A Woman of Substance (26 page)

Adele smothered a small gasp. So soon, she thought, and tears sprang into her eyes. She turned her head so Adam would not see. Her hand shook as she brushed away the tears surreptitiously. Adam was doing this to thwart her. It was not for Edwin’s sake at all. He was jealous that Edwin preferred to stay at home with her. She had a sudden physical compulsion to jump up and fly at him with her hands, to strike him, to tell him he was cruelly taking away the only person who loved her and whom she loved.

But she looked back at Adam and at once saw the implacability etched across his sternly handsome face and she knew then, with a sinking feeling, that she would not achieve anything by fighting him. He was inexorable. ‘Very well, Adam, whatever you say,’ said Adele, her voice still quavering and filled with incipient tears. Gathering a little more strength, she continued, ‘But I wish you to know that I am only agreeing to this—this—ridiculous decision of yours because you say Edwin himself has expressed a desire to return to school. Although I am not so sure he’s such a reliable judge of his fitness to return so quickly. Personally, I think it’s preposterous when half term is imminent. He’ll hardly get there before it’s time for him to come home. All that travelling back and forth is debilitating, especially to a little boy who has been so sick. I think you are
very hard on Edwin, Adam. I really do.’

Adam could not resist the impulse of retorting caustically, ‘Edwin’s no longer a little boy. Furthermore, I don’t want him growing up to be a sissy, Adele, and he will if he remains tied to his mother’s apron strings. You’ve always tended to spoil and pamper him, and it’s a miracle that he’s turned out so well. So far.’

Adele gasped and her pale face flushed with deep colour. ‘You are most unfair, Adam. Edwin’s never been tied to my apron strings, as you so vulgarly put it. How could he have been? You sent him away to school when he was only—’ Her voice was so filled with emotion she could not continue, but after a moment she went on tearfully, ‘Only twelve. And if I’ve spoiled him a little it’s simply because he is sensitive and has always been put upon by Gerald.’

Adam stared at her, taken aback, and then he smiled sardonically. ‘Well, well, my dear, you are more observant than I believed you to be. I am glad to know you realize Gerald hectors him incessantly and behaves most churlishly towards poor Edwin. That’s another reason I want him out of this house—to remove him from his brother’s taunting. He will be much happier at school, until he’s old enough to defend himself on Gerald’s level. Although personally I hope he’ll rise above it. Not a very admirable offspring, our eldest son,’ he finished softly, but with enormous scorn.

This comment went over Adele’s head. A weary look settled on her face. She sighed deeply, and passed her hand over her brow. A rising feeling of nausea was making her dizzy and she fervently wished Adam would go away and leave her in peace. This effort to maintain her sense of balance and appear coherent was sapping what little vitality she had left. She felt enervated. ‘The matter is settled then, Adam,’ said Adele quietly, fighting the pressing need to retreat into her inner world where nothing could touch her. ‘I have a splitting headache,’ she whined, ‘and I’m sure you have other urgent matters to attend to yourself.’

‘Yes, I have.’ He scrutinized her thoughtfully, and a strange sadness enveloped him. There was sympathy in his voice as he said, ‘I hope you feel better, my dear. I am sorry this con
versation has been painful for you, but you know I am only thinking of Edwin.’

Considering the conversation to be concluded, Adam inclined his head courteously and turned on his heel. Something made him pause and he looked back at her frowning, suddenly conscious of the obscure expression in her eyes, the glassy sheen coating her face.

‘I can assume that you will be well enough to grace us with your company at dinner this evening, can’t I? You know we are expecting guests,’ said Adam.

She sat up startled. ‘Tonight!’

‘Yes, tonight. Don’t tell me you have forgotten the dinner party Olivia has planned for Bruce McGill, the Australian sheep rancher. She mentioned it to you earlier in the week,’ Adam said sharply, holding his irritation in check.

