‘Are you saying he would resort to criminal means to answer Emma’s charges?’

Agnes Crowther realized that she had said enough. She would have liked to have said more. She would have liked to have shattered Edward’s image of his grandfather once and for all. Such a thing would not prove too difficult. All she had to do was reveal the truth of how Caleb had set about destroying Emma’s life. But then she would have to confess her own part in it: how she was the one who kept Emma locked in her room while her dying father called out for her to come to him. She would have to explain why it was that she had stood idly by while Caleb submitted Emma to a catalogue of injustices. Agnes Crowther had since grown ashamed of her own complicity in these events. But she had also grown older, and her courage was not so strong that it would allow her to go to Emma and ask forgiveness. Such a humble act had never been in her nature. It was not in her nature now. Far better to let things lie, for they could not be undone. ‘Come and keep me company, Edward.’ Agnes Crowther’s instincts warned her to change the subject, as the two of them made their way into the drawing-room. ‘Tell me about your father’s letter… how is he?… Does his business still flourish?… You do know how I feel about Martha refusing to join him out there, don’t you? Silas is a good family man and has always been an excellent husband to my daughter… to my mind, she should at least make the journey to Australia… if only to spend a short time with him. I have said as much to Martha, but well… you know how disagreeably stubborn she can be.’

Edward knew only too well. He knew also that his grandmother had cleverly diverted the conversation from the more important issue that had brought him here, that of his grandfather’s continued loathing towards both Emma and his father. A crippling and unreasonable loathing that touched on the whole family and lingered in the air like the poison it was. Though he did love his grandfather, Edward could not deny that there were times when he positively disliked him. His unbending and vindictive attitude was something Edward saw as being both frightful and dangerous.

Now, as he followed his grandmother into the drawing-room, Edward was made to recall a time when he was but a boy and had foolishly run away from home, after his father had gone to sea. He had been set upon by ruffians and later safely returned by a small, ragged girl. He still carried the memory of the girl’s face in his mind: small and heart-shaped with big black eyes, and unkempt hair as dark as midnight. He remembered how she took money from his grandmother, money which would be used to save some old ‘friend’ from a pauper’s grave. He often thought of her, but for some inexplicable reason he could not bring himself to discuss her with anyone. Except of course when he felt obliged to defend her to his grandfather, who would have hunted the girl down and had her severely punished. That was the first time Edward had witnessed Caleb Crowther’s terrible, almost insane obsession with his own sense of power. It was not something to be admired. Edward thought of the scene which had taken place between them just now. He thought of Emma, and of his father, who could do nothing right in Caleb Crowther’s eyes. He thought of his mother, whose own behaviour towards her husband was somewhat callous. Edward thought of all these unfortunate people whose lives were, either directly or indirectly, influenced by his grandfather to some degree or another. He secretly acknowledged that all around him there seemed to be an air of conspiracy, and his loyalties were painfully divided.