Pit Bank Wench by Meg Hutchinson Page B

sheets that would cover bed and body whenever death struck the family. Using them now was a measure of the woman’s pity for the young girl, for it meant the sheets could no longer be kept for the purpose they were intended. Pennies would be scratched and scraped together, set aside in some secret place until there were enough to buy another pair that would be laid away for ‘the burying’.
    ‘I should have been with her. With both of them.’ Tears rose fresh and hot and Emma brushed them with her fingers. ‘Mother must have been so terrified. If only I had been there . . . I should have been there . . . I should not have left them. It’s my fault . . . oh, God! It’s all my fault.’
    ‘No fault lies with you, child.’ Jerusha moved close, arms going about the sobbing girl. ‘It was not meant for you to be in that house.’
    ‘But I could have helped them, helped Father get Mother and Carrie away from . . .’
    ‘No, child.’ Jerusha laid a hand on Emma’s head, holding it against her. ‘Believe me, you could not have helped your father. Nor either of them.’
    Sobs choking her throat, Emma drew away to look into the face of the woman who held her. ‘But how do you know? How can you be so sure?’
    ‘How? That I can only answer vaguely, child. I can only say it is given to me to know, and I am sure because never once have I been given that which proved other than true.’
    ‘Then who is it gives you this knowledge . . . where does it come from?’
    Above Emma’s head, Jerusha stared into the fire. Flames tinged with blue and gold suddenly shot high, losing themselves in the black void of the chimney.
    ‘I ask no questions as to who or where. I ask none for myself and will ask it for no other. The truth guides Jerusha Paget, that is all I need to know.’
    ‘But . . .’
    ‘No, child. Ask nothing more tonight.’ Jerusha directed her glance to Polly as she came into the room. ‘Go with Polly now and try to sleep. The days ahead will have time enough in them to ask your questions.’
    Time enough to ask her questions. Jerusha watched the two women, one with a helping arm about the waist of the other, leave the room, then turned her eyes once more to the fire. But for all their length they would not hold time enough for her to find the answers. Emma Price would carry the mark of this night ever in her heart. Forgive and forget. How often had that been preached? Time! Jerusha stared at the dancing flames. Time would bring about the first, but all eternity would not achieve the second.
    Emma Price would forgive, but she would not forget!
    ‘Are they really going to put money into that scheme of yours?’
    Cara Holgate raised one skilfully plucked eyebrow, her fingers toying provocatively with the ribbons of a silk velvet bed coat.
    ‘Do you doubt it?’
    The man lying with arms folded beneath his dark head, his naked limbs gleaming against the deep peach of the bed cover, smiled at her, confidence visible in every line of him.
    ‘No.’ Cara pulled a silk ribbon, a slow enticing movement that was not lost on her companion. ‘I don’t doubt it, knowing you as I do. I do not doubt you could achieve anything . . . once your mind was set on it.’
    His smile curving the corners of his well-shaped mouth, he watched the long slender fingers toy with a second ribbon. ‘You always did show sense as well as taste, Cara.’
    ‘Thank you.’ She drew the tie long and slow, holding it outstretched, green-gold eyes regarding him from beneath a sweep of dark lashes. ‘But you forgot to add influence. I have a great deal of that . . . to use in any way I please.’
    ‘And which way pleases you?’
    Every movement sensuous, Cara let the tie drop from her fingers then reached up to pull the diamanté comb from her hair, the fall of it covering her shoulders in black silk.
    ‘That depends very much upon you.’
    ‘On me, Cara?’
    Shrugging the bed coat from her, letting it slide down her