Chapter Two

‘You haven’t, Seth, have you?’ Emma said. She clapped her hands together in excitement. ‘I know you said you were going to the bank – to get money to pay for this presumably – but I never expected to be sitting in your car!’ Emma tapped the wooden dashboard, then wound down the window and wound it up again.

‘Our car,’ Seth said.

‘Our car and you’ve got me a very swish outlet for my tarts. Are you sure? The Esplanade Hotel?’

Seth had waited until they were in the car before telling her about his visit to the hotel – a doctored version for the moment.

‘Very sure.’

‘The Esplanade Hotel’s all marble floors and gilded this and that. Gosh, it’s grander even than Nase Head House and that was grand enough the last time I was there. Oh, clever, clever you!’

‘Not so clever. I know the owner. He’s always taken crab and lobster straight off our day boats rather than going through the fishmonger, so I simply asked if he was prepared to give your French pastries a try. He was particularly interested in the crab tarts. I was there doing business anyway.’

Only part of which was true and he wondered if guilt over Caroline was making him say too much and too quickly.

He’d had no intention of having anything more than a brandy after paying Caroline off, but the thought that his daughter would grow up not knowing him, or he her, had rocked him more than he’d ever thought possible. He’d always hoped that he would have a daughter one day – but with Emma, not Caroline. He hadn’t been able to avoid giving Caroline his new address and he was dreading a letter arriving from her with details of where he should send money for Rose’s upkeep. If only he’d taken an office to run the fishing fleet instead of doing it from home as his father had always done, then he wouldn’t be running the risk now that Emma might find Caroline’s letters to him.

Caroline had gone puce with rage that he wasn’t going to marry her. ‘You’ll be sorry’, was what she’d said. ‘Just see if you aren’t!’ But her rage had subsided substantially when Seth had opened his wallet and given her the contents – all but a £5 note that he kept so he could buy his brandy. He’d had a hunch that money was all Caroline was after and she’d proved him right with every word, every action.

But what if Emma saw the letter with a Plymouth postmark and asked who it was from?

He’d had a brandy and a beef-and-ale pie to settle the nerves fluttering in the pit of his stomach. He’d been finishing the last mouthful when Henry Clarke had spotted him. A God-given opportunity to have a bona fide reason for being in the hotel presented itself, so he’d mentioned his recent ‘marriage’ and his ‘wife’ and her cooking.

‘So I’m in business!’ Beattie Drew said she hoped things were going to go right for me from now on, and it looks like they are. Two surprises in one day! What with this car and everything. Only the doctor and the solicitor have got cars. And now us! Emma hunkered down into the leather seat. ‘No, make that three surprises,’ she said. ‘You didn’t tell me Hilltop has sold.’

Seth turned sharply to look at Emma and the steering wheel jerked in his hands. He struggled to keep the car on a straight course. What an idiot! He’d completely forgotten to tell her about Hilltop when he’d got in.

‘Who told you?’ His voice was sharper than he’d intended it to be as he concentrated on the road, which was full of potholes, in front of him once more.

But Emma seemed not to notice. ‘Mrs Drew, who else!’ she said, her voice full of happiness. She placed a hand on his on the steering wheel. ‘She came to see what I wanted her to do for us at Mulberry House, now Hilltop’s sold. She said she overheard people from Bath saying they wanted it. And that they are taking over Deller’s Café, which could be a possible outlet for my pastries.’

‘What a little businesswoman you’re turning out to be.’

‘Aren’t I?’ Emma laughed. ‘I wouldn’t be at all surprised if I make you a kept man some day.’

‘Now that would get tongues wagging,’ Seth said. The very thought! ‘But Mrs Drew heard right. And I apologise that I forgot to mention it to you.’

‘All forgiven,’ Emma said. ‘I’m sure you wouldn’t not tell me important things like that.’

Was this the moment to tell her about Caroline? And Rose?

Emma unfolded the blanket on her lap and pulled it up over her shoulders.

