It took Charlotte rather longer to catch up with her sisters than it took Branwell, who, although he was not particularly tall, had legs that were a good deal longer than hers. He caught them just as they were coming to Ponden Mill, the narrow, long, four-story structure that sat half a mile from the hall, well built with long windows designed to give as much light as possible to the industry within. The great clack and clatter of the spinning jenny at work could be heard from quite some distance away.

Charlotte could not be certain of what Branwell said to their sisters, but it was sufficient to persuade them to wait as Charlotte hurried to their side.

“What on earth did you discover that encouraged you to leave so abruptly?” Charlotte asked. “I am quite used to Emily being so wild, but you, Anne—I had thought better of you. And I have a great deal to tell you about the medallion, for many believe it has miraculous properties.”

Charlotte told her sisters everything Eamon had told her. Then Anne relayed all that had happened in the library in hardly more than a whisper, as if she were afraid something other than themselves might be listening to their talk.

“Emily believes—and though it seems unlikely, I am bound to concur—that the perpetrator must know of our detection and our lives most intimately.” Anne shook her head. “And was it Clifton Bradshaw who visited Ponden and somehow—goodness only knows how—divined that we were bound there and left the book out for us? I am greatly troubled, Charlotte. I believe that we are in grave danger and that Bradshaw will harm us if he thinks his crime will be revealed.”

“I would say more like strong peril,” Emily said, her cheeks rosy from the cold. “Whoever it is, they want to engage us in a battle of wits, so it seems unlikely that they would harm us—where would be the entertainment in despatching your enemy before the battle had commenced?”

“Sisters,” Branwell said, “I am concerned. If what you say is true, then as your brother, I order you to desist in the matter at once, tell all you know to the constable and go about your more ladylike endeavours.”

“I think Emily is right,” Charlotte said, ignoring her brother, as did her sisters. “I don’t feel that there is immediate danger. But I do fear that danger to ourselves, and to our persons, is a prospect if we continue in this matter. Think of the figure that stalked Emily in the dead of night. We don’t understand all of it yet, but it seems to me to be something larger than we can fathom, a storm of malice that we may be swept away by. It would not be dishonourable to step away from this matter now. In many ways I should prefer it.”