Chapter Three

‘What are we going to do, Seth? What are we going to do?’

Miles was still out cold – although, much to Emma’s relief, not dead. Seth was still refusing to telephone the police station for some reason best known to himself, despite her pleadings. Instead he had telephoned his friend, Olly Underwood.

‘We’re going to wait for Olly, and hopefully he’ll arrive before he wakes up.’ Seth tapped Miles’s thigh with the toe of his boot. ‘If Miles has been hanging around here, then Sergeant Emms and his constables aren’t doing their jobs properly, are they? Olly will be here far quicker than any of them will be, and I can’t risk Miles coming to and trying to attack you again while we wait for Sergeant Emms to sober up. Everyone knows how he likes a tipple or three of a night-time. God, Emma, but you packed a mighty punch.’

‘Didn’t I! I’m glad I …’ Emma struggled for breath – from shock probably, ‘didn’t kill him.’

‘Don’t waste your brain thinking about him.’ Seth slid a foot out along the floor in the direction of Miles. ‘My brother here, cares for no one but himself.’

‘I’m still glad I didn’t kill him, although I hope he wakes up with the headache from—’

Emma was interrupted by Olly coming in the back door.

‘What the hell is all this about?’ Olly asked, slamming the door shut against the wind behind him. Then he saw Miles lying on the floor. ‘Good God. Is that who I think it is?’

‘Afraid so,’ Seth said. ‘Emma knocked him out with the flatiron.’

‘Is he dead?’

‘No!’ Emma said quickly. ‘I keep checking his pulse, although I’d prefer not to have to touch him. He’s alive.’

‘It would have been self-defence, I imagine, if you had killed him?’ Olly said, and Seth agreed that yes, it would have been.

Emma wasn’t so sure. Women didn’t have too good a time of it in court – men always seemed to have the advantage when there was an element of doubt, whatever the crime.

‘I didn’t know he’d been released,’ Olly said.

‘He hasn’t,’ Seth told him. ‘He absconded a month or so ago. On a visit to hospital, so I’ve been told. Although no one bothered to tell me at the time.’

‘Hmm,’ Olly said. ‘Very odd. Who knows that you know he’s not still locked up though?’

‘Beattie Drew,’ Emma said quickly. ‘He called at Shingle Cottage. She came straight here to tell me. Seth didn’t want to, but I persuaded him to go to the police station to tell them Miles had been to Shingle Cottage looking for me. But …’

‘Ssh, Emma,’ Seth said.

‘No, I won’t shush,’ Emma said. She turned to Olly. ‘Tell him, Olly, that he’s got to telephone the police station.’

‘Who else knows?’ Olly asked Seth, ignoring her.

‘Bettesworth and his secretary. Sergeant Emms and the rest of them down at the police station – around here, that is. Presumably other forces are on the lookout for him.’

‘Can Mrs Drew be relied upon to keep her mouth shut about who she’s seen and when?’ Olly asked.

‘Mrs Drew knows when to keep her mouth shut,’ Emma said.

‘Seth?’ Olly said. ‘Mrs Drew? Is she considered reliable enough not to blab?’

Emma was outraged. Wasn’t her word good enough? A ripple of something Emma thought might be fear shot up her spine, making her tingle all over. Was Seth about to do something criminal, as his father and brothers had done criminal acts?

‘She is,’ Seth said. He bent to check Miles’s pulse. ‘The temptation to bundle my brother into my car and tip him off Berry Head is an urge I’m doing my best to suppress. I can see where your thoughts are going, Olly, but it’s not why I asked you here. Sergeant Emms usually has a skinful of a night-time so he was hardly likely to get here very fast and I knew you’d come much more quickly. I thought that should Miles wake I couldn’t risk him punching me in the guts again, leaving him free to harm Emma.’

‘So we sit and wait?’ Olly said. ‘And while we wait we tie the bugger up?’