‘You’re not cold, sweetheart?’ Seth asked, as he steered the car to the top of the hill and slowed to a halt, deploying the handbrake. The engine purred like a very noisy cat. The sun was dropping rapidly now and Seth hoped he’d remember how to light the carbide lamps for the journey back.

‘No. Just enjoying the luxury of this blanket.’ Emma shot upright again. ‘And the sunset. I’ve never seen sunsets so close before – all that sky! It’s as if we’re right in it! Look, it’s making your face all pink, like the flush on wild rose petals.’

Rose. Seth felt himself flinch at the word. The name.

‘And you,’ he said softly. He slid an arm around Emma’s shoulders and she leaned into him. He kissed the top of her head and her hair smelt of roses. Roses … he couldn’t get away from the word, could he?

‘Promise me we’ll come and look at sunsets as often as we can,’ Emma said.

‘Promise,’ Seth replied. He placed a hand under her chin and turned her head very gently towards him for a kiss.

Emma was so easy to please – a sunset for goodness’ sake. He couldn’t imagine Caroline Prentiss going into raptures over a sunset. He felt himself getting aroused. He wanted to make love to Emma right there and then.

‘Oh, Seth, my head is full of butter and flour and cream and eggs and quantities. I can’t wait to get started! I don’t know that I’ve ever been as happy as I am at this moment.’

Seth closed his eyes. Took a deep breath. He was going to have to tell Emma about Caroline and baby Rose. But now didn’t seem the moment. Besides, wasn’t telling a lie and simply not saying what ought to be said the same thing?

The contract to supply the Esplanade Hotel with crab tarts kept Emma busy for the next two weeks. Thank goodness the businessman in Seth had meant he’d insisted on converting the stable to a bakery before she opened up for business – the kitchen in the house would have been in a state of permanent mess if she’d had to make the tarts there.

In a rash moment of confidence, Emma had taken Mr Clarke some of her mince pies – made the way her mama had always made them with some flaked almonds on the top and a teaspoonful of cream cheese mixed in with the mincemeat. He’d eaten three, one after the other, and placed an order for three dozen a day although there was almost a month to go until Christmas Day. Winter, so Mr Clarke had told her, was a quiet time in the hotel trade and any chance to make profits had to be grasped with both hands.

Mr Clarke said he’d tell his business associates about Emma’s cooking, and he had. She had three hotels on her books now. She still hadn’t found time to go and ask the new owners of Deller’s Café about supplying them yet, but that could be for the future. She had plenty to occupy her at the moment.

To complete her orders Emma had two large ovens working flat out and a pile of wood under cover outside to keep them going. A table that would easily have seated twelve, if she ever needed it to, stood in the middle of the room and served as a preparation bench and for cooling the tarts.

Seth came in just as she was setting that morning’s first batch of blind-baked tart cases on the table to cool. She’d need to get on because they had to be delivered by two o’clock, ready for afternoon high tea at the hotel. Usually, Beattie Drew’s son, Edward, took them to the station to be put on the train and someone from the hotel would take them off at the other end, but today Seth had promised to take her in the car.

‘Oh, you’re going out. And you’re wearing a black tie. Is it someone’s funeral?’

Seth knew lots of people now that he was running what had been his pa’s fishing fleet. When his pa and his brothers, Carter and Miles, had been found guilty of smuggling and gaoled, two of the bigger boats had been impounded to pay costs but that still left plenty of boats for fishing. It had been a mercy that Seth had played no part in the smuggling operation – purposefully kept from it by his father. And, of course, Matthew Caunter – an undercover Customs Officer – had evidence that Seth was innocent of any wrongdoing. How often there was something to bring Matthew into Emma’s head, if not her heart the way Seth was in her heart.

‘Not yet.’

‘What does that mean?’

Seth often attended funerals where Emma’s presence wasn’t required, but he seemed to be talking in riddles.

