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'Yes. Now I think I will go and see Mama.You may return to your duties, Mary.'

'Yes, Miss,' Mary said hastily. She picked up the tea tray and left the room.

Emmeline went downstairs, maintaining her poise despite her anxiety.The house in which she lived with her mother and father was in a fashionable terrace in the West End. It had four floors and a basement, and was made from yellow London stock bricks partly coated in white stucco.The road in which the house was situated was blocked off by gates, which were manned by a gatekeeper who let callers and tradesmen in, but who refused entry to so-called 'undesirables'.

Emmeline heard her mother before she saw her. Although the door to her father's study was of stout wood, and her mother was doing her utmost to be discreet, her sobs were nevertheless audible.

Emmeline tried the door, which was locked, and then tapped on it. 'Mama,'

she called, 'it's Emmeline. Please let me in.'

There was a sudden silence, which seemed to fill the house. Emmeline had the momentary and no doubt ludicrous notion that all of the servants were crouched in the kitchen below stairs, holding their collective breath, loath not only to intervene but even to be seen going about their daily duties. She pressed her ear to the door and through the silence heard a number of stifled sniffles. She was about to call again when her mother's voice, evidently trying not to sound tearful, said, 'I'll be out presently.'

'No, Mama, I wish to see you now,' Emmeline said firmly. 'I know very well that you've been weeping. The entire house can hear it.'

There was another short silence, and then in a faint voice her mother said,'Very well.'

A key grated in the lock and the door was opened. As Emmeline entered the study, her mother was already walking away from her. She was a stout, handsome woman with hair the same colour as her daughter's. Her velvet and satin dress, edged with lace, shimmered purple as she crossed the room, the long train trailing behind her. Only when she reached the overstuffed leather armchair by the roaring fire did she turn and face Emmeline.

She looked forlorn, lost, confused. Emmeline's heart leapt with sorrow at the sight of her.

Her mother lowered herself wearily into the armchair as Emmeline closed the door. She had always liked her father's study, had always found it a magical place with its stuffed animals and exotic insects in glass cases, and its many books, but now it seemed merely to accentuate the gulf that had developed between her father and the rest of the household.

She eyed the writing bureau with its secret compartments, the heavy oak desk, its worktop inset with a rectangle of stretched red leather.

'Have you been going through Father's things, Mama?' she asked.

Her mother looked at once both shocked and full of guilt. 'Why do you ask that?' she said.

'It is what I would do,' Emmeline replied, 'if a husband of mine was acting as father is.'

Now her mother looked defeated, but relieved. 'You must understand, my dear, that I am at the end of my tether.'

Emmeline crouched down, took her mother's right hand, cool despite the warmth of the fire, in both of hers, and said, 'I understand perfectly, Mama.

Did you discover anything?'

Florence Seers cast her eyes downwards. A tear dropped from one of them into her lap. 'Nothing,' she whispered. 'Nothing at all.'

Emmeline closed her arms around her mother's shoulders, and after a moment's resistance the older woman allowed herself to be comforted.

All at once Emmeline said, 'I intend to go to the factory today and speak to Father.'

Her mother stiffened. 'No, dear, you mustn't. He will not thank you for it.'

'Nevertheless, I intend to do it. We must find out what is troubling him so.'

Florence Seers shook her head.'Believe me, I have tried,' she said. 'I have done little else but try.'

'Then I will make him tell me,' Emmeline said with fierce determination. 'I promise you, Mama, I will not rest until he is back with us and