“Mr. Bradshaw, Liston”—Charlotte realised rather belatedly that Catherine would not expect to introduce herself—“may I present Lady Hartley of London, Leeds and Oakhope Hall. I’m sure you are familiar with her name and good works.”

“I am honoured, madam,” Bradshaw said, gesturing towards Liston and his servants as he straightened his shoulders. “We all are honoured by your presence. How may I serve you?”

“I rather think the question is how I may serve you, sir,” Lady Hartley said with a lightness that surprised Charlotte. “Sir, I come to relieve you of your terrible burden.”

“And what burden is that, Lady Hartley?” Clifton Bradshaw asked her, his eyes still wide as he observed her, who in the meantime became all the more intimidating because of her poise.

“Why, your burden of guilt as a murderer, of course.” Her voice was as soft as the promise of summer, her words as devastating as a thunderstorm, and indeed Bradshaw looked as if he had been struck hard by lightning, dazed and dazzled. “Now perhaps you will invite us into your home for some refreshments?”

“Molly, tea,” Clifton barked at the young woman, who curtseyed and began herding Bess inside. “Liston, I don’t know why you are standing around like you’ve nothing to do. You’d best see to these horses—make sure they are fed and watered.”

“Yes, Pa.” But Liston too seemed to have fallen under Lady Hartley’s spell, standing perfectly still as he watched her and frowning slightly, as if he couldn’t quite believe she was there.

Charlotte followed behind Lady Hartley, as did Clifton, as she made her way into Top Withens Hall as confidently as if it were her own. Once inside the hall, she peeled off her gloves, laid them on the refectory table and removed her cloak, handing it to Clifton to hang up without once looking at him directly. Charlotte watched as Catherine, without a moment of hesitation, sat at the head of the table, indicating to Bradshaw that he should come and sit in the chair to her right. After a moment Bradshaw did as he was told.

It was an object lesson in power and class—in becoming something greater than you were born to be. And yet at what cost? Charlotte wondered. Would she find it a great loss not to be part of the swirling currents of the world, but rather to rise above it and sail upon its tide? Charlotte thought not; rather she imagined what great good she could do if only the world would acknowledge her existence as important.

“Charlotte, dear, will you hasten the tea?” Lady Hartley asked her, without taking her eyes off Clifton. “I’m terribly thirsty, and the young lady seems rather preoccupied.”

Charlotte did as she was bid, and found Molly removing one of two sharp-looking knives from Bess’s clenched fists, as she stood transfixed by the oven, gazing at Lady Hartley.