‘So, you mean to defy me?’

‘In this matter, I am afraid so.’

‘Then you are a fool!’ Infuriated, he got to his feet. ‘Must I remind you that we’re in this together. If I am to be hounded by this upstart, I can assure you, my dear… you will keep me company in the workhouse.’

‘You think so?’

‘I do indeed.’

With a wry little smile, Agnes Crowther turned away, her next words dripping softly in her wake as she moved gracefully across the room, a slim and regal figure in a bustled dress of dark blue silk. ‘Oh, my dear… you know very well that the workhouse would not suit me. However, I must leave the matter of Emma Grady to you,’ she told him icily. ‘You know how hopeless I am at such things… and how I have no head for what is essentially “a man’s business”… as you yourself have so painstakingly pointed out on the rare occasions when I have offered an opinion.’

‘This is different,’ he argued, with all the dignity he could muster in the face of her defiance. ‘This concerns you as well as me.’ He was puzzled by her bold attitude, but not altogether surprised. The further they had drifted apart over the years, the more independent and rebellious she had become. It was quite infuriating.

‘And what would you have me do?’ She turned at the door to sweep her cold, green gaze over his angry features. ‘Should I go and see her? Put myself at her mercy and beg forgiveness for robbing her of her birthright, afterwards turning our backs on her when she was thrown into a prison cell, charged with murder? Do you think I should chastize her for seeking to hurt us? Or would you rather I tried to explain how sorry we are that we ignored her desperate pleas for help when she was labelled a criminal of the worst kind… faced with exile from the shores of her homeland when she was heavy with child… a child that was soon lost to her in unfortunate circumstances. And when she asks where her fortune has gone, what should I say? That it was squandered… but that enough was saved for investment in the Lassater Shipping Line… now a thriving and prosperous company, and one of Emma Grady’s most bitter and dangerous rivals?’ She smiled sweetly and quietly opened the door. ‘Somehow I don’t think I would be well received in my niece’s house… do you, my dear?’

In a moment she was gone and the door was firmly closed behind her. Caleb Crowther went to the window, where he lit his pipe and furiously puffed on it. It seemed to him that, whilst his enemies began to close in on all sides, he stood alone, deserted and friendless. No matter, he thought defiantly, there were still those rats who had no choice but to stand by him… or go down with the sinking ship. He had not ‘gone down’ yet. Nor had he any intention of doing so. Certainly not because of Emma Grady! Or Emma Tanner as she was now called, since her marriage to that fellow Marlow.