As soon as the four of them were home, Branwell found a letter waiting for him in the hallway, and excused himself to his room at once. Anne watched him take the stairs two at a time, and felt a stab of anxiety for her brother. Surely whatever could raise his spirits so abruptly could lower them just as brutally. As for Anne and her sisters, they crowded into the warm kitchen gingerly, stripping off their soaking boots and stockings, and warming their bare toes before the stove, while Tabby served them a freshly baked batch of havercakes and hard cheese on their laps, as if they were little children once again.

Indeed there was a tangible kind of comfort to be found in the kitchen—in the smell of freshly made oatcakes and the condensation that ran down the inside window. It reminded Anne of simpler times, when Tabby would gather them around her faithful old chair in the corner and tell them tales of the countryside, as they listened wide-eyed, munching on seedcakes or custard tarts. There were often mystery and mischief in Tabby’s stories of great black demon dogs or children taken away by the fairies, a changeling left in their place, but though they were always fascinated, they were never afraid. All was well when they were within the walls of their little house and Tabby’s stout frame was between them and the dark. And though they did not speak aloud, Anne was sure that Charlotte and Emily were just as hungry for that feeling of secure familiarity—despite their brave words—as they were for the warm, buttered oatcakes.

“Do we think Mr. Barraclough, a man of excellent standing and reputation, can really have something to do with the bones?” Charlotte asked, keeping her voice low for fear that Tabby would hear her.

“We only know that he has a connection to both Top Withens and Ponden, and that he was at the house just before we found the strange collection of books Emily believes was waiting for us.”

“And that Bess mentioned his name and that he was the witness of her lady’s passing,” Emily said.

“But we cannot know what Bess means. You said yourself she speaks in riddles.”

“Barraclough is a strange fellow though. Unmarried, still living with his mother . . .” Emily looked around at her spinster sisters. “Well, perhaps not all that odd, but even so. He makes a good living. It is strange that he hasn’t taken a wife.”

“Is he not a Freemason?” Anne asked. “We should ask Branwell what he knows of him, for even though it has been some years since he last visited the chapter, he was very closely involved once. A Freemason might have ways to cover up a crime, if he has friends in high places.”