“What other matters?” Charlotte asked. Of all of them, Charlotte seemed the most worn through by their recent hours of activity, her tiny frame crumpled and creased. Anne worried for her. Charlotte was so powerful in her nature, her thoughts and speech that it was easy to forget she was perhaps the most delicate of them all, the smallest and slightest made.

Before she continued, Emily glanced at Liston as if she was uncertain of sharing her thoughts with him.

“We must examine the chimney breast again,” she said, “in daylight and with a good lamp. There may be more evidence that has yet to be seen. From the broken glass that fell into the room, we can surmise that the room was broken into. That is no small undertaking, given that that side of the house faces out to what is almost a sheer drop of rock. If the forced entry is tied to the bones—and it seems very likely that it must be—then it may be that Bess or even Clifton Bradshaw himself can identify a time when it might have occurred.”

“Pa says it must have been my mother,” Liston said dourly. “He said he reckoned it was her spirit fighting her way back out of the cold grave and into our home to scream us awake.”

“Say what you may about your father, Liston,” Emily said, “but he does have a natural talent for the gothic.”

“That’s ’cause he’s the devil,” Tabby said stoutly, taking them all by surprise, “or in the devil’s pocket anyways.”

“Come now, Tabby,” Anne said. “Liston, please reassure dear Tabitha that your father does not deal with Satan.”

Much to Anne’s surprise, Liston was silent for a long moment, his cheeks colouring brightly.

“I knew I spoke the truth,” Tabby said, tossing a handful of salt over her left shoulder before spitting on it.

“I wouldn’t say he was in league with the devil,” Liston said. “He was devout once, but something happened before Ma passed. He changed his views, and now he don’t believe in such things as heaven and hell. Indeed, after Ma died there was a time when the house was often alive at night: comings and goings, carriages and horses, chanting voices and strange music. Those nights Bess would come and sit in my room and keep me there like she was guarding me. I tried to ask her about it once, before her mind began to wander back to happier times, but she would not speak of it—gave me a clip round the ear for asking.”

“This is a bad to-do and no mistake,” Tabby said unhappily. “The son of a devil in my kitchen and your father a parson.”

“Tabby, Liston is not the son of a devil,” Anne said, “but in any event we shall take him out of your kitchen directly and escort him back to Top Withens as Emily suggests.”