‘Stay back!’ The officer grabbed her by the arm and thrust her behind the shelter of an old oak tree. ‘There’s no question of anyone going in there just yet. The fellow’s beyond all reason… firing at random. Every effort will be made to get your daughter out,’ he promised, ‘but we have to choose the right moment to move in.’

Before he could go on, there came another volley of shots. ‘Stay where you are, ma’am. I’ll send someone to escort you back to your carriage. It’s too dangerous for you to remain here.’ He went cautiously forward, staying low and occasionally slipping out of sight. Agnes Crowther followed at a discreet distance.

As she came closer to the big house, all manner of things careered through Agnes Crowther’s mind. Suddenly she felt the years lying heavy on her shoulders. She felt old. She was old, and now it didn’t seem to matter any more. Nothing did, except Martha. Martha, peevish, spoilt and with no thought for anyone but herself. That was not entirely true, because she adored her son, Edward, and she had always loved her father to the point of obsession, the same father who had callously rejected her from the day she was born. Agnes’s heart went out to her now.

As she moved forward on slow, secret footsteps, nearer and nearer to the rear of the house, Agnes Crowther was made to reflect on other things of the past. That letter had planted so many distasteful seeds in her mind. It had opened up so many questions that had lain dormant all these years: questions regarding her husband’s faithfulness during the early period of their marriage. She was under no illusion with regard to his infidelities these past years, but now that was not the issue any more.

Casting her mind back, Agnes Crowther remembered her brother’s wife, Mary… unusually lovely, vibrant and captivating. She recalled how enchanted Caleb was in that young woman’s presence, and how she herself had suffered agonies of suspicion and jealousy when the two of them were together. How she loved Caleb in those days; he was so tall and handsome, so virile and overpowering. Strange, she thought now, how a love so deep and trusting could turn to cold indifference – even hatred – over the passage of time.

The letter had intimated that Caleb had murdered Mary following an affair, when Emma was but an infant. A terrible thought had entered Agnes Crowther’s mind. Was Caleb Emma’s real father? Could it also be true that he had suffocated the life out of Thadius, before that poor suffering man could change his will? She had to know!

‘Jesus Christ!… There’s a woman in there!’ Agnes Crowther could be seen through the open doorway. With determination she mounted the stairs and pressed on, beyond restraining hands, beyond help.

Unafraid, she pushed open the bedroom door, her heart soaring when she saw that Martha was safe – the unfortunate creature was trussed into a chair, her unattractive face contorted with pain, and a faint cowardly whimpering emanating from her lips. When she heard her mother’s voice, thick with emotion and authority, issuing the instruction, ‘Let her go!’ Martha was at once silent. And more fearful than before. She knew at last how much her father loathed her – had always loathed her. She knew much more than that. Here in this room she had been her father’s confessor. She knew his deepest secrets – and his madness.