Weeks passed. Then months. It was as if I walked a tightrope between Edgar and Heathcliff. Every day it was harder to keep my balance. When I told Edgar I was with child, he was overjoyed. But I saw the looks Heathcliff gave my swelling belly. I knew how violently he resented Edgar, the man who’d planted the child there. I know Heathcliff thought of my baby as an unwelcome parasite. I also saw the sideways glances Heathcliff gave Edgar and knew what the sudden twitching of his fingers meant. Heathcliff looked that way at Hindley too. He was longing to do damage to my husband, but for my sake he would not. And so I ignored every dark look. I told myself that I was happy, that we were in a state of peaceful content. But really it was as if the three of us were sitting on a barrel of gunpowder. Sooner or later it had to explode.

Isabella was the spark.

Isabella. My sister in law. Just a year younger than me but still such a child! All her life she’d been so spoiled, so protected, that she knew nothing of the world or its wicked ways. Silly, silly Isabella suddenly developed the most ridiculous passion for Heathcliff. She couldn’t eat nor sleep, so great was her infatuation.

It was totally uninvited and wholly unprovoked. Indeed, it was so unlikely that Edgar and I had not the slightest idea what was troubling Isabella. Heathcliff had given her no reason whatsoever to inspire her passion. He never spoke to Isabella or even looked her way. To him she was of less interest than a bucket, for at least a bucket was useful.

The entire household noticed there was something wrong with Isabella. She was cross and quarrelsome with the servants and so unlike herself I thought she must be sickening for something.

One evening Edgar was away and I was left alone with Isabella. She became particularly whiny and fretful. Nothing I could say or do would please her. In the end I told her to go to bed early and that in the morning I’d send for the doctor. She suddenly turned on me. It was all my fault, she declared. I was the reason she was ill. I was making her miserable.

Her attack was so sudden, so startling that for a moment I was lost for words. “How so?” I asked.

An outburst poured from her mouth. Isabella complained that the previous day when we’d been out walking on the moor I’d sent her away.

“I did no such thing,” I said. “I told you only to go where you pleased. Heathcliff and I were talking of the past. I did not want you bored and there was nothing in our conversation to interest you.”