‘We do,’ Seth agreed. He turned to Emma. ‘Go on up to bed, sweetheart. There’s nothing you can do here.’ He folded Emma in his arms and hugged her. He kissed the top of her head. ‘Try and sleep.’

Her tears came then, large and wet and warm, sliding down her cheeks. Seth wasn’t like his pa and brothers at all. How could she have thought he was going to do away with Miles somehow?

He was protecting her.

‘I think we should have insisted that the authorities guard us better, Seth. I know we saw two constables walking up and down – and one of them was smoking, for goodness’ sake, like he was on a day out! – for a couple of days after you reported Miles had been seen. But they soon gave up and went back to the warmth of the stove in the police station, didn’t they?’ Emma said the next morning.

Gosh, but she was cross, and rightly so, Seth thought.

‘And I still think that it wouldn’t have made much difference. Miles had an axe to grind, a score he thought needed settling, and he’d have found me somehow,’ Seth told her. ‘And more than likely before the authorities found him.’

‘It was me he had a score to settle with,’ Emma said. ‘Mrs Drew told me he’d said that. We all know Matthew Caunter was responsible for your pa and brothers going to prison and I suppose, what with me having been Matthew’s housekeeper and …’

‘Nonsense,’ Seth interrupted. He didn’t want to be reminded of how Emma had shared Shingle Cottage for a while with Caunter. ‘It was drink talking. Nothing else.’

‘Maybe you’re right,’ Emma said. ‘Anyway, he’s locked up again now. We can relax.’

In the end it had been way after breakfast time – nearly nine o’clock – before Sergeant Emms had turned up with two constables to take Miles away. Thank goodness Seth had thought to send Emma on up to bed because when Miles had woken to find himself trussed up he’d sworn and cussed. When Seth had said, no, he couldn’t use the privy, Miles had done his business there and then in his trousers – and what a stink that had been! But Seth hadn’t been able to risk Miles escaping through the privy window, however well he and Olly might have been on guard.

‘Will you be all right if I leave now?’

‘Of course I will,’ Emma said. ‘I’m made of strong stuff.’

‘As the back of Miles’s head is probably finding out right now,’ Seth said.

‘He won’t press charges, will he?’ Emma said.

‘I shouldn’t think for one minute he’d be allowed to. But I do need to go now. The wind’s dropped and I want to see the crabbers out. And then—’ Seth only just stopped himself in time from saying, ‘I have to go to the bank to get money to send to Caroline.’

Baby Rose had been ill. Colic had turned to gastroenteritis. Caroline had written asking for £30 to pay the doctor’s fee. He thought £30 was a bit steep, but what could he do? He had to give Caroline the benefit of the doubt. He had a feeling, though, there would be other letters demanding money for yet more ‘emergencies’ and, possibly, on a regular basis. He wished now he’d had the foresight to ask Caroline to send letters to him via his solicitor. But the deed had been done – Rose’s welfare had been uppermost in his mind when he’d given Caroline his new address.

As he and Olly had sat through the night waiting for Miles to wake he’d almost confided in him about Caroline. And Rose. He knew, if he told Olly, it would go no further. But the fewer people who knew, the better. For now at least. He wanted Emma to be the first to know about Rose.

‘And then what?’ Emma said. ‘Goodness, but you were miles away there. Whatever were you thinking?’

‘How lucky I am to have you,’ Seth said, quickly – the truth, of course, but not the true answer to her question. He was going to have to tell her about Rose’s existence soon. But when? Poor girl she was having enough to cope with.

For the next two days, Emma was busier than she’d ever dreamed she could be with her business, glad that pressure of work had pushed Miles’s visit, and his re-capture, to the back of her mind. By some unspoken agreement neither she nor Seth mentioned that night.

Word of her baking had spread from hotelier to hotelier and she could barely keep up with orders. Often she would slip over to the bakery after supper to prepare pastry ready for baking in the morning, or to mix a filling in readiness for the next day. She had a mini mountain of mincemeat, heady with brandy and spices, maturing nicely in an old washbowl.

