“Reverend Brontë, Misses Brontë.” Lady Hartley curtseyed, and the sisters followed suit in unison. “I do hope you don’t find my presence intrusive. My coachman, Hemming, and Mr. Nicholls informed me of the discovery of the bones and of your intervention. I simply couldn’t let the day pass without paying my respects to the poor abandoned soul, and to offer you each my sincere thanks for not letting the matter rest. Too many human souls are cast aside like rubble in this dreadfully cruel and inhumane world. To know that such care has been taken over one so humble is indeed inspiring.”

“We were very glad to do it, Lady Hartley.” Charlotte nodded. “No soul should ever go without a Christian burial.”

Lady Hartley smiled. “You may know that Lord Hartley and I do our best to improve the lives of local children. I wonder if I might trouble you to call on me before I return to London to discuss how I might best help you with this matter of the bones and any others that need my attention.”

“We should be honoured, madam,” Charlotte said, doing her best—rather poorly, Anne thought—to hide her delight at the invitation.

“Thank you, Miss . . . I believe from the way Mr. Nicholls describes you, you must be Charlotte. Arthur admires you very much.”

“Oh well.” Mr. Nicholls coughed rather profusely. “If you’ll pardon me, Lady Hartley, I believe I will escort the reverend to the parsonage before the cold gets to his bones.”

“I am indeed,” Charlotte said as Mr. Nicholls guided her papa home. “This is my sister Anne, and I believe you already know of Emily.”

“Ah yes, Emily. I do so hope you will accept our invitation to play at Oakhope. I hear you have a great talent.”

“Other matters have rather overtaken me,” Emily said, nodding at the grave. “But I suppose that I must, as Papa and my sisters are so very keen for me to agree.”

“I’m delighted.” Lady Hartley smiled. “I must take my leave, but once again, I am delighted to have made your acquaintance.”

“You suppose you must.” Charlotte shook her head at Emily as the carriage pulled away.

“I agreed to do as you wish, didn’t I?” Emily asked.

“You did,” Anne said. “And with such good grace and humour, one might have mistaken you for a great lady yourself.”

“Well, greatness is something one is born with,” Emily said. “I suspect I was born with rather more than most.”

—

Now all of them, save Papa and Mr. Nicholls, crowded into the small kitchen, warming themselves by the bread oven and eating Charlotte’s favourite seed cake, while Tabby muttered furiously under her breath about the incursion into her sacred space.