‘My dear Margaret –’ She could see that it was costing him to speak, to admit how deeply he, but above all she, had been wronged and deceived by Charles Barber. ‘And you, Annie – who can see through walls that confound those of us less inclined to see. All I can say is that I was wrong. I looked upon Charles as a son – or perhaps, more perniciously still, as the man I might have been. I was blinded by my own need to believe in him, by his persuasive, insinuating ways.’ Pulling back his broad shoulders, he shook his head sadly.

‘Even now, it is hard to believe what he is capable of, what a serpent we had living among us, and how long he took to show us his true nature. I have to tell you, I am left stunned and wretched over this whole business. But I owe it to all of you to face the truth.’ His speech was made in the stiff manner of a man seldom used to being wrong, but when he looked down at her, Margaret could see all the sorrowful love in his eyes. ‘I owe it to you, my daughters, especially you, Margaret, who has been so wronged and endangered. And you, little Annie, who always fights for the truth.’

Annie nodded at him with grave dignity.

‘And to all of you –’ he looked round the room – ‘who have been so kind and hospitable to my family, I want to give thanks and all contrition where it is due. I think, Harriet, you have been able to give them the love and guidance of a mother – something they have sadly lacked for so long.’

‘Oh, Father.’ Margaret stood up, unable to hold back her tears. She went to him and they gave each other a brief embrace. ‘I know you only wanted to believe the best of him – as I did. But I was not lying to you. That was what hurt the most – that you could have believed that of me, of us.’

‘There is none so blind as those who will not see,’ said her father. He looked carefully at her. ‘You look well, my dear – even after what has happened.’

‘I am well,’ she said, realizing that tired as she now was, she had hardly ever felt better. She had found a life that suited her.

Releasing Margaret, her father looked round warily, ‘And little Annie?’

‘The thing is,’ Annie said, not quite ready to forgive all yet. ‘You really must believe us when we tell you things. Just because we’re girls doesn’t mean we have no judgement or insight. And in this, we had a good deal more than you.’

‘You did,’ Margaret said.

‘Yes . . . Well . . .’ She went to her father. He looked down at her with gentle fondness.

‘I stand corrected, Miss Annie,’ he said. They embraced stiffly, not being a family given to outward show.