‘What is that to me?’ Caleb Crowther rose to his feet and, curving his fists round the desk edge, he leaned forward in an ominous posture. ‘And don’t you dare tell me that she is a “good” woman,’ he thundered. ‘To my mind, she is no better than a common criminal… an opportunist… of no more consequence than the wretched women who roam the streets in the dark hours!’

Now Edward also was on his feet, glaring at the older man with stony, condemning eyes. ‘It does not become you… a distinguished Justice … to be so prejudiced, so vindictive… and to one of your own blood kin!’

Edward Trent could not have known what terrible effect his last words would have on Caleb Crowther, for he was not aware of certain dark secrets that had lain heavy in his grandfather’s guilty heart these many years. When Caleb Crowther reeled at Edward’s accusation, his face growing distorted as though in crippling pain and his clumsy bulk falling backwards into the chair as though pushed by some unseen hand, Edward’s medical training convinced him that his grandfather was suffering a heart attack. Rushing forward, he would have grabbed at the older man’s stiffened collar and frantically tried to loosen it, but his efforts were angrily shrugged off. ‘LEAVE ME BE!’ Lashing out at the young man, Caleb Crowther sprang from his chair and breathing unnaturally hard, he snarled, ‘You! I thought at least you would stand by me in this. But it’s plain to see that you’re no better a man than is your father. Get out… GO ON! Get out! I don’t care if I never see you again.’

Edward knew the futility of trying to reason with Caleb Crowther when he was in one of these terrible moods. He had hoped to convince his grandfather to make good the relationship between himself and Emma, who was after all his own niece. But as he might have expected, his words had fallen on deaf ears. Some time ago, before the death of her son, Edward had tried desperately to persuade Emma to think again about the case she was relentlessly pursuing against her uncle, Caleb Crowther. But she had been no more receptive to his pleas than had his grandfather.

Dejected, Edward left Caleb Crowther angrily storming to and fro across the room. He consoled himself with the thought that at least he had tried. Tried, and failed. It was painfully obvious that this vicious feud between Emma and his grandfather, in which his own father was caught up, had gone on too long and was too ingrained in both their lives to be so easily resolved. He prayed it would not end too harshly, although somewhere deep inside him Edward Trent had the uneasy feeling that it would all end in tragedy.

Martha Trent and her mother Agnes had been deep in conversation in the drawing-room when the furore between the two men disturbed them enough to send them rushing into the hall. Seeing her son striding towards them from the study, Martha hurried forward, her round face pink and flustered, and her chubby hand to her heart. ‘Whatever is the matter, Edward?’ she asked, as he came to a halt before the two women. Suddenly she gripped his arm as though to lead him into the drawing-room, her small brown speckled eyes boring into him with disapproval. ‘I hope you haven’t been upsetting your grandfather!’ She added angrily, ‘I trust you had the good sense to keep the contents of your father’s letter to yourself. There is no one in this house who wishes to know that Emma Tanner and your father appear to be as thick as thieves.’ She tugged at his arm, but was incensed when he remained rigid and unmoving. ‘You did tell him, didn’t you?’