‘It means I’ve just had some bad news.’ Seth hung his head.

‘What is it? Who? Not Beattie Drew? She was coughing yesterday when she was brushing down the stairs. I said I’d pay for her to see Dr Shaw. I—’

‘Not Mrs Drew. It’s my pa. He was found dead in his cell this morning. Mr Bettesworth’s secretary has just let me know. The prison governor telephoned Hilltop, but got no answer. I ought to have told them I’ve moved. Given them my new telephone number. So …’

Seth seemed to have run out of words.

‘Oh,’ Emma said. ‘I see.’

Hanged? Stabbed? Natural causes? Emma was impatient to know. The first two could mean even more trouble for Seth and a horrible way to die for anyone. But she knew Seth would tell her in his own time. He was still obviously in shock, poor man. And as far removed in character from his pa and brothers as it was possible for a man to be. When Emma thought about how Seth had stood up for her against his pa, shown her friendship and loyalty when few others did, she got that warm and comforting feeling flood through her. Love. It had, perhaps, been calf love on her part at first, but now it was most definitely love of the grown-up sort. Her heart lifted at the sound of his footfalls in the hall when he came home; at the sound of his voice calling her from another room; at the way he looked at her with so much love.

Emma dusted off her floury hands on her apron and went to Seth, took his hands in hers.

She’d often wished Reuben Jago dead because of all the hurt he’d caused her when he’d made her homeless, coming up with some trumped-up charge that her mama had been behind with the rent, and that he needed his tied cottage for another fisherman seeing as her pa had died, too – lost at sea on one of Reuben Jago’s fishing boats. He’d sold or burned all Emma’s belongings too, the evil, evil … Emma couldn’t find a word in her vocabulary horrible enough to describe him. She’d often thought she’d throw a party to celebrate when Reuben Jago died, but now … well now she could see how upset Seth was.

‘I’m sorry, Seth,’ Emma said. ‘A pa’s a pa. He gave you life, no matter if he wasn’t the best pa in the world.’

‘An understatement, Emma, if ever there was one.’

‘I know. But without him none of this would be yours, would it? He did at least make that possible for you.’

Emma glanced around her bakery. Guessing that he might be caught for smuggling some day, Reuben Jago had made all his property over to Seth as soon as Seth was legally old enough to own property, so that the authorities wouldn’t be able to get their hands on it. And Reuben had been caught along with Seth’s brothers, Carter and Miles. With Carter hanged for the murder of the family maid, Sophie Ellison, it meant that Seth only had one brother left now – Miles. And he was still in prison.

‘Yes, you’re right as always, sweetheart. Good job I kept my nose clean and refused to go to sea. Seems there’s a mercy in suffering from seasickness after all.’ Seth gave a hollow laugh. ‘Some other sense made me refuse to unload when the boats came back that day. There were plenty to testify I didn’t.’

There was a silence between them for a few moments; they both knew who one of those who had testified was – Matthew Caunter. Emma rarely thought about Matthew these days and there he was, popping into her head twice in the space of a few minutes, unbidden.

‘I’m glad,’ Emma said, ending the silence. She squeezed Seth’s hands between her own. ‘I’d never have had you otherwise.’

At least now Reuben wouldn’t be coming out and turning up wanting Seth to give him a home. But Miles? What about him?

As if reading her thoughts, Seth said, ‘Miles doesn’t know yet. Or at least I don’t think he does, unless there’s some sort of underworld grapevine and news has reached him.’

‘But they’ll tell him, won’t they? The authorities I mean. Soon?’

‘No one knows where he is, Emma. Miles absconded a month ago.’

‘Absconded? A month ago? How?’

‘Mr Bettesworth’s secretary was brief, but it seems he was taken to the county hospital. He’d feigned some illness or other. While he was there he managed to evade his guard somehow. The last anyone saw of him he was walking out, arm in arm, with a woman – and even then, the secretary said, they couldn’t be sure it was Miles.’

