‘And all that talk about the hanging.’

‘Yes.’ Margaret lowered her head. Her voice came out brokenly after the silence that had stifled them all at home. ‘Oh, Annie, shouldn’t we be on our knees, repenting?’

‘We, repenting?’ Annie erupted. ‘Why, in heaven’s name . . . ?’

‘Here we are, dears!’

Aunt Harriet’s voice silenced her. She swung in through the door bearing a tray with a crockery teapot, cups and saucers, and a plate holding a generous-sized fruit cake, all of which must have taken some strength to carry. Aunt Hatt showed no sign of a struggle. She laid it on the table, which was covered in a white lace cloth.

She looked round at them, obviously sensing an atmosphere in the room.

‘Are you all right, dears?’

‘Yes, thank you, Aunt,’ Margaret said, fighting to slow her breathing.

Aunt Harriet had a calm warmth about her which was a balm to their frayed emotions. But Margaret knew that their aunt must be wondering what on earth was going on. Why they were here, needing to stay.

‘Now,’ Aunt Harriet said, pulling out a chair from under the table and seating herself gracefully on it. ‘I’ll just let that brew for a moment.’ She placed her hands in her lap, crossed her feet in their neat black shoes, leaned a little towards them and said, ‘Well, it’s very nice to see you both. How is your father?’

‘He’s well, thank you,’ Margaret said, managing a normal tone. ‘At least, his rheumatics trouble him a little, but he is very uncomplaining.’

‘He is,’ Aunt Harriet agreed. ‘A stoic soul, your father. Not neglecting himself for his flock, I hope?’ She was speaking cautiously, Margaret could see. Being tactful. Neither Aunt Harriet nor their mother’s brother, Uncle Ebenezer, were religious people.

‘No more than usual,’ Annie said.

Margaret gave her a look for the tone in her voice.

Aunt Harriet smiled warmly at them. Margaret thought how lovely she was to look at, but she could also see the uncertainty in her aunt’s eyes.

‘When you wrote and asked if you could come to us for a little while . . .’ She stopped, obviously not wanting to pry, but her confusion was clear. ‘Whatever the reason, dears, you’re welcome, especially now our Georgie has set up his own home. Only –’ she lowered her voice further – ‘I had the impression from what you said that there had been a spot of bother between you? I should hate to think of there being a rift of any sort in the family.’

Margaret and Annie exchanged glances. Margaret gave her sister a powerful look which said, Don’t you dare say anything. Not now.

‘No, Auntie, it’s not that . . .’ Margaret ran out of words; the blood was rushing to her face. I can’t just come out and tell her, she thought. Overwhelmed, she pressed her hands to her face and began to weep.