But she was going to have to take on someone to help her soon. Ruby perhaps? Emma had worked with Ruby at Nase Head House and, from the very first day, they had been friends. Matthew Caunter had got Emma the position working for Mr Smythe, before he left for America with his wife, after seeing Reuben, Carter and Miles Jago punished for their crimes.

When Mr Smythe’s French wife died, Emma had been asked to care for baby Isabelle – a step up the work ladder for her. But still she and Ruby had been friends, with no jealousy between them, even when Emma had been given a room to herself and didn’t have to share as the other maids had.

But since the night Rupert Smythe had ordered her to leave his premises – the night Carter Jago had been hanged – Emma hadn’t seen Ruby at all.

She still got a frisson of discomfort remembering that night – how everyone had been dressed up in their finest and the solicitor had come in, giving everyone the news that Carter Jago had been hanged earlier that day. The happy atmosphere had been shattered. Emma had fought Seth’s corner, saying how he was nothing like his pa and his brothers at all, and Mr Smythe had said if that was what Emma thought then she’d better go to him – and never come back.

So she’d gone. But since that night she’d not seen Ruby. Not anywhere. Her guess was that Ruby was now busier than ever looking after little Isabelle and trying to keep the Smythe twins, Archie and Sidney, in order. At least Emma hoped that was the reason, and that it wasn’t because Ruby didn’t want her for a friend anymore, because if she didn’t then it would make things difficult for her with her employer.

Ideally, Emma would have liked to have been able to walk up the drive to Nase Head House and ask to speak to Ruby, so she’d know one way or another what was what between her and her one-time friend. But seeing as Seth had been barred from the hotel because of his father’s and his brothers’ bad reputations, she knew that she wouldn’t be welcome there either. A letter. She’d have to write a letter to Ruby. Ruby would find someone to read it to her, Emma knew that. She would spare an hour to meet up with her friend, however busy she was.

Seth was busy, too. His boats were bringing in good catches and, most days, he was either unloading them, or at the fish quay ensuring he got a good price for them. But he always managed to find an hour to go for a pint of ale with Olly to keep the friendship going.

After lunch earlier that day, he’d rushed off to the Post Office, saying he had to catch the afternoon post. He seemed to be visiting the Post Office rather a lot lately. Something to do with his pa’s death probably – there had been lots of correspondence from Exeter gaol over that.

Emma picked up her pen, dipped it in the ink. She had a letter she wanted to get in the afternoon post, too.

Mulberry House

December 20th 1911

Dear Ruby,

You’ll be surprised hearing from me, no doubt. Maybe you’ve heard that I’ve married Seth Jago? I really love him, but I think you guessed as much a time or two when I worked at Nase Head House!

I did spend an indecent amount of time staring across at where he lived, didn’t I?

I expect you’re wondering why I’m writing to you. The fact is, I miss your cheery chatter and hope you are well. How are the children? I miss them, too. Could we meet? Perhaps we could take tea together in Lily’s Tea Rooms tomorrow afternoon? Or you could come to Mulberry House? Anyway, Ruby, do let me know.

With fond affection,

Emma

P.S. I have a Christmas present for you, although that’s not a bribe for you to come and meet me!

There, that was enough for now. She would mention the possibility of Ruby working for her when they met. If she hurried she’d get to the Post Office in time to post her letter before they closed for lunch, and with luck she’d have a reply from Ruby by the third post.

‘Perhaps we could take tea together in Lily’s Tea Rooms tomorrow afternoon!’ Ruby affected a mock-posh accent, repeating what Emma had said in her letter. ‘I got Tom to read it to me three times, and now I’ve learned it off by ’eart! “Lily’s Tea Rooms tomorrow afternoon”.’ She tipped her head from side to side with each word and jiggled on her chair. ‘Just ’ark at you, Emma Jago!’

