Upon entering the library, Bruce McGill took a whisky and soda from Murgatroyd and made his way to the fireside. Bruce was in his late forties, tall and spare, and with the rolling gait of a man who has spent his whole life on a horse. He had thick and curling brown hair above a craggy face, one that automatically inspired confidence, especially in women, and his eyes were merry. His manner was masculine and there was a dashing air about him that was most engaging.

He joined Adam and said, ‘Here’s to your health, laddie, and a long and successful business relationship.’ He smiled broadly and his eyes twinkled, ‘I think it goes without saying that we will have a most rewarding friendship.’ He clinked glasses with Adam.

‘And to you, too, Bruce.’ Adam had taken a strong liking to Bruce McGill, for all of his toughness and penchant for striking a hard bargain. The man was straightforward and honest, and Adam appreciated these qualities since they were also inherent in his own nature. Now he said, ‘So you’re going up to town next week, now that you’ve finished your business in Yorkshire. How long will you be staying in London?’

‘A fortnight. I sail for Sydney early in May.’ Bruce’s face lit up eagerly. ‘Any chance of seeing you in town, Adam? Can you come up for a few days? We could dine, take in a few theatres, have a little fun. I have some very nice friends I am sure you would enjoy meeting.’ He paused and winked. ‘Delectable friends, in fact, even though I do say so myself.’

Adam chuckled and shook his head. ‘As tempting as it sounds, I don’t think I should be absent from the mill right now. We have a lot of pressing orders to fill, and I can’t leave all the administrative burdens to Wilson. He needs me. Sorry, but I must decline, Bruce. Next time you’re here, perhaps.’

‘You have been a very good host to me, Adam, on my various trips to Yorkshire in the last few months. And talking of hospitality, if I can’t persuade you to be my guest in London, can I inveigle you into coming to Australia later in the year? I would really like you to visit Dunoon.’

‘That’s very kind of you, old chap,’ said Adam. His eyes brightened at the idea. ‘I might just do that. Indeed I might.’

‘You would enjoy it. I promise you that. There’s only me and my boy, Paul, out at the sheep station in Coonamble, except for the hands, of course. My wife died three years ago. But I have a good housekeeper, and we would make you very comfortable. We could also spend a wee while in Sydney. It’s an interesting city, if not as sophisticated as London,’ he finished with a rueful laugh. Now he grasped Adam’s arm as he said, ‘Look here, I have another idea. Why don’t you consider buying land in Australia, Adam? You know, it would be a good investment. You might even think about starting a small sheep station of your own. I could find you the right hands, and I’d even supervise it in your absence. Become your own supplier, eh?’

Adam looked at Bruce speculatively. ‘You’ve got a good point there, Bruce. It’s worth considering, and I will think seriously about taking the trip. I’ll let you know about that later this year.’ Adam took out his pocket watch and glanced at it. ‘Let’s have another drink and then perhaps we should join the ladies in the drawing room, before they get too restless.’

‘Good idea. Incidentally, I must compliment you on your wife, Adam. She is beautiful and most entertaining. You are a lucky man.’

‘Aren’t I just,’ said Adam, smiling faintly. If only you knew. If only you knew, he thought with raw bitterness, as they made their way across the library.

‘Will there be owt else then, Squire?’ Murgatroyd asked. The guests had long since departed, Adele and Olivia had retired, and Adam was alone in the library.

‘No, thank you, Murgatroyd. Oh, and by the way, I must commend you on the way you executed your duties tonight. I was most pleased, and also with Emma. Please tell her so, and give her my thanks.’

Murgatroyd, who had absolutely no intention of doing this, said, ‘Right ho, Squire. That I will. And thank yer, sir, ever so much.’

Adam picked up the brandy and soda Murgatroyd had just prepared for him, and with a friendly nod he left the butler to his late-night duties. When Adam entered his bedroom a few moments later he was delighted to see that the fire had been lit in the grate. Its blaze was cheerful, and he hurried over to it. Adam stood, as always, with his back to the fire, his long legs spread wide apart, enjoying the warmth from the rapidly burning legs. He stared ahead, somewhat absently, his face serious, the drink in his hand untouched, his mind awash with innumerable thoughts.

His bedroom was spartan in its austereness. The walls were white and unadorned, the high ceiling punctuated with dark beams, and the polished floor was bare. Apart from the heavy wine-coloured draperies at the windows and the handsomely framed portrait of his father above the fireplace, it was devoid of luxury and the usual trappings of wealth. It had the character of an officer’s quarters. The few personal items, such as the ivory brushes on the dressing table and the writing materials on the desk, were laid out with such military precision and neatness they looked as if they were awaiting inspection by a superior. Adam’s only concession to comfort was the large black leather chair positioned next to the fireplace. However, it was this very simplicity that appealed to him, for it was a relief after the emphatically decorated rooms downstairs. Like his library, he found his bedroom tranquil and relaxing, a quiet inner sanctum where he could shed the burdens of the day, undisturbed in his preferred solitude.

Yet, for some reason, tonight the room appeared alien to him and even desolate, in spite of the warm blaze of the firelight and the diffused glow from the old oil lamp on the table by his narrow bed. He peered about him fretfully, frowning intently. He was suddenly uncommonly restless. Adam began to pace the floor, keyed up in a way he had not been in years. He was beside himself and he did not know why. And he was now so damned warm. He pulled at the velvet cravat around his neck and hastily untied it. He strode backward and forward urgently, but after ten minutes of this frantic pacing, he paused finally at the fireplace, grabbed the glass, and drank down the brandy and soda in several swift gulps.

Adam looked around the room. He ran his hand through his hair distractedly. He was hemmed in, constrained by these four walls. He thought condemningly: But you were your own willing prisoner, Adam Fairley. Were you not? He had built his own sarcophagus. The walls appeared to advance on him menacingly. He must escape. He leapt for the door and wrenched it open. He stepped out into the dimly lit corridor and proceeded swiftly down the staircase. He pushed open the door of the library. Moonlight was streaming into the room and it was so bright he did not bother to light a lamp. He hurried to the walnut chest and poured himself a large brandy. His hands shook. He drank the brandy neat, slopping some on his ruffled cuff in his haste. He poured another one. His hands continued to shake uncontrollably.

Adam stood by the walnut chest, endeavouring to calm himself. Eventually he started to breathe more normally, the pounding in his heart subsided, and the sense of oppression slowly began to lift. Why am I so agitated tonight? What in God’s name is wrong with me? He felt unutterably lonely and despairing. He had a desperate need to talk to someone. To a friend who would understand. But he had no friends in this cheerless and godforsaken house. Except Olivia. Of course! Olivia! She was compassionate and wise. He would go and talk to her. She would listen to his troubles, intelligently and with patience. He would go to her at once. Now. Adam left the library. He took the stairs two at a time, bursting with renewed energy mingled with relief at the thought of talking to Olivia, of unburdening himself. He had reached the central landing when the grandfather clock in the hall struck twelve. It brought him to an abrupt standstill. ‘Fool,’ he muttered. He could not go to Olivia’s room this late. It would be an unpardonable intrusion. She was probably in bed and asleep by now. He continued to mount the stairs more slowly. The spring had left his step and his shoulders sagged.