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And old Mr. Heaton refused to help him. Now, Master Robert has all the money, the farms, and the mills.”
    â€œWhat did the constable say about the accident?” Emily asked.
    â€œPeople like the Heatons have the law in their pockets,” Tabby said with narrowed eyes. “Without proof, the constable wouldn’t even ask any questions.” She pushed herself up out of the chair. “Now, Miss Emily, let’s get you to bed before anybody sees you in your dressing gown. What would people think?”
    â€œThat you and Aunt B. and Dr. Bennett both worry overmuch and refuse to let me go outside!” But because she loved Tabby, she let the housekeeper lead her upstairs.
    â€œYou were so thin when you came back from that awful school. Like a wraith,” Tabby said, her eyes tearing up. “So you’ll stay in bed until you’re healthy again. We can’t lose you like . . .” Her voice trailed off as they reached Emily’s bedroom.
    Emily ducked under Tabby’s arm and went into her tiny room. “Like Maria and Elizabeth?” As she always did when she thought of her lost sisters, she glanced at the cemetery outside the window. All these years later, she still hoped ifshe watched at just the right time, she would see her sisters’ spirits hovering.
    â€œPoor girls.” Tabby nodded heavily. “All this education is bad for your health. I don’t know what Miss Charlotte was thinking, letting you get so ill. That one always thinks she knows what’s best with her high-and-mighty bossing.”
    Emily hesitated, but then the true story escaped her lips. “Tabby, that’s not fair. Charlotte tried to keep me out of trouble. And she’s the one who convinced the headmistress to send me home.” Then with a grimace she added, “But her high-handedness is infuriating, isn’t it?”
    â€œShe’s as bad as your Aunt B.” Tabby clapped her hand over her mouth. Between her fingers, she said, “Forget I said that!” As she turned to leave, she added, “Mind you close that window.”
    The bells rang outside, and Emily climbed up on the window seat to see the church entrance. She stuck her head outside the windowsill. “That was quick,” she said. She spied a small man with a shock of curly red hair. “Look, Branwell did go to the funeral. He’s talking with John Brown and one of the mourners.” Brown was her father’s sexton, the man who maintained the church and dug all the graves.
    â€œYour father will be pleased,” Tabby said. “Your brother’s been moping about the house like a chicken who knows the ax is coming.” Casually she looked over Emily’s shoulder. “That’s the heir, young Robert Heaton.”
    â€œDo they know each other?”
    Tabby shrugged. “Your brother keeps his own counsel. If the service is over, I’d best be getting tea ready.” She hurried out.
    Emily lay in her bed with the door ajar. She listened to the arrivals and the sound of self-important men drinking their tea and ale. Her father’s voice, always distinctive and authoritative, occasionally rose above the rest.
    After a time, the front door opened and she heard some of the guests take their leave. Suddenly she was surprised to hear voices on the second floor, not far from her room.
    â€œOur brother the Worshipful Master has asked me to be your sponsor,” a deep voice said.
    â€œI’d be honored, sir.” It was the quick, anxious voice of her brother, Branwell.
    â€œPerhaps we can talk privately,” the first voice said. “There are certain tasks you must perform before your initiation.”
    â€œMy room is down this passage,” Branwell said.
    â€œWhat about your father’s study? It would be more suitable.”
    There was a long pause. Emily listened intently for the next words. Finally Branwell said, “I’m not