‘But that is on Saturday, Adam. Olivia told me it was Saturday. I know she did. I wouldn’t make a mistake like that,’ she cried peevishly.

Oh, wouldn’t you, Adam thought, and stared at her with coldness. ‘Today
is
Saturday, Adele.’

Flustered, she touched her forehead nervously. ‘Of course. How silly of me,’ she murmured hurriedly. ‘Yes, I am sure I will feel well enough to come down for dinner.’

‘Good.’ He half smiled. ‘Please excuse me, Adele. I have to see Wilson at the mill, and then I am going into Leeds. I look forward to seeing you this evening, my dear.’

‘Yes, Adam,’ Adele said, and fell back into the chair, feeling faint, and also great alarm at the prospect of facing people, and in particular a stranger.

Adam closed the door softly behind him. He was considerably surprised. It was a major achievement for him to have wrested Edwin from her clinging hands with so little opposition. In a way, even her momentary show of spirit had been a relief to him. Usually her entreaties to keep Edwin at her side were accompanied by floods of tears, vapourish swoonings, and the most irrational display of hysterics that he always found himself incapable of dealing with. The scenes in the past had been insupportable and had mortified him.

Emma, working in the bedroom, had not been able to avoid
overhearing this conversation, even though she never consciously eavesdropped, as the other servants often did. She finished making the bed and pursed her lips and thought: Poor woman. He’s such a bully, and so mean ter her. Like he is ter everybody.

Although Emma’s hatred for Adam Fairley was unreasonable and without any foundation, it was quite real. So was her enormous dislike for Gerald, who never lost an opportunity to torment her. But she held no grudge against Edwin, who was always sweet with her, and she did respect Olivia Wainright. Now she wondered if she had been uncharitable about Mrs Fairley earlier, and she paused, clutching a silk pillow to her chest, and thought hard about this. Perhaps it’s him that makes her act queer, she said to herself. He gets her ever so flustered and upset. Maybe that’s why she’s always forgetting stuff and things, and walks around in a flipping daze. Emma replaced the silk pillow, smoothed it over, and pulled up the eau-de-Nil green coverlet made of heavy satin, her mind still lingering on Adele Fairley’s strange ways. A rush of sympathy for Adele flowed through her and quenched the feelings of anger mixed with animosity she had been harbouring, and for some reason, quite unknown to herself, Emma felt decidedly happier about this change of heart.

Emma was dusting the Venetian glass-and-mirrored dressing table in front of the oriel window, humming to herself, when Adele walked into the room. Her face was tense with concern and her cheekbones stood out starkly, sharp ridges under her eyes, which were clouded with misery. Her anxiety about the impending dinner party had forced her to push aside both the desperate desire to retreat into herself and her longing for the soothing whisky. In his present unrelenting mood, Adam struck terror in her heart, and it was imperative that she made an appearance that evening and behaved with decorum and dignity. Whatever it cost her in effort, she must be controlled and at ease and charming, and no one must have the slightest inkling of her emotional turmoil.

Then the cunning in Adele surfaced and she smiled to herself. She had a card up her sleeve and it was always a winning card. Her beauty. Adele knew that her incredible looks never
failed to stun people. So much so that their attention was deflected from the idiosyncrasies of her personality, which otherwise might be quickly detected. She decided she must look absolutely breathtaking at the dinner. She would hide behind the façade of her beauty.

She hurried to the wardrobe, which Emma had just restored to order, and opened the huge double doors impatiently. Emma’s heart sank into her boots. She had an instant picture of Adele scattering the clothes all over the room again, and she looked up and said quickly, ‘I put all yer clothes away, proper like, Mrs Fairley. Is there summat yer looking for? Summat in particular like?’ Startled, Adele turned around abruptly. She had forgotten Emma was in the bedroom. ‘Oh! Emma. Yes. I am wondering what to wear for the dinner party tonight. Quite important people have been invited, you know.’ She rustled through the gowns and went on in a querulous tone, ‘You will be here to help me dress, won’t you, Emma? You know I can’t possibly manage without you.’

