‘So, you’re not saying another word, eh?’ Mick asked with a half-smile. ‘Then we shall have to change your mind!’

‘At least the authorities will.’ The rejoining voice was Marlow’s. Grim-faced and struck to the heart by what he and Mick had overheard, he gestured to the bargee to get the fellow inside. ‘You’ll talk all right,’ he promised the shivering fellow. ‘When the authorities arrive, you’ll have plenty to talk about.’

As Mick manhandled the unfortunate messenger into the library, Emma voiced her fears to the outraged Marlow. ‘The children, Marlow… if we don’t send this man back to my uncle, I’m desperately afraid that he will harm the children.’

Reaching down to kiss her greying head, Marlow gently assured her, ‘He won’t do that, sweetheart. He’s a bad sort, a coward of the worst order. But he won’t murder children… he thinks too much of his own precious neck to risk it on the gallows.’

Nelly felt the need to intervene. ‘That’s as maybe!’ she declared angrily. ‘But that’s where the bugger will end up! Stretched on the gallows like any common criminal!’ Loudly tutting, she went in a great fury towards the library. She had a thing or two to say to that grubby fellow, and it wouldn’t wait.

Marlow explained how he had gone to Eanam Wharf where he had alerted Mick Darcy of the developments. From there, Mick had taken him to Dock Street where Tilly Watson lived. And no, it wasn’t true that the Justice had killed Tilly, although she had been brutally knocked about.

‘It’s a bad business, Emma,’ Marlow said, ‘but our priority is to get Molly and the children back safe. The rest is a matter for the authorities.’ He clung to her, saying softly, ‘God willing, we’ll have our daughter and grandchildren safe soon. Very soon.’

Chapter Twelve

Agnes Crowther stood with one hand on the ornate mantelpiece: a tall, regal figure in a blue taffeta gown, her aged features as chalk-white as the pearls about her wrinkled neck, a look of horror on her face. ‘What is it you want with my husband?’ she demanded curtly. Though thinly disguised, there was undeniably a trace of nervousness in her voice. Her manner, however, remained haughty.

The officer felt the need to be cautious. ‘As my colleague explained, ma’am… we have reason to suspect that Justice Crowther might be able to assist with our enquiries.’ The stocky officer with the drooping moustache and heavy eyelids made no secret of his delight at the reason for being at Breckleton House. His smile was infuriating to Agnes Crowther.

‘Then you are fools!’ she retorted now. ‘How dare you suggest that a respected and eminent figure such as the Justice could possibly know anything with regard to a woman being “viciously attacked”? And it is absurd to think he could ever be involved in the “abduction of children”.’ Her indignation was amazing to behold, especially since she had already suspected that her ‘respected and eminent’ husband was up to no good. ‘My advice to you both is to go away and find the real culprit. I don’t mind telling you that, on his return, Justice Crowther will have a great deal to say concerning your visit here.’