‘How else could I have put it?’ Emma asked. ‘And I’m not posh. I speak the same as I always did. And you got Tom to write a reply to say you’d come quick enough, I noticed.’ She smiled at her friend – oh, how she’d missed her, she realised now.

‘Of course I did!’

And now here they were the very next day, sitting at a table in Lily’s Tea Rooms, the two-tiered cake stand just groaning with cakes between them. Emma wished she’d asked Ruby to meet her long before now.

Ruby helped herself to a meringue, licking the cream from around the edge before she put it on her plate.

‘I’m not sure I should even be speakin’ to you, though,’ she said. ‘Seein’ as you didn’t invite me to your weddin’.’

Ruby tried to look mock-outraged, but it was obvious from the grin that kept creasing up her face that she was as pleased to see Emma as Emma was to see her.

‘We didn’t invite anyone,’ Emma said. ‘The lady who does the flowers was one witness and the verger was the other.’ How easily that lie came to her. If she was asked for names, she knew she could make something up just as quickly.

‘Where?’ Ruby asked.

Now that did throw Emma off kilter more than a bit. She hadn’t thought to have a ready answer to that. St James’s at Distin? Was that the church and the place? Or was it St John’s at Banfield? They’d looked at both and chosen the one furthest from the town where they’d hired the photographer, but she couldn’t remember which was which now. What if Ruby recognised the church in the photograph? Or, for that matter, if anyone else who were to see the photograph recognised it?

Her hesitation must have sparked a thought in Ruby because she stared Emma straight in the eye, then leaned across the table towards her. ‘I don’t believe you are married.’

‘I am so,’ Emma said, hoping the heat she felt inside her wasn’t spreading as a blush to her cheeks. ‘You can come and see my wedding photograph if you like.’

Thank goodness she’d had the foresight to think of that.

‘Oh, Em, can I? What was your dress like? And your flowers? Tell me everythin’!’

So while Ruby stuffed her face with cakes and drank cup after cup of hot, sweet tea, and oohed and aahed over everything, Emma told her what she wanted to know.

‘… and Seth had a deep red rose in his buttonhole,’ Emma finished.

‘And I’m glad he married you and not that Mrs Prentiss. Second-’and goods and all that ’er would’ve been. ’Er mother is up at Nase Head House dinin’ all the time with ’er ’usband and she’s forever brayin’, like some race’orse eager fer the off, now the news of you and Seth bein’ married is doin’ the rounds. You should ’ear ’er! – “Caroline’s moving in a much better set now. In Plymouth. She goes out sailing quite a lot. I’m glad she’s done better for herself than getting mixed up with those Jago criminals.” And loads of other muck-’eap stuff like that.’

‘Criminals? Seth’s not a criminal.’

‘I know that and you know that, but you’d be stupid to think that others don’t. But if it makes you feel better, when I dropped the slice of tart Mrs-up-her-own-backside Maunder ’ad asked fer, I put it back on the plate and served it – bits of muck off the floor an’ all.’

‘Ruby, you shouldn’t have done that!’ But now the subject of tarts had been raised she seized her moment. ‘How would you like to come and make tarts for me? I showed you how to make them when I was at Nase Head House and you were making them well enough. No dropping them and then serving them up though!’

‘Work fer you? But where would I live? Not with you that’s fer sure. I don’t want to be playin’ gooseberry to you two lovebirds.’

Emma pressed her lips together, trying not to smile too broadly. She and Seth were like a couple of lovebirds, and none too quiet with it either most nights.

‘I expect Seth would let you rent one of his cottages.’

‘Rent? I couldn’t afford rent. You’re gettin’ a false idea of what’s what, you are, now you’ve moved up in the world. You’d have to pay me a whole lot more’n Mr Smythe’s payin’ me, and provide a roof over my ’ead.’

‘We could talk about pay, Ruby. I wouldn’t want you to lose out.’

