeling of tiredness creeping through her bones. It had been such a long day. She wasn’t sure if she had the strength to unpack, although she was aware she must. Her clothes needed to be hung up, the chest filled.

True to her word, Mrs. Daniel was back in the attic in a few minutes, carrying a tray. “Here I am, Mrs. Harte. I’ve brought ye a cuppa, and a right nice ginger biscuit I made meself. I thought ye looked a bit pinched, yer face drawn. Tea’ll pick ye up. And there’s water as well.”

“Oh, how very kind of you, Mrs. Daniel.” Emma stood up and went over to the table, touched by the thoughtfulness of this woman, who had endeavored to send her running from the front steps. Charm does it all the time, Emma thought, remembering Mrs. Wainright’s words. So many lessons from that lovely compassionate woman, and how eternally grateful she was to her. She was also glad she had bothered to listen, asked questions and learned.