‘You should have been told all this before,’ Emma said.

‘I should. But the authorities obviously had their reasons as to why I wasn’t. I suspect they expected Miles to turn up here – either at Hilltop or down on the quay. Now I come to think of it, Sergeant Emms has been around rather a lot, just looking and passing the time of day.’

‘Spying,’ Emma said.

Her choice of word made Seth look sharply at her. Matthew Caunter had spied for HM Customs. Emma wished, with all her heart, she hadn’t used that word.

‘That’s the least of my concerns now,’ Seth snapped. ‘I’ve got to go. I have to formally identify the body, make arrangements. That sort of thing.’

‘I don’t suppose there’s a snowball’s chance in hell,’ Emma said on impulse – frightened by the sharp tone of Seth’s voice, ‘that the Reverend Thomson will allow your pa to be buried in the churchyard?’

She was relieved when Seth laughed.

‘You say the most wonderfully irreverent things, sweetheart, and I love you for it. But hell will probably have to freeze over first before the good reverend allows a Jago in his church again,’ Seth said. ‘There’s a place near the prison for burials such as this.’

Seth’s Adam’s apple rose and fell and Emma could see he was close to tears.

‘I’ll come with you.’ Emma let go of Seth’s hands and began to untie her apron strings. ‘Oh,’ she said, ‘I’ve got to finish this order first, but then …’

‘No need. You stay here. I’ll be back in time to drive you over to deliver them. The sea is too rough for any of my boats to go out today – even the crabbers. And that’s something we’ll need to talk about. I’m not sure I want to be in fishing any more. Not now.’

‘But what will you do?’

‘Well, Uncle Silas has written yet again asking me to join him in Canada. He—’

‘He runs a fishing fleet, Seth! You’ve just said you’ve had enough of fishing, or words to the same effect!’

‘I know. But I could get a manager in to run things, but be a figurehead perhaps?’

‘You wouldn’t be able to keep your nose out of the office, in case someone was fiddling. Like your pa fiddled things.’

Emma sighed. This was getting dangerously close to a row and Seth didn’t need that.

‘You’re right, I wouldn’t. I could always work for Olly. I don’t know, I haven’t thought it through yet.’

‘Olly? Boatbuilding with Olly when you’ve run your own business?’

‘A partner. He’s often asked me. And while Olly’s on my mind, I was thinking of inviting him and his mother to lunch on Christmas Day. What do you think?’

Emma pressed her lips together, and twisted her hands over and over.

‘You don’t want to?’

‘I like them well enough,’ Emma said, ‘but I hoped it could be just us on our first Christmas.’

‘Then it shall be,’ Seth said. ‘Look, I’ve got to go. We’ll talk about this later. Oh, there’s the postman. I’ll see if there’s anything for me.’

And then Seth was gone. Not even stopping to give Emma a kiss as he usually did. She saw the postman hand Seth an envelope which he put into the briefcase he was carrying before hurrying off to his car.

‘Emma, it’s me.’

Emma looked up at the sound of Beattie Drew’s voice. She wasn’t due to come and clean at Mulberry House today. She stood in the doorway of the bakery, a handkerchief held to her mouth.

‘I won’t come in, lovie.’ Mrs Drew coughed into her handkerchief.

‘I’ll get you the money for Dr Shaw just as soon as I’ve got this on the table. You must go and see him about that cough.’

‘I ’aven’t come for the money. And anyway, it’s not the cough that carries you off, it’s the coffin they carry you off in.’ Mrs Drew laughed at her own joke, making herself cough even more.

Emma laughed too, if uncomfortably, and waited for Mrs Drew to get her breath back and tell her the reason for her visit.

‘I saw your Seth drivin’ down over the ’ill,’ Mrs Drew said, which set off another wave of coughing.

Emma loved it when Mrs Drew said, ‘your Seth’. Like he was part of her, the way her arms and her legs and her hair were part of her. She hoped whatever he was having to face at Exeter prison wouldn’t be too heart-wrenching for him. But should she tell Mrs Drew where he’d gone or not?

