Emily covertly observed Liston Bradshaw from under her lashes as he ate a bowl of mutton stew with great gusto. Branwell had insisted Liston join them for dinner with Papa, and Papa’s curate Mr. Bell Nicholls and she and her sisters had concurred at once. After all, Liston had willingly courted his father’s fury at their bidding, and the night outside was as dangerous as any ever was. In truth, now she was safely home, as the gales wound ever tighter around and around their little house, she couldn’t quite believe that all that had occurred wasn’t some fantastical creation of her imagination, a gothic Gondal tale, even if the aching chill remaining in the tips of her toes was conclusive evidence that it was not. So very practised was she at spinning worlds out of thin air that sometimes she did rather forget which version of her life was reality. Then again, perhaps it didn’t matter which was which, not when each felt exactly as true as the next.

In any event, the least they could do was to offer Liston sustenance and shelter. To say that Tabby was not best pleased by their guest was something of an understatement. So convinced was Tabby that the sins of the father should be visited on the children that she regarded Liston rather as though he were sprouting horns from the top of his head and a rather delightful tail was swishing nonchalantly away at the back of his chair. Liston was not often seen in the village, so it came as something of a surprise to Emily to note that the Bradshaw boy was of a most pleasing countenance, his long, thick dark hair swept back from his pale Yorkshire complexion, and eyes as dark as a raven’s wing. He looked as he lived, free from society in the heart of the wilderness, and Emily envied him.

“With your permission, may Liston stay with us tonight, Papa?” Branwell asked after some minutes of weary silence. He covered his father’s hand with his for a moment, his thoughtful touch joining his near-blind father to the sound of his voice. “He may sleep in my room—I’ll take the floor. Not even one so well acquainted with the shepherds’ paths as Liston should make the journey to Top Withens at such an hour in these conditions. Besides, after his father discovers what he has done, returning may prove difficult. No one knows how to hold a grudge like Clifton Bradshaw.”