Charlotte paused for a moment, looking around at the splendid opulence: the polished marble floors and the gold-framed paintings that seemed to shine in the lamplight. It was dreamlike somehow, and she could not help but feel that such grandeur was never meant for her, in her tired, muddied gown frayed at the hems. And yet there was an exhausted, wrung-out part of her that longed to be lost in this fantastical world, to surrender to it as one might to a dream and give up all thoughts of ever waking.

“Miss?” the maid prompted her anxiously, glancing towards what Charlotte presumed must have been the red room. “My lady is waiting, and she is most eager to see you.”

Charlotte followed her at once.

—

“Oh, Charlotte, dearest—at last!” Lady Hartley was standing before the fire, looking intently into a little trinket box as Charlotte entered the room, a luxuriant apartment decorated entirely in scarlet. At the sight of her guest, Lady Hartley snapped the box shut and crossed the room to greet Charlotte, taking her hands in hers and kissing each cheek very warmly. She was wearing a rather fine deep green riding habit that seemed a little curious, given the hour, but perhaps, unlike Charlotte, Catherine was preparing to ride up to Top Withens herself.

“Oh, but you are quite frozen,” Lady Hartley said, horrified, her soft hand cupping Charlotte’s cheek. “Come, sit with me by the fire. You must think so terribly badly of me, summoning you forth as if you are under my command, but I could not wait a moment longer to discover what has become of the poor child who was taken—Joseph, was it? I heard your sister said you had proof that would name the culprit. Is that right?”

“It was.” Charlotte was heartened at once by Lady Hartley’s kindness, her distressed heart eased by Catherine’s bright eyes and sweet countenance. “Oh, Lady Hartley—Catherine—I am so glad to see you. I have felt quite depleted, but the sight of you gives me such heart.”