‘I know you wouldn’t. But the truth is, I don’t do so much cookin’ these days, Em. I’m with the children mostly. It’s a tragedy their ma went and died and for their sakes I wish she ’adn’t. But if Mr Smythe marries that ’orse-face, Joanna Gillet, then I’ll be lookin’ after ’em all the time.’

‘Doesn’t she like them, then?’

‘Like them? You should ’ave seen the fuss she made about brushin’ off somethin’ that wasn’t even there when little Belle touched the fancy frills on ’er jacket! Anyone would ’ave thought Belle had been sick, or worse, when all she’d done was touch those flippin’ frills with a clean finger. I know it was clean ’cos I’d only just took a bit of wet muslin to ’er ’ands.’

‘Oh dear,’ Emma said. ‘It doesn’t bode well, does it? What about the French lessons for Archie and Sidney? Has Mr Smythe got anyone in to do that since I left?’

‘One young man came, a Frenchman from Paris ’e was, but ’e soon got kicked out again. ’Elped himself to brandy and the like. Those boys are goin’ to ferget all you ever taught them in a minute. I give ’em the books in French from Mr Smythe’s drawin’ room to read, but I don’t understand a word they say when they’re readin’ out – could be anythin’. Could be wrong. Could be rude. I don’t know.’

Emma smiled at the ‘rude’. Yes, there were a few books in there which she wouldn’t want Archie and Sidney to be reading, had she still been working at Nase Head House.

‘Anyway,’ Ruby said, ‘this is supposed to be my afternoon off and ’ere I am bein’ made to talk about work!’ She’d finished her meringue and had just taken a Viennese finger. She broke it in two. ‘Eurgh. It’s a bit soggy. Not up to your standards, Em, if I may say so.’

‘No, it’s not.’

Emma was yet to eat anything, but the truth was she didn’t think she’d be able to stomach any of it. She reached for a slice of sponge, but the filling looked dried out. She pushed it to the edge of her plate.

‘What’s up with you?’ Ruby asked. ‘You’re not up the duff, are you?’

‘Don’t be silly. I’ve hardly been married five minutes. I haven’t had time to get pregnant yet.’

‘You’re the silly one if you think that, Em. It only takes …’ Ruby clicked her fingers.

‘I want to establish my business first. And learn to drive the car.’

Now where had that come from? The thought hadn’t even occurred to her before but now it had, well why not? She’d ask Seth to teach her.

‘You’re not turnin’ into one of those suffergets, are you?’

‘Suffragettes, Ruby. It’s suffragettes.’

‘Well, whatever the fancy word is, you know what I mean. There was a big rally up in London last month, so I guessed by the pictures in Mr Smythe’s newspaper. Some sufferget with a title was in court, so Mr Bell said when ’e caught me riflin’ through the pages. Imagine! A woman in court! In ’andcuffs an’ all. Whatever was she thinkin’ of? No man’ll want ’er now, silly biddy.’

‘I know. I read it too. Lady Constance Lytton. And someone called Christabel Pankhurst.’

‘Aw, gawd, you are turnin’ into one of them if you know their names.’

‘I’m not, Ruby, honestly, although I do think men have too much of things their way a lot of the time. Now, we’re not here to argue. If I can’t persuade you to come and work for me, will you at least come and see me sometimes?’

Emma knew she’d have to try and get someone to work for her, if only a couple of days a week. She’d put a notice in the newsagent’s window on the way home. Someone would be glad of the regular money without a doubt.

‘Of course I’ll come and see you. And I’m sorry I ain’t been before. I’m ashamed now that I kept away to save my own skin with Mr Smythe. Maybe them suffergets have got a point. I tell you what I could do – I could come on my ’alf-day and ’elp. I’ve got nothin’ else to do, ’cept darn stockins. ’Ow would that be?’

‘That would be lovely, Ruby. Really lovely. We’ll get twice as much work done in half the time.’

‘If we don’t natter too much!’ Ruby reached for Emma’s hand, gave it a squeeze. ‘And I am grateful for my lovely present.’ Ruby tapped the gift-wrapped parcel on the table. ‘I feel awful now I ’aven’t got you anythin’.’

