‘Of course I’m convinced!’ Caleb Crowther knew that Emma was not capable of such a heinous deed, but it had served him well to uphold her guilt. It served him well now. ‘There is not the slightest doubt in my mind that she killed the unfortunate fellow… a most upright and respected citizen if ever there was one. Damn it, man, that was why I gave no objection when he approached me for Emma’s hand in marriage.’ He was very careful not to disclose that it was he himself who had put forward the proposal. His reasons had been twofold – firstly, he wanted Emma off his back because she was a thorn in his side, and secondly, she had been a constant painful reminder to him of her mother, Mary. God, how he had loved that woman, exquisite and desirable as she was. Also a temptress who drove him crazy with her insatiable appetite for other men. Not satisfied with her devoted husband, Thadius, Mary Grady had bewitched the young, virile Caleb Crowther, a man on his way up in the world. A man who, at the time, was able to lay the world at her feet. But he was married, and afraid to risk a scandal which would most certainly have wrecked his judicial career. When he refused to leave his wife, Agnes, it was then that Mary deliberately drove him to distraction by taking a lover: a bargee by the name of Bill Royston. Caleb Crowther visibly trembled as he remembered the terror and awful carnage that resulted.

‘Sit down, Mr Crowther.’ Mr Dunworthy was astonished to see the beads of perspiration break out on the other man’s face. ‘I’m afraid you’re working yourself into a shocking state. Look… you must leave this matter with me. There is very little that you can do. Please rest assured… I will do all I can to safeguard your interests, Mr Crowther.’

‘Yes, yes!’ Caleb Crowther was appalled at having let his guard down in front of this eagle-eyed fellow. From now on, he would have to be very, very careful. For, if the terrible truth were ever to come out, of what happened all those years ago, well… it just did not bear thinking about. ‘But believe me when I say there’s an evil and vicious streak in Emma Grady… Emma Tanner now, since her marriage… a particularly nasty streak that stems from… from…’ He could not bring himself to finish the sentence, or he would have said ‘from her mother, Mary’.

He could not say it, because his deep, all-consuming passion for Emma’s mother was still too alive in him. To betray her memory now would be tantamount to betraying himself. His courage was too small, his mind too filled with her image. What would she have said, he wondered now, if she knew how he had used her innocent daughter, Emma, for his own greedy, despicable ends? Married her off to an insignificant clerk so that he could be rid of her, and, if that wasn’t punishment enough for the young, helpless girl, he had given over only a small part of her dowry, by duping the pitifully gullible young man who was to be her husband.