Normally too preoccupied with self to be conscious of anyone else, Adele was particularly keyed up and alert tonight, in readiness for the important and perhaps trying evening that lay ahead. She was so acutely aware, in fact, she noticed the subdued note in Emma’s voice, which was always so cheerful, and she gave her a piercing look.

‘Did Mrs Wainright give you the hairpins? Was there a problem?’ she asked quickly.

‘Oh no, ma’am,’ responded Emma, already starting to work on the remaining curls. ‘She had plenty ter spare.’

‘What is Mrs Wainright wearing tonight, Emma?’ Adele continued curiously, watching Emma carefully through the mirror.

‘I didn’t see her dress, Mrs Fairley,’ said Emma quietly, her face closed and still.

Adele pursed her lips in frustration and disappointment. She had been longing to know which one of her many exquisite gowns Olivia had selected. Adele had always been highly competitive with her older sister, and this was now more pronounced and consuming than ever. Adele was filled with mortification, and infuriated by the fact that Olivia managed to appear elegant and arresting on every occasion. She smiled, and not a little smugly. She would outshine everyone tonight. Olivia will be dowdy in comparison to me, she thought, gloatingly.

‘There we are ma’am, all finished!’ exclaimed Emma with a triumphant flourish of the brush, stepping back to regard Adele’s hair. She gave Adele the small silver hand mirror. ‘See if yer like the back, Mrs Fairley.’

Adele moved and twisted and swivelled in the chair, viewing her pompadour from all angles. ‘Why Emma, it’s positively divine,’ she cried with delight. She laughed gaily. ‘It’s a work of art. A masterpiece. And so flattering to me. You are a clever girl.’

Adele put on her evening slippers and then stepped into the gown Emma was holding for her. She stood in front of the cheval mirror, and Emma patiently fastened the long line of buttons up the back, praying Adele wouldn’t remember the roses she had removed earlier. They were ugly, and Emma was convinced they ruined the gown, which was elegant and dramatic in its basic simplicity. As she did up the last button, Emma said hurriedly, hoping to divert her attention, ‘All we need for the finishing touch are yer jewels, Mrs Fairley.’

‘In a moment, Emma,’ said Adele, stepping back to view herself. She was ecstatic at the vision she made. The black velvet gown stunningly emphasized her tall, lissom figure and its excellent cut drew attention to her tiny waist. It had a low neckline that was draped adroitly across the shoulders, and a tightly moulded bodice that hugged her figure deliciously. She decided it was her most becoming gown as, intoxicated with herself, she swirled around on her elegantly shod feet that peeped out beneath her skirt. Emma was quite right about the roses. They were ghastly, she thought, marvelling that her young maid had such an innate sense of taste.

She sat down and took the diamond chandelier earrings out of the red velvet case and put them on. She added two bracelets and several rings, and then Emma placed the diamond necklace around her throat, securing it carefully. It was a glittering lacy web of brilliant, perfectly cut and mounted stones. The diamonds had such fire, such life, such matchless beauty, Emma gasped.

‘It is exquisite, is it not?’ remarked Adele. ‘The Squire gave it to me,’ she went on, and sighed. ‘He used to give me so many lovely jewels,’ she confided softly.

‘It fair takes me breath away, Mrs Fairley, it does that,’ Emma said in awe, wondering what it had cost. A fortune, no doubt. Bought from the toil of others, she thought with a stab of bitterness, thinking of Frankie and her dad labouring at the mill.

Adele did not see the scowl on Emma’s face, and she threw her a gratified smile and opened another velvet case. She lifted out a large diamond brooch and commenced to pin it on the small draped sleeve that barely covered the top of her left arm.

Emma compressed her mouth. ‘Er-er-Mrs Fairley, ma’am, I don’t knows that yer needs that there brooch, if yer don’t mind me saying so-’

‘It was my mother’s,’ said Adele peremptorily.

‘Oh! Then please excuse me, Mrs Fairley. I understand. Yer wants ter wear it for sentimental reasons,’ said Emma with the utmost politeness. But she was dismayed. The brooch was unnecessary, and it ruined the whole effect she had been striving for.

Sentimental reasons, repeated Adele inwardly, gazing into the mirror. Her eyes, narrowing perceptibly, were as cold and as glittering as the diamonds she wore. She looked down at the brooch absently and thought of her mother and then slowly lifted her head.

Vaguely, Adele removed the brooch and returned it to its case. She wanted no reminders of her mother. Nor did she want Olivia to be reminded either. Olivia thought she was mad, just like their mother had been mad. So did Adam. They were plotting against her. Oh yes, they were. Adam and Olivia. She saw them, whispering in corners of this hideous house.

Her eyes fixed on Emma, who was closing the jewel cases, and she grabbed hold of her arm tightly. Taken by surprise, Emma flinched. But noting the sudden glazed and febrile expression, she did not struggle or attempt to free herself. ‘Yes, Mrs Fairley? What is it?’ she asked gently.

‘You must get away from this place, Emma! Away from this house. Before it’s too late. It’s pernicious,’ Adele whispered.

Emma looked at Adele, baffled by this statement. ‘Per-per-what? I don’t know what that means, Mrs Fairley.’

Adele laughed her shrill laugh, and it sent an icy chill through Emma. ‘It means wicked. Wicked! Wicked! Wicked!’ she shrieked, her voice almost a scream.

‘Hush, hush, Mrs Fairley,’ said Emma as calmly as she could. She was shaking and gooseflesh made prickles up and down her arms. What a queer thing for her ter say, she thought fearfully. But she didn’t have time to think about that now. She had something more important to worry about: Mrs Fairley herself. Emma freed her arm carefully and peered at the clock. Her heart sank. The guests would soon be arriving, and in her present state Mrs Fairley was hardly in a fit condition to go downstairs and join them.

Emma looked around helplessly, considering the best course of action to take, her face white and tense. She wondered if she should run and fetch Mrs Wainright, or perhaps Master Edwin. And then some instinct warned her to avoid involving them. She alone would have to pull Mrs Fairley out of this distracted mood. Emma knelt on the floor and took hold of Adele’s slender, aristocratic hands with her own small scarred ones. They were as cold as death. Emma squeezed them so tightly she thought they would snap in half from the pressure. ‘Mrs Fairley! Mrs Fairley! Listen ter me,’ Emma said urgently, making her voice strong and compelling. ‘Yer must listen ter me. The guests’ll be here any minute. Yer must pull yerself together and go down ter meet ‘em. Yer must, for yer own sake!’ she exclaimed fiercely, passionate in her determination to reach Adele.

Adele appeared not to hear. Her opaque eyes regarded Emma blindly. Emma tightened her grasp on Adele’s hands, even though ugly red marks were beginning to appear. She gripped them so strenuously her own fingers hurt. ‘Please, Mrs Fairley! Get a hold of yerself. At once, do yer hear! At once!’ Emma’s voice was now enormously cold, and commanding, and all of her stubborn will rose up in her. It surfaced on her face, stern in its fixity of purpose, as she forced Adele to listen to her. The older woman’s expression remained closed. Emma contemplated slapping her cheek, to rouse her from this stupor. She changed her mind. She did not dare. She was not afraid of the consequences. She simply did not want to mar Adele’s fragile skin.

Finally Adele’s eyes flickered with a hint of life, and her pale lips parted. Emma took a deep breath and gripped her by the shoulders. ‘Yer must go downstairs, Mrs Fairley. Now! Afore it’s too late! Yer the Squire’s wife. The mistress of this house. The Squire’s waiting for yer, Mrs Fairley.’