“Well, you see, Clifton Bradshaw’s wife died thirteen years ago, and at that time he locked up that part of the house. We know that a fire has not been set in that room since the bones were interred there because. . . . well, there were no traces of soot or blackening about them. And it could not really have been more recent, because . . . well, because they are bones and not flesh.”

“How very astute of the constable to make such deductions,” Lady Hartley said.

“In fact,” Charlotte replied before she could check herself, “it was I who made the deductions, or rather my sisters and I, and not the constable. I’m afraid to say, Lady Hartley, that our local law enforcement, such as it is, leaves rather a lot to be desired.”

“I see.” Their hands still joined, Lady Hartley leant a little closer, her gentle eyes searching out Charlotte’s and holding her gaze for a moment. “You really are quite a remarkable young woman, Miss Brontë. It is rare to find such a talented and driven young person these days. Most of the girls I know are so taken up with marriage and children, which is perfectly right for some, but when I look at you, I am reminded of myself. Your mind is free to think and wonder and expand. You are a woman who not only attains knowledge but who acts upon it. I know that we shall have a most stimulating friendship.”

“I should like that.” Charlotte flushed with pleasure.

“So then in all likelihood there is a murderer at large,” Lady Hartley said thoughtfully, “who is mostly likely to be this Clifton Bradshaw, I should think.”

“That would seem the most likely conclusion, but there is no proof to that end,” Charlotte said. “He maintains his innocence very steadily. Short of a confession, there is not much we can do, unless we can discover the name of the poor child, perhaps, and in so doing discover how they were connected to Top Withens Hall.”

“Indeed, that is what we must do.”

At that moment there was a banging at the door, then the window.

Charlotte smiled tightly. “Our maid will see to it,” she said, and indeed, after a moment, they heard the door open and close, and Martha appeared in the doorway.

“It’s Joseph Earnshaw, miss. He says he has post for you.”

“Well, as you can see, I am entertaining, Martha,” Charlotte said. “Have Joseph leave the correspondence on the side table.”

“But you said you’d give me a hiding if I didn’t put these Mr. Bell letters into your very own hand, Miss Brontë!” Joseph called from the hallway.

“I said to him,” Martha said. “I said, what would Miss Brontë be wanting with a letter addressed for some Mr. Bells!”