‘Oh, Cook, d’you think Miss Emma really will take all the master’s fortune away?’

‘Well, if she does it’ll be no more or less than he deserves. But you have to remember that Miss Emma’s been back a while now, and she hasn’t managed it yet.’ She chuckled aloud and fell back in the chair, her great arms wrapped one around the other as she gleefully hugged herself. ‘Oh, but hasn’t it been a pretty thing to watch, eh… the master’s face draining chalk-white every time one o’ them letters from Miss Emma’s solicitors comes a-tumbling through the door.’ Her face was a study in delight as she revelled in Caleb Crowther’s discomfort. ‘But he’s a crafty old fox… and he’s had longer at the art of being devious than Miss Emma has. I’ll wager the feud between ’em is coming to a head at long last.’

Suddenly, the elderly woman realized that it might be foolish to delay much longer in fetching out that particular nest-egg and collecting payment on it. But – just as it had done since Emma Grady’s return – some deep instinct warned her to bide her time for as long as she could. The reasons were many. Firstly, the master was a dangerous man… a Justice… and if he were to learn of such a damning letter he might somehow steal it from her and see to it that she was locked away until she rotted; that was a fearsome prospect that gave her nightmares. It were a delicate situation, and one that she hadn’t quite fathomed out. Of course, Emma herself might likely pay money to have the letter in her possession, but Cook had firmly resisted that particular course because it didn’t seem right to ask her for money, besides which the letter referred to the suspicious deaths of both her parents and was bound to cause her a great deal of distress. Then there was the mistress, Agnes Crowther. Now, she would certainly be interested in the contents of that letter, but she was a stiff and easily shocked woman of rigid principles, and if she were to be asked for money against the letter, it might end up with its owner being flung in prison on a charge of blackmail.

No. The whole thing had to be done proper, decided Cook. For the minute, she had to watch how this wrangle was developing between Miss Emma and the master, and be sure to keep her distance from both of them. One thing was certain. She must be careful not to move in too quick, nor to leave it too late. It were a delicate thing indeed, that it was. Meanwhile, she was thoroughly enjoying the sight of the master squirming beneath the pressure of Miss Emma’s boot.

Chapter Two

‘D’you really mean to see him in the workhouse, Emma?’ Nelly came into the garden where Emma was seated by the rose-arch, her quiet grey eyes gazing towards the distant green landscape and her thoughts reaching back over the years. There was sadness and regret in her downcast features. But when she saw the familiar and homely figure of Nelly, her face lit up in a lovely smile. ‘I don’t know, Nelly,’ she replied, waiting for the other woman to be seated on the bench opposite. ‘I do despise him for the things he’s done… turning his back on me when I needed him most, betraying my father’s trust in him, and using my inheritance as though it were his own. I can’t forget these things and, God help me… I can’t forgive him.’