Isabelle stood at Madge’s graveside. It had begun to rain and she looked up towards the falling raindrops pattering onto the spreading leaves of the sycamore trees that surrounded the churchyard. The weather matched her mood. She could have cried, too, shedding tears of hurt as she watched the coffin being lowered into the ground. How could her husband have deceived her so, with her own seamstress, whom she had trusted? Looking back, she should have known something was wrong: all the times James had returned home late, and the occasions when she had found them both together, looking coy and secretive. She should have known. Instead she had been oblivious to the people sniggering behind her back. All of them had known more than she did about what was going on under her own nose.

She looked up at Madge’s parents, who were heartbroken and at a loss to make sense of their daughter’s death and the scandal that had enveloped them. Their daughter found lying dead, next to James Fox on his new contraption of a motorcycle. The whole district was talking about it. Isabelle breathed in deeply; she wouldn’t give her condolences to the family, she would just walk away and leave them in their grief. Besides, if Madge wasn’t dead, she would have wished her so; nobody took anything off her, especially not her husband. She looked around her at the whispering mourners and made herself scarce, leaving them to gossip for as long as they liked. No doubt the rumours would give birth to more rumours, and this would just be the start, for the gossips. She must protect the good name of Atkinson’s above all else. James would have to learn who was really in charge of his life.

14

14

‘Are you there, Ethan?’ Rosie whispered quietly as she climbed the ladder up to Ethan’s sleeping quarters above the stable. The smell of newly harvested hay filled her nostrils. It was a reminder that summer was nearly over and that soon it would be autumn. She heard Ethan move as she peered into the darkness and rubbed her eyes to adjust to the light of the hay-loft.

‘Aye, I’m here. What are you doing, creeping up here at this time of night? I thought I told you to keep away until the two Paddies had gone home.’ Ethan turned on his side and looked towards where Rosie’s voice came from.

‘I had to come and see you. It couldn’t wait any longer,’ she whispered as she hoisted herself up on the wooden floorboards and made out the form of Ethan, who reached his hand out to light the stub of a candle in its candlestick.

‘What couldn’t wait?’ Even by the light of the candle, Ethan looked concerned and his voice whispered shakily.