‘I don’t want anything, Ruby. I don’t want you spending what little you earn on me anyway. Coming to meet me is present enough.’

‘Oh!’ Ruby said, clapping a hand to her mouth. ‘I tell a lie. I ’ave got somethin’ fer you.’ She scrabbled about in her handbag and brought out a rather crumpled letter. ‘This is fer you. I were polishin’ the desk and Mr Bell was about to throw it in the wastepaper basket and I said, “Oi, you can’t go throwin’ people’s letters away”, and ’e said ’e could, seein’ as it was for you and you weren’t at Nase Head House no more. I took it out again when ’e weren’t lookin’.’

A letter? Who could it be from? Her papa’s cousins in Brittany perhaps? She’d written to André Le Goff to tell him about her papa’s death and had received no letter of condolence, so had assumed he wasn’t living at that address any more.

‘It ’as a furrin stamp, Em,’ Ruby said.

Ah, it was from André. Or his wife. Suddenly Emma didn’t feel quite so alone – she had family; her father’s family. And one of them was writing to her.

Ruby took an age straightening out the crumpled paper – Emma thought she might die of impatience while she did it; first the reverse with no writing on it, but when Ruby turned it over to straighten the front, Emma thought she was going to stop breathing forever. She knew that writing. Matthew Caunter’s. Why was he writing to her? Emma’s heart rate increased alarmingly. She felt hot, and then cold again in the same second. A flashback to the time Matthew had waltzed her around the carousel seat at Nase Head House came into her head and refused to leave. She could hear his voice. Feel his kiss on the top of her head. How exciting – and rather dangerous – that had been, with him a married man, although Emma hadn’t known that at the time.

She could also see, in her mind’s eye, the sadness in Seth’s eyes when, on another occasion, he’d seen her reach up to kiss Matthew on the cheek to thank him for taking her out for the day on her birthday. Thank goodness she’d been able to make amends since and prove to Seth that it was him she loved.

She wished with all her heart now that Ruby had left the letter where Mr Bell had thrown it.

‘I ’spect, Em, ’tis from one of your pa’s relations over in France, don’t you? What with it being a furrin stamp and all? Tisn’t our King’s ’ead on there anyway.’

‘Yes,’ Emma said, the letter now in her hand. She sent up a silent prayer of thanks that Ruby couldn’t read and wouldn’t know that the postmark said New York. She couldn’t say more because she knew her words would come out in shaky gasps and Ruby would guess something was wrong.

‘If I sees any more envelopes with that fancy swirly writin’ on it then I’ll know they’m for you and if I sees ’em in the wastepaper basket, then I’ll fish ‘em out an’ I’ll bring ’em to you.’

No, no, please don’t, Emma wanted to say, but couldn’t. She wondered just how many letters to her from Matthew Mr Bell might have thrown away.

‘I ’spect you’ll want to read that in private,’ Ruby said, leaning across the table to tap the envelope still in Emma’s hand. ‘But back to what us was talkin’ about ’afore that letter got you goin’ all colours with shock … I still don’t think I can come and work for you. You see, Em, I can’t risk givin’ up the secure life I ’ave now to ’elp you in a business that might not work.’

So Ruby had noticed that the letter had alarmed her. Emma swallowed, cleared her throat.

‘Oh, it will, Ruby,’ Emma said, her voice stronger than she’d dared hope it would be. ‘My business will work. I’ll make it so. Whatever it takes.’

On Christmas Eve morning, over a breakfast of softly poached eggs and ham that she had cooked with cloves, bay leaves and honey, Emma told Seth about her meeting with Ruby.

‘I can’t say I’m not disappointed that she won’t risk giving up a secure job at Nase Head House with a roof over her head for what she said would be a gamble, coming to work for me.’

Seth put down his knife and fork, wiped his mouth on his napkin.