Emma decided not.

‘I waved to ’im, but ’e didn’t wave back. ’E was starin’ right through me, didn’t see me. ’Urtling down over the ’ill in that rattle-trap-motor of ’is. Charabancs and trams is bad enough. We’ll all be killed in a minute.’

‘I’ll tell him to slow down. He hasn’t had it long and he’s still getting used to it.’ A fresh fear chilled Emma as she thought about the risks of driving cars. She couldn’t bear the thought that Seth might be hurt, or killed, because of his car.

‘Anyways,’ Mrs Drew said. ‘I ’aven’t come to give you a reason to ’ave a row with your beloved. I’ve come to warn you.’

‘Warn me?’

‘Both of you. Guess who came tappin’ on the back door at Shingle Cottage? Weren’t even light. I picked up the poker before answerin’, just in case. But I ’ad to answer. It could ’ave been one of my big ’uns in trouble with their babes or that. ’E—’

‘Who?’ Emma interrupted. As dear as she was to her, Emma sometimes became frustrated with Beattie Drew’s ramblings.

‘None other than Miles Jago, that’s who it were.’

Emma’s hands flew to her face, her mouth round with shock.

‘I didn’t recognise ’im at first,’ Mrs Drew went on. ‘’E ’ad a beard to go with that moustache ’e always ’ad. And ’e were about half the width ’e were when last I saw ’im. I didn’t know ’e was out, did you?’

‘Only just. Seth told me only an hour ago and that was the first time he’d heard. Only Miles hasn’t been let out – he absconded a month ago.’

‘Now, why doesn’t that surprise me?’

‘We must let Sergeant Emms know.’ Emma took a tray of mince pies from the oven, set them on the table. Then she untied her apron strings. ‘You can come with me.’

‘I idn’ goin’ nowhere for the moment. Nearly killed me, it did, walkin’ up ’ere with this cough.’

‘You didn’t tell Miles we were …’ Emma was so fraught with nerves, she could hardly speak. She reached for the jug of water and drank straight from it, not bothering to find a glass. ‘We were living at Mulberry House now, did you?’

‘Emma Jago, I might be cabbage-lookin’ but I ain’t that green, lovie. ’Course I didn’t tell him. But it were you ’e wanted. Said, “Where’s that …” No, I can’t say the word.’

‘Bitch? Is that what he called me?’

‘No, ’t’were whore, ’e said. Sorry, lovie, it ain’t nice to ’ear, is it? But it’s what ’e said and you did ask.’

‘It’s only a bad word, it can’t kill me,’ Emma said. ‘What did he want?’

‘’E said someone ’ad told ’im you was back in Shingle Cottage, so ’e’d come for some answers. ’E said it were all your fault, seeing as ’ow you were linked to that customs fellow, Matthew Caunter, that his pa and ’im and Carter were arrested and thrown in gaol. An’ ’e wanted to know why Hilltop was all locked up and where Seth was gone to. I didn’t waste no breath telling ’im. But what puzzles me is, if ’e’s escaped from gaol, who’s been ’iding ’im? An’ who’s been telling ’im things about you? ’Tis a shame you got to share the same surname as the other Jagos, lovie. Exceptin’ your Seth, of course. Where’s ’e gone?’

Mrs Drew – after all that talking, no doubt – had another coughing fit. So violent this time that it frightened Emma. Gently, she pulled the woman into the room and sat her down. She poured her a glass of water. Beads of sweat were forming on Beattie Drew’s forehead and she was red in the face. And breathing hard now.

‘I’m not going to take no for an answer ,’ Emma said. ‘I’m taking you to see Dr Shaw. And then we’re going to see the sergeant to tell him everything.’

