After the marriage Caleb Crowther had plundered Emma’s entire inheritance. Then, when Emma’s husband had met his untimely end and the law was baying for blood, he had made it his business to point the strongest accusing finger at Emma. Terrible things he had done against her. None of which he regretted. Only the thought of Mary had made him quake to his stomach, only the idea she might be watching from her grave; only the memory of what had taken place on a particular night some forty years and more before. Even now, the awful knowledge of it, and the part he himself had played, still brought nightmares. He felt the horror of it now. In a swift and trembling movement, he grabbed his hat from the desk and rammed it on his head. ‘I must be away,’ he told the surprised Dunworthy. ‘Good day to you.’

As he strode from the room, leaving the door wide open behind him, Caleb Crowther could hear Mr Dunworthy’s voice anxiously entreating him, ‘Heed what I say, sir… make no attempts to approach your niece, or I might be obliged to wash my hands of this case altogether.’

The departing man made no outward response, other than to mutter angrily beneath his voice, ‘The devil take you both, you pitiful fool… you and the bitch who would sink me to her level!’ Once out on the street, he took a moment to quieten himself. He felt greatly agitated and spoiling for a fight. ‘Stay away from her?’ he sneered in a twisted smile. ‘Not me, sir…! Not the Justice Crowther!’ Stepping out to the kerb he hailed a hire carriage, and, to the approaching driver who urged his ensemble towards what might be the likeliest fare of the day, Caleb Crowther made a formidable sight with his tall, bulky figure and large-boned face. This was made all the more awesome by the prolific and bushy growth of iron-grey hair that spread across his unpleasant features like a creeping mantle.

As the carriage clattered over the cobbles towards him, Caleb Crowther raised his arm across his forehead to shield his eyes from the late afternoon sun. He hated the summer and the tiresome August heat. It sought to rob a man of his dignity. On top of which, he was still smarting from Mr Dunworthy’s instructions. So, when a small lad came careering into his path and foolishly rolled his wooden hoop into the gentleman’s leg, the next thing he knew was the gentleman had whipped him sharply across the shoulders with his cane. There then followed a terrible uproar when the fearful lad began screaming for his father, who was some way behind. Seeing his son unjustly attacked, the incensed fellow launched himself at Caleb Crowther with vicious intent. The upshot was that he also got a cane sliced across his head, and was promptly taken into custody by a passing officer of the law, who had recognized the Justice Crowther. Therefore he lost no time in collaring the ‘offender’ who had dared set himself on such a solid and respected upholder of the law. By which time Caleb Crowther had climbed into the carriage and, with much irritation at having been so affronted, gave the astonished driver a curt instruction to ‘make haste to Park Street – the Tanner residence’.