“Miss Sladden,” Emily said, her eyes lowered, “you may not know me, but my papa is the parson at Haworth. Perhaps you know of him and know he is a good man, and that his children seek only to be as like him as they can be, to treat all as equals under God. You, your sister or Miss Goddard have nothing to fear from me or from my sisters, who are waiting outside.”

“I do know your papa,” Miss Sladden said, the discomfort in her tone easing just a little. “I read his letters and sermons in the paper. Your father is a good man, Miss Brontë, I am sure, but even so, I do not wish to be seen, so I beg you, miss, for my sake, please go.”

“I will,” Emily said. “Please, if you have heard of a Miss Goddard and her boy, Tom Hawthorne, please ask them to come at once to the parsonage, for it is very urgent we speak to them. We believe they may know something about a most dangerous person abroad this very night—a person who causes great harm to children, and who has, we are certain, a Haworth child in his despicable hands as we speak.”

“Which child?” Miss Sladden asked, taking Emily aback a little.

“Joseph Earnshaw,” Emily replied, uncertain as to why it mattered. “He has been gone one night already, and we are very afraid for him.”

“I know Joseph,” Miss Sladden said. “Full of mischief but bright—has promise.”

“Indeed, Miss Sladden . . .” Emily was curious. “May I ask how it is you know this?”

“I do not wish to be seen, but my sister and I are God-fearing folk, Miss Brontë. Your own father visited us regularly once, before his sight failed him. Since then his curate, Mr. Nicholls, will come and visit us once a month to lead us in prayer. He brings us books and papers, and tells us stories from the schoolhouse. He speaks often of a Miss Charlotte. I trust he never speaks of us or our lives, for we have begged him not to.”

“He never has,” Emily said very quietly, “believe me.”

Very slowly Miss Sladden turned around to face Emily, who after a moment lifted her eyes to meet the other woman’s and held her steady, appraising gaze.

“I do believe you,” Miss Sladden said, “but why do you think your Miss Goddard is here?”

“My sister has a feeling,” Emily said honestly, “and we all of us believe that feelings can be compasses pointing towards the truth. Anne thought that perhaps a life as secluded as yours might prove a refuge for Miss Goddard and Tom.”

“Refuge? No.” Miss Sladden picked up the oil lamp and walked a few steps closer to Emily, holding the light up to her face.