Now laughter bubbled up in Edwin. ‘Emma, you are behaving so fearfully I do believe you think I am some scurrilous reprobate who has dishonourable intentions,’ he said, still laughing, and continued, ‘and that I am endeavouring to manoeuvre you into a situation, so that I can take advantage of you. Please be reassured I have no lascivious motives.’

‘I don’t think that at all,’ said Emma, scowling darkly, not truly understanding all of his long words, yet intuitively grasping what he meant. ‘I knows yer wouldn’t do owt-owt wrong, Edwin. I knows yer’d never harm me.’

He patted her shoulder and looked down at her, smiling with tenderness. ‘Of course I wouldn’t, Emma. Why, you are my best friend. My dearest friend, in fact.’

‘Am I really?’ she cried, her eyes lighting up with pleasure.

‘Yes, you are. Now, run along and change into the’-Edwin paused and chuckled-‘the sari, such as it is. There are plenty of stones over there, and you can hang your things up to dry with mine. Meanwhile, I will prepare our picnic.’ Edwin watched her retreating figure and thought: She is so sweet and so very endearing. She is my best friend. I am truly most fond of her. It did not occur to him that he actually loved her.

The candles on the ledge in the corner had burned down and Edwin took two more out of the sack. As he lit them he was thankful he had had the foresight to bring a plentiful supply. He was arranging the food on the serviettes when Emma returned to the fire. She dropped her boots next to his.

Looking up, Edwin saw at once that she approached the corner somewhat timidly, with an air of bashfulness and extreme modesty and rectitude. The tablecloth surrounded her like swaddling clothes and she held it tightly to her, arms crisscrossed over her breasts. It draped her lithe body more than adequately, but he was startled to see that it came only to her knees, revealing shapely calves and the slenderest of ankles. He had not known she had such long legs or such pretty feet. Still hugging the tablecloth to her, Emma sat down and looked up shyly, not speaking.

‘Don’t you feel better, being out of your wet underclothes?’ he asked, his manner purposely insouciant, which he hoped would alleviate her timorousness, as well as the awkwardness he knew she was feeling.

‘Yes, I do,’ she muttered with a certain nervousness. She half smiled and glanced at the food spread out before them. ‘I’m ever so hungry,’ she announced, attempting to sound normal.

‘So am I. I’m sorry there’s only one plate and one mug. We’ll have to share them.’ He poured some of the elderberry wine and handed it to her.

‘Thank yer, Edwin.’

‘Now we’re drier and warmer, this is quite a lark, isn’t it?’

‘Yes,’ she responded softly, sipping the elderberry wine. ‘My goodness, Cook did yer right proud!’ Her eyes swept over the appetizing selection of sandwiches and other food. ‘She must think yer’ve now got an appetite like “Skinny Ribs”, packing up all this stuff.’

‘Well, you know what Cook is like. Flapping around me like a mother hen. She thinks I need building up.’ He gestured to the food. ‘Take your pick first, Emma. There’s bacon and egg pie, crab and tomato sandwiches, fruit cake and apples.’

Emma selected a piece of the pie, which she herself had made. But she did not bother to mention this. They munched hungrily at the food, sharing the mug of elderberry wine, which Edwin kept refilling. He chattered gaily to her and gradually Emma’s embarrassment began to slip away. Edwin seemed unaware of her semi-naked state, much to her intense relief. In point of fact, he was diligently ignoring it. When they had finished eating they sat back against the rolled sacks, warming their feet in front of the fire. Emma said carefully, without looking at Edwin, ‘What do yer think ter the writing on the wall, then? Do yer think yer dad made the carvings of the names?’

Edwin nodded his head vigorously. ‘Yes, I do. In fact, I’ve been giving some considerable thought to the matter, particularly to all those derivations of the name Elizabeth, and I do believe I’ve guessed the identity of the lady in question.’ He looked at her, his eyes brightly gleaming in the firelight. Emma held her breath. He continued, ‘It occurred to me that it must be Lord Sydney’s sister. Her name was Elizabeth, and my father and the Sydneys grew up together. I am certain they all played up here as children.’

‘I didn’t know Lord Sydney had a sister,’ Emma said, with a little intake of breath. Her eyes fastened on Edwin’s face. ‘I’ve never seen her hereabouts, or heard mention of her.’

‘She died about ten years ago in India, where her husband was in the Diplomatic Service. I have heard Father speak of her with great affection, on many occasions. She was about his age. The more I think about it, I am sure that’s the truth.’

There was such a lessening of tension in Emma, such an alleviation of the painful thoughts in her troubled mind, her body sagged. How misguided she had been, jumping to such an unworthy conclusion about her mother and him. Of course Edwin was right, as he always was.

‘That’s got to be it!’ she exclaimed, and smiled. After a small silence she said, ‘I wonder what time it is.’

‘I’ll look at my watch.’ Edwin went to the entrance, where he had carelessly thrown his jacket when they had rushed in from the storm. ‘It’s six o’clock,’ he called, carrying the jacket back to the fire. ‘This is very damp. I’d better spread it out on the floor to dry.’ He glanced at her, a concerned look crossing his face as he said, ‘Will your father be worrying about you, Emma?’

She shook her head. ‘No. He knew Cook wanted me ter come back this afternoon, instead of termorrow, ter help her with the jam making. She expected me at five-thirty.’

‘Oh dear, then she must be worrying about you,’ Edwin cried.

‘She probably thinks I’m still at home, what with the storm and all. She knows me dad wouldn’t let me come over the moors in this weather,’ Emma explained. ‘But I bet she’s fretting about yer, Edwin. Wondering where yer are.’

‘Most probably. But she may conceivably think I made a dash for the village, which is closer than the house.’ He sighed. ‘Oh, well, it can’t be helped.’

‘Do yer think it’s stopped raining yet, Edwin?’

‘Would you like me to crawl along the tunnel and see?’

‘Yes, perhaps yer’d better. But don’t go outside and get yerself all wet again!’ said Emma a little dictatorially.

He picked up a candle and left. He was back in a matter of seconds. ‘It’s still pouring and the thunder is cracking and booming,’ he announced as he deposited the candle on the ledge. ‘We can’t leave just yet.’ He sat down cross-legged on the sacks, carefully covering his knees with the carriage blanket. ‘You know what these thunderstorms are like, Emma. They can last for hours.’

‘Aye, I knows.’ She stood up. ‘I’d best see if our clothes are dry, so that we can get dressed.’

Emma glided lightly across the floor of the cave in her bare feet, her hair flowing down her back. She felt the clothes in her expert way, and said in a distraught voice, ‘Oh, Edwin, they’re still ever so damp. We’ll have ter leave ’em a bit longer.’ She swung around as she spoke and stared at him with the utmost dismay.’

‘We have to stay in here until the deluge subsides anyway,’ he answered. ‘Perhaps in half an hour they will be drier and by then the storm might have passed.’

‘I hopes so,’ she said, hurrying back.

They sat in the corner shivering, for the air in the huge cavern was now considerably colder and the fire was low. Edwin threw on another log and told her, ‘The supplies are diminishing. We must be frugal with these last few logs.’ They huddled together, attempting to draw warmth from each other. Edwin put his arm around her and pulled her closer to him. Emma looked up, her eyes wide. ‘Yer don’t think we’ll get trapped in here, do yer?’ she asked tremulously.