‘Come here,’ he said, reaching for Emma across the table.

She leaned towards him and he put his hands either side of her face and kissed her, licked a smidgeon of clove-scented honey from her lips.

‘If anyone can make a gamble work, you can, sweetheart,’ Seth said.

‘Hmm,’ Emma said.

Emma’s ‘hmms’ were beginning to speak volumes. Did she have another plan? Probably, although he doubted anything she could come up with would surpass their faux wedding photograph.

‘The new people in Hilltop,’ Emma said. ‘I don’t suppose you could go and ask them when they’re taking ownership of Deller’s Café?’

‘Today?’

‘No, silly,’ Emma said. ‘Not today. I’ve got too much to do. Mr Clarke at the Esplanade Hotel is sending someone to fetch four dozen mince pies after lunch. But sometime. Soon. Before the New Year perhaps.’

‘Emma, I’m running a fishing fleet. I can’t just go out touting for business for you because you …’

‘I’m running a business, too,’ Emma cut in.

Of course she was. And woe betide him if he suggested it was a hobby. ‘I know,’ Seth said with a sigh. The last thing he wanted was an argument. Not that he and Emma had ever argued; certainly not the way his ma and pa had. ‘And doing it very well.’

‘You do understand how important it is to me, don’t you, Seth? To make a success of something? For myself?’

‘Of course I do.’

‘And if I make a success of this, who knows what else I might do?’

‘Like what?’ Seth asked. He wondered how many things Emma had running around in her head sometimes.

‘Oh, I could teach French. Or run a hotel because I’ve had some experience of that up at Nase Head House. Make clothes, perhaps. My mama taught me how. I haven’t decided what yet, but for now I’m doing what I know how to do the best. You do realise, though, that if a baby comes along I’ll need help to look after him or her whatever sort of business I am running?’

Seth gulped. Why had babies suddenly put in an appearance in the conversation? Honestly, women’s minds and the way they could skitter from one subject to another puzzled him at times. ‘You’re expecting a baby?’

Emma shook her head. ‘No. Not yet. But you do understand that I’d want to keep running my business when I do have one?’

Did he? He knew the aristocracy and the really rich – and people like Smythe who were widowers – employed nannies, but it wasn’t something Seth had ever considered he might do. He could still remember his mother’s arms around him, and the scent she used, and the warmth of her if he closed his eyes tight and thought back. There was a lump in his throat now that was proving difficult to swallow. Would Rose ever know that? Would she?

‘Seth?’ Emma sounded impatient for an answer

‘I thought we were talking about Deller’s Café and now—’

‘We are. I was just thinking ahead and wanted to be sure that we want the same things.’

Time yet to talk about nannies, Seth decided. ‘We do,’ he said. ‘The people who’ve bought Hilltop are called Stevens. You could call on them.’

‘No!’

‘Too many bad memories? Carter’s dead now, Emma, he’s not going to …’ Seth faltered. He put another spoonful of sugar in his tea, stirred it slowly.

‘Try and rape me again,’ Emma finished for him.

A silence fell between them then, heavier than lead. Emma would know that his silence was because he truly didn’t know what to say. He had always tried to make up for his brother’s treatment of her by being over-courteous to her. He never laid a finger on Emma’s body without asking first if she was comfortable with the touch, although he could tell that she wanted it just as much as he did. But now a few badly-chosen words were threatening to spoil their first Christmas together.

‘I’m sorry, sweetheart, I shouldn’t have tried to force you into doing something you’re not comfortable with yet,’ he said. ‘After Christmas we’ll both go. Or we could invite them here for drinks. What do you think?’

Emma sat looking at him for a moment. He tried to read her mind, but she was giving him no clues – not a smile, not a frown, just a thoughtful expression.

‘I think I ask too much of you, Seth,’ she said at last. ‘And I’m sorry for it. You’re so good to me in so many ways. I will go to Hilltop. And I’ll invite the Stevens for drinks. The invite is always issued by the wife, isn’t it?’

