‘Damn your eyes. Give them back!’ Her swift and unexpected move had taken him by surprise.

‘Ssh!… We don’t want to wake the others now, do we, eh?’ she goaded maliciously. The two objects would serve her better than they would serve him, she thought. Where he might claim that his wallet had been stolen in some public place, he could hardly give the same explanation for how one of his sock suspenders came to be missing: ‘Now you go on, m’lud,’ she sniggered, ‘softly to the front door, and away to your fancy home… before your “nanny” comes a-looking for you.’ When he glowered at her, she suddenly changed mood, her expression becoming dark and nasty. ‘Get out of my sight, Justice… or I might change my mind and rouse the whole household after all!’

‘All right, all right… you give me little choice,’ he whispered gruffly, his piercing, hate-filled glare devouring her every feature.

There was such naked animosity in his eyes that for an uncomfortable moment the redhead secretly questioned the wisdom of what she was doing, for here was a powerful, mean man, who could also be a powerful and destructive enemy. Yet even that fear of future retribution was not enough to dissuade her from her ambitious scheme. Not only had she stumbled upon the opportunity for revenge, but by some quirk of fortune – or misfortune – she had also been afforded the opportunity to make her miserable life more comfortable. The thought was unbearably pleasant, even thrilling, as she followed the nervous, sweating figure down the stairs and onward, through the foyer, where the desk clerk was fast asleep.

Before closing the front door on him, the redhead held the lamp high on Caleb Crowther’s face. ‘Don’t forget… you’ve done murder here this night!’ She smiled as he seemed to cringe beneath her words. ‘Oh, but don’t you worry… I’ll take care of everything. And I’ll be in touch. Oh, yes… I’ll certainly be in touch. You can depend on it!’

As Caleb Crowther slunk into the night, the woman’s words kept coming back to haunt him. ‘You’ve done murder here this night!’ What on earth had driven him to such dreadful extremes? The night was cold, but the sweat ran down his face as he questioned whether that redhead could ‘take care of everything’. But she must! She must or he was lost.

Hailing a carriage, he climbed in and hid in the darkest corner. There must be no newspapers allowed into Breckleton House. He couldn’t bear to think of reports describing the discovery of a body. At this minute, with his every limb shaking uncontrollably, he could only think of his own precious skin.

Part Two

1887

Life is a thread;

So easily broken.

J.C.

Chapter Eight

‘What d’you mean… “she’s gone”?’ Mick Darcy’s face fell with disappointment. ‘Where’s she gone? When will she be back?’

His heart sank inside him as the young man slowly and solemnly shook his curly head. ‘I’m sorry, Darcy, but Molly won’t be coming back… “not to these parts ever agin” was what she told me mam.’ Joey Watson’s tone softened when he saw what a devastating effect his words were having on the bargee. ‘Didn’t she let you know? I were given to understand that you an’ Molly had a, well… a particular understanding?’