‘No, we’re not goin’ down to the police station. I think it’s best if you keep out of it. We can tell Seth ’is brother came callin’ and we’ll leave it up to ’im to decide what to do about it. I’ve already forgotten I saw the under’and bugger, ’aven’t I? But if you just loan me the money for the doctor, I think I’d better go and see ’im about this cough.’

‘Don’t be silly. I’ll give you the money. And I’m coming with you. I’ll just get my coat.’ But in her heart of hearts Emma knew she was only going with Mrs Drew – instead of giving her the money to pay the doctor herself – because she didn’t want to be alone at Mulberry House should Miles Jago call.

A week went by and, mercifully, there was still no sign of Miles at Mulberry House

Seth, when Emma told him what Beattie Drew had said, thought that they should keep the news of Miles’s visit to Shingle Cottage to themselves. He wanted nothing to do with Miles ever again and besides, he said, what did he pay his taxes for if it wasn’t for the authorities to catch criminals? And the authorities already knew Miles had absconded, didn’t they? Sergeant Emms wasn’t going to thank him for telling him how to do his job, was he? But Emma had insisted that Seth should tell the police and, for a few days, an officer had walked up and down in front of Mulberry House a couple of times a day, keeping watch no doubt. Enquiries were made and no one claimed to have seen Miles Jago anywhere at all.

So at last Emma had stopped glancing anxiously around her every time she went into town.

On December 16th, Emma went with Seth to his father’s funeral. The mourners were just them and the prison parson and two ladies from some prisoners’ welfare organisation that Emma didn’t catch the name of. How sad it had all been that a big man, a strong man like Reuben Jago had been so reduced in size that his coffin was no bigger than a twelve-year-old’s would have been. And all by his own doing – his smuggling, his liking for strong drink and loose women.

Mrs Drew was getting over her cough at last, helped by the cough mixture Dr Shaw had prescribed and the brandy Seth had bought for her. But it had taken time – time when Emma had kept house all by herself and surprised herself by loving it. How big the rooms were! Why, she could have fitted the whole of her previous home, Shingle Cottage, into the dining room of Mulberry House. So much room! And such big windows, floor to ceiling almost in the front bedrooms that looked out over the town down to the harbour and out to sea. Yards and yards of material had gone into the curtains of each one. She and Seth were going to have to have a tribe of children to fill the bedrooms. A cot on its own in even the smallest room would look lost. But not yet. She was enjoying early married life too much – it was as though she and Seth were on an eternal honeymoon. And they were yet to have their first Christmas together. She couldn’t wait! Goose, perhaps. Yes, goose – she’d place an order with Foales the butchers in the morning.

‘You are one good cook, Emma Le G—’

‘Try harder,’ Emma said with a laugh, as Seth cut into her thoughts. ‘Emma Jago. Emma Jago. Emma Jago. I find it slips out easily now, the more I say it.’

‘I’ll have to. I was stopped four times down on the harbour today and congratulated on my marriage. Obviously Mrs Drew has fulfilled her news-spreading duties.’

‘She’s selective in what secrets and gossip she passes on, as well we know, but she only needed to tell one person about our “wedding” photograph and I knew it would spread like wildfire.’ Emma stirred the remains of the steak and kidney to take the skin off the top. ‘More?’

‘Oh, I don’t know, Mrs Jago. It’s a hard choice. Another helping or take you to bed?’

Seth’s eyes held hers – they were full of love, of desire. How good it made her feel to be so wanted, so longed for. That old school friends snubbed her in the street – or worse, called after her that she was nobody, a social climber more poisonous than ivy – didn’t matter at all when Seth was looking at her like this.

‘We could always forego pudding,’ Emma said. She knew Seth loved his puddings more than anything.

‘Or we could take it upstairs and you can feed me, sweetheart, and—’

But before Seth could finish his sentence there was a loud hammering on their front door. ‘Who the hell is that breaking our door down this time of night?’ Seth got up to answer it. ‘Just as well we’ve no near neighbours to hear it. As long as it’s not one of our boats.’