‘So I believe, not that my parents entertained in the home very often. My pa made things difficult with his excessive drinking.’ Damn, damn, damn and blast his father for encroaching on his thoughts.

‘Oh, Seth,’ Emma said. ‘Shall we go back upstairs and come down and begin the day again? This is our first Christmas Eve together and we’re both thinking things we shouldn’t be and saying things perhaps we ought not to. And we’re—’

‘We’re both going to enjoy it,’ Seth said. ‘Wait there! And close your eyes.’

‘As long as you’re not going to drop a dead frog in my hand.’ Emma giggled.

‘As if I would!’

Seth ran to the back door, unlocked it – something he’d only started doing since Miles’s unwanted visit – and came back in with a Christmas tree in a bucket of earth. ‘Open your eyes,’ he said.

‘Oh!’ Emma said, her eyes wide with delight. ‘A Christmas tree. How lovely. I didn’t think about getting a tree, there just being the two of us.’

‘Now,’ Seth laughed, touched at Emma’s delight in a little thing like an undecorated Christmas tree, ‘what was it you were saying just now about going back upstairs and starting our day all over again?’

Emma was so happy. So deliciously happy – what she liked to think of as a strawberries and clotted cream on a summer’s day sort of happy. After their strange and awkward conversation over breakfast, Seth had scooped her into his arms and carried her upstairs and made love to her not once, but twice – and the wonderful warmth she’d felt as she’d melded into him, and he into her, was still with her. For the time that they were in bed and loving, Emma had been able to forget the letter – as yet unopened – from Matthew. She wasn’t going to let a letter from someone she’d known for such a short time spoil her first Christmas with Seth, albeit a someone she had liked very much. But Emma knew that whatever the letter might contain, the reading of it – seeing Matthew’s strong and artistic writing – would bring back all sorts of memories. Matthew had been an enigma to her from the start, but there had been an easy rapport between them. He’d introduced her to champagne and eating in hotels, and become a father figure of sorts to her, but there was also an element of something else bubbling under the surface that she hadn’t understood at the time. Was she understanding it now?

And you have work to do, my girl Emma said sternly to herself.

After their early-morning lovemaking, Seth said he didn’t think he’d be good for anything for the rest of the day, but he was going to the butcher to fetch a goose for each and every single crewman – his present to them and their families – anyway. He wouldn’t be back for a while.

Singing ‘Good King Wenceslas’ Emma opened the door to her work place. How wonderful the heady smell of maturing mincemeat was. And the almond paste she’d made ready to ice her Christmas cake.

And then she became aware of a woman sitting on a chair in the corner. A woman holding a baby. Caroline Prentiss. Emma knew who she was. And she knew Seth had wined her and dined her a time or two. But what was she doing here? Emma’s heart began to hammer in her chest.

‘Oh, so you’ve turned up at last,’ Caroline said.

‘I live here,’ Emma said firmly. She refused to be intimidated on her own property by the ice-cool Caroline Prentiss. Her hair was coiled on the top of her head, not a strand out of place. And no hat either – although Emma could see a shawl draped over her lap. And she was wearing rouge and lipstick, as though she was going somewhere special. She looked like a trollop. But the baby?

Emma was torn between being polite, because Ruby had told her Caroline was moving in better social circles these days and she might want Emma’s cooking services, and anger because Caroline had come in to her bakery uninvited.

‘What can I do for you?’ Emma asked at last.

The baby in Caroline’s arms wriggled, cried out as though in the middle of a bad dream, then quietened again.

‘What can you do?’ Caroline stood up and walked towards Emma. ‘You’re a Jago now, so I’ve heard. And this here is a Jago. You can have her!’

And then to Emma’s utter astonishment, Caroline swiped the bowl of mincemeat off the table and plonked the baby in the place where it had been.

‘What’s her name?’

‘Ask Seth,’ Caroline snapped, before running out of the door.