Her potential new friend was taking a turn at the piano. Harriet watched the woman’s slim fingers, half gloved in a fine black net, move delicately over the keys.

‘I cannot play half so well as you,’ she said.

‘I’m sure that’s not true. Let’s duet!’

‘Not in front of an audience. Perhaps you’ll visit me and we can play.’

‘Come! Don’t be shy. Sit by me.’

Harriet laughed and moved away. ‘No, no. I’ll only embarrass myself. Perhaps the next time we meet.’

‘I shall look forward to it.’

Warmed by this encounter, she approached an older woman, an elegant lady who wore her hair piled high in the old style, a sparkling emerald at her throat, thinking to engage her in conversation, but the woman turned eyes like glass on her, a cold, unyielding gaze that somehow found and pierced the treachery in Harriet’s heart. Why are you here? Don’t insult us with this pretence. I see through you. She spun away, fussing with a doily on the sideboard and fighting down a wave of grief. She was afraid she would faint, and all from a look she had no doubt misinterpreted. She leaned against the wall, partly hidden by the heavy velvet drapes in the window, and tried to compose herself. She had entangled herself with a man she didn’t love in order to achieve her uncle’s ends, and her own. It was guilt she was feeling; not the heavy burden of guilt she carried over Alice’s death, but a nagging feeling of wrongdoing.

She glanced around the room. Nobody was paying her any attention, a relief. Her fingers brushed the wallpaper’s soft nap and she closed her eyes, and Silas’s face swam before her, his narrow green eyes mocking her, his long fingers delicately lifting her braid so he could put his mouth against her ear. ‘She’s right, tha knows. What tha doin’ wi’ this lot when tha should be wi’ me?’ Harriet smiled, then dropped her eyes, overcome by sadness.

Chapter 37

Rolling waves of terror threatened to overcome him at the thought of the punishment that lay ahead. But he could rant and rave all he liked, locked in this cell in the pitch dark. No one would come.

Mrs Gunson had delivered what she termed ‘good news’. The serious charges laid against him had been dropped. There would be no appearance at the York Assizes and Silas would not end up with a criminal record. He had protested his innocence – again – but was coming to the realisation that guilt or innocence had little to do with anything. There were those who meted out punishment, and those who took it, and he was in the latter category.

Mrs Gunson had taken his hand. ‘Silas, what is happening to you is wrong, there is no way around it. But listen to me, it will be over by this time tomorrow and you will be able to put it behind you. And we will help you, Mr Gunson and I. We’ll keep you to a straight path.’