And then he was gone and Emma began to tidy the table, even though she knew Seth would show whoever was calling into the drawing room. She hoped nothing had happened to one of the boats, because every time a fisherman was lost to the sea it brought back into sharp focus the night her own pa had lost his life beneath the waves.

She got up and went into the kitchen to put the kettle on the hob. Tea would be needed without a doubt. It was almost nine o’clock – not the usual time for social visits. Whoever it was, Seth was sounding angry. It was unusual for Seth to raise his voice and Emma began to feel afraid.

‘No, Miles!’ Seth’s voice echoed in the vast, as yet not fully-furnished, hallway.

So, he’d found them. Emma’s heart sank. She removed the kettle from the hob and set it down next to the flatiron. She wouldn’t be offering Miles tea. Or anything else for that matter.

Then a bullish and flailing Miles, fighting off Seth’s efforts to retain him, burst into the kitchen, and Emma knew in a second that he was the worse for drink; the red face, the glazed eyes, the smell of him more rank than a basketful of week-old fish, as though he’d been sleeping rough somewhere.

‘For Christ’s sake, man,’ Seth said. ‘Calm down. You don’t want murder added to your crimes when the authorities get hold of you.’

‘Who says they’re going to get hold of me? Given them the slip more than a few times, I have. Sergeant Emms for one. It were him who arrested me in the first place, so if anyone would recognise me it should be him. But I walked right past him and he didn’t even register it was me. Got a few disguises, you see. Spectacles for one – it’s amazing how they can change a man’s appearance.’

‘Who’s been hiding you?’ Seth asked, his grip so tight on Miles now that Emma could see his clenched knuckles were whiter than snow.

Miles laughed. ‘You’re a bigger idiot than I thought you were if you think I’m going to tell you that. But I see it’s true, then?’ With a sudden surge of energy, he lunged forward, knocking Seth off balance and making him lose his grip as he stumbled after his brother.

Miles headed straight for Emma, hate in his eyes. ‘Scheming whore!’ He quite literally spat the words at Emma, who snatched up a tea cloth to swipe at the spittle that had landed on her cheek.

‘Shut your filthy mouth, Miles,’ Seth said. ‘Or I’ll shut it for you.’

Emma backed away. Seth was struggling to restrain Miles from behind – anger and the drink seemed to be giving Miles the strength of ten men.

‘I heard you’d snared my baby brother. Got your hands on property that should rightly be mine.’

‘We’re married if that’s what you mean,’ Emma said. And they were. Committed to one another more so than many who’d stepped inside a church to exchange vows.

She tried to sidestep Miles to get to the telephone to ring through to the police station, but Miles kicked out with his foot and she fell against the table.

‘You bastard!’ Seth yelled, struggling to keep his hold on his brother.

‘Wait ’til Pa hears about this!’ Miles squirmed under Seth’s hold, trying to free himself.

‘He’ll have a job,’ Seth said. ‘He’s dead. I buried him two days ago.’

Emma had been looking at Miles as he heard the news. His eyes registered no surprise, no shock even. And no sadness. But there had been a twitch of his lips and the beginning of a smile.

‘Did you now?’ Miles said. ‘So, it’s half-shares now, baby brother. Just you and me.’

‘Over my dead body,’ Seth said. ‘And if you think the authorities are going to give up trying to find you, then you need your head reading.’

‘Going to turn me in, are you?’

‘Yes!’ Emma said. ‘And if Seth doesn’t, I will.’

Miles leaned forward and bit Seth on the hand, making him yelp and loosen his grip. Taking advantage of his actions, Miles turned and thumped Seth in the guts.

‘Em … ma …’ Seth was gasping for breath. ‘Get … away …’

Emma picked up the flatiron, and slammed it into the back of Miles’s head. Blood gushed out and Miles stumbled. Seth finally let go of his brother as Miles slumped to the floor.

‘Oh my God,’ Emma said. ‘Have I killed him?’