“But we don’t have two weeks, madam,” Anne said. “We must talk to Agnes now; it may well be a matter of life and death.”

“You Brontës with your dramas,” Widow Barraclough said. “Everything is a matter of life and death with you lot. Well, if it is so important, then you may explain it to me and let me judge how much life and how much death are weighed in the balance.”

“You will know of the bones found at Top Withens Hall,” Anne said. “The bones are of a child, hidden in that room most likely in eighteen thirty-two. We think that Agnes was working there at that time. We are hoping she might be able to tell us something that will lead us to discovering the name of that poor soul so that a headstone may be engraved and perhaps a family traced.”

The door slammed in their faces.

“Well, that went well,” Emily said.

“What else was to be done?” Anne said, turning to her sister. “Do you think that we Brontës are always having dramas?”

“Not at all,” Emily said. “Well, at least not we two Brontës—I can’t speak for the other lot.”

Just as they were about to leave, the door opened again, and this time it was another, younger woman who opened it. Though Emily was not familiar with her, she supposed that she had to be Agnes Fielding.

“You’d best come in,” Agnes said in a low voice, standing aside for the sisters.

They stepped straight into a small kitchen and living room, which was at the back of the house, because the shop front faced onto Main Street. The Barracloughs were a respected family and affluent by Haworth standards. Nevertheless their home was not large or luxuriously appointed, but in marked contrast to Widow Barraclough’s reputation, it was warm and welcoming.

“So Zerubabbel is not at home?” Emily asked, partly because she enjoyed saying Zerubabbel out loud, and partly mindful that Agnes might well speak more freely if she were not overheard by her employers.

“He’s out,” Agnes said, glancing at the clock on the mantel, which was flanked by a collection of animal skulls ranging from a fox and a badger all the way down to a tiny field mouse, each one boiled clean so that they glowed white in the candlelight. Emily thought once more of the Barraclough motto, “Remember to die,” and wondered if all those animals had met natural ends. “We expect him home soon, mind, and he is very punctual, so you’d best say what you must. Mr. Barraclough does not enjoy society.”

“I agree; it is very tiresome.” Emily took the direct route. “We wanted to ask you what you remember about your time working at Top Withens Hall.”