In the privacy of the drawing-room, Agnes Crowther was also quietly meditating. Not too long ago it would have been unthinkable that she should defy her husband in such a way. But that was before she had discovered how deeply he had shamed her. She could not bring herself to forgive him for the way he had cheated on her, taking other women to his bed on those long journeys away as circuit judge and not even having the decency to deny it when she had confronted him. She could hear him now, lamely trying to justify his sordid affairs. ‘You yourself are not altogether blameless, my dear,’ he had told her. ‘When a wife turns her husband away… fails to do her duty by him… then that same wife must not be surprised when he seeks his comfort elsewhere.’ It was true that she did not enjoy his advances and his infidelity was only to be expected. But the idea that she should indulge in such undignified behaviour between the sheets was particularly obnoxious to her, considering that she was already in the autumn of her life. As for Caleb, he would never see sixty again and therefore should know better than to shamelessly cavort with members of the opposite sex. To make matters worse, it had come to her knowledge that he had even been seen in the company of street women. Whores, no less. She positively bristled at the thought, murmuring aloud, ‘And you think I care what ruin Emma Grady brings down on you? You don’t care what terrible shame you bring down on me, you old fornicator! And as for threatening me, let me tell you I will not be “keeping you company in the workhouse”. These past years I have carefully put away a small nest-egg. You may rot in the workhouse, Justice Caleb Crowther… but I shall keep my dignity.’ The thought pleased her and she chuckled deliciously.

It pleased her also to see her husband’s astonishment at the manner in which she had stood up to him. At one time she would have been too afraid to be so bold, but, since Emma’s return the tables had turned; however much he might deny it, Justice Crowther was quivering in his boots, and his wife, the long-suffering but equally devious creature, was emerging the stronger of the two.

‘Why, you little fool… giggling and glorying in such a thing, when you should be trembling at what it could all mean!’ Cook’s reaction was not what the maid had expected, and she was completely taken aback when, after gleefully imparting the news of how she had heard the mistress saying that ‘Caleb Crowther was a fornicator and would rot in the workhouse without her, if Emma Grady was to ruin him’, she had been angrily attacked by the normally amiable cook, whose chubby face had grown bright purple, the ladle in her fist sent whistling towards Amy’s ear with intent to knock her sideways.