‘Yes, ma’am. Mrs Wainright asked me ter work over the weekend, ‘stead of having me time off as usual, ‘cos of the dinner,’ said Emma quietly.

Thank goodness!’ Adele cried with relief, and continued her search for an appropriate gown. The fact that Emma had been forced to forgo her weekend at home with her family failed to register or make the slightest impression on Adele. She was only concerned with herself. Finally her hands lighted on a gown and she pulled it out, holding it up to show Emma. Lately, Adele had found it difficult to make decisions without conferring with Emma, and she now elicited her advice about the dress she was holding.

‘Do you think this is beautiful enough?’ she asked, pressing the gown against her body. ‘I must look my best tonight—outstanding, in fact’

Emma moved away from the dressing table and stood in front of Adele. She cocked her head on one side and screwed up her eyes, looking at the dress carefully and critically. She knew the gown was expensive and that it had come from Worth. Mrs Fairley had told her that before. And it was beautiful, all rippling white satin and delicate lace. Yet Emma did not really
like it. She thought it was too fussy and not at all flattering to Mrs Fairley.

After a few moments’ thoughtful consideration, Emma said, ‘Well, it is beautiful, ma’am. But I think it’s a bit—a bit pale for yer, if yer don’t mind me saying so. Yes, that’s it, Mrs Fairley. It makes yer look ever so washed out, so ter speak, next ter yer pale skin and with yer blonde hair.’

The pleasant expression on Adele’s face dissolved and she glared at Emma. ‘But what will I wear? This is a new gown, Emma. I have nothing else that is at all appropriate.’

Emma smiled faintly. There must be at least a hundred gowns Adele could choose from and all of them very beautiful.

‘What yer need is summat more—more—’ Emma paused, searching her mind for a word. She thought of the illustrated magazines she had read that showed photographs of the latest fashions, and the word she needed instantly flashed into her mind. ‘Yer need summat more
elegant
, that’ll make heads turn. Yes, that’s it, Mrs Fairley, and I knows just the right dress.’ She ran to the wardrobe and pulled out a gown made of black velvet. It was the ideal colour to show off Adele’s beautiful ivory complexion and the lustrous silvery-gold hair. Then Emma frowned as she looked at it again. It was trimmed with blood-red roses that swathed one shoulder and fell down the side of the gown in a long trail.

‘This is the one,’ she exclaimed with absolute sureness, and added, ‘If I tek them there roses off.’

Adele stared at her in horror and disbelief. ‘Remove the roses! You can’t possibly do that. You’ll ruin the dress. And anyway, without the roses it will look too drab.’

‘No, it won’t, Mrs Fairley, ma’am. Honest, it won’t. It’ll look more
elegant.
It will. I just knows it will. And yer can wear that luvely necklet, the sparkling one, and them there earbobs. And I’ll put yer hair up in that pompadour style I copied for yer, from the picture in the magazine yer showed me last week. Oh, yer’ll look ever so luvely in this dress, Mrs Fairley, yer will really.’

Adele seemed doubtful and sat down heavily on the green satin chaise, frowning and biting her lip. Emma flew to the dressing table, picked up a pair of nail scissors, and, undeterred
by Adele’s cry of protest, she expertly cut the stitches holding the roses in place.

‘Look, now it’s really
elegant
, Mrs Fairley,’ exclaimed Emma excitedly, pulling off the roses unceremoniously. She held up the gown with a triumphant flourish.

Adele was furious. ‘You’ve ruined it!’ she gasped, her voice shrill. ‘And it is drab! Just as I said it would be.’ For once she was angry with Emma and her eyes blazed.

‘It won’t be drab when yer gets it on, and with yer beautiful jewels,’ Emma said firmly, ignoring the small burst of anger. ‘And if yer wants, I’ll sew them blinking roses back on later. But first we’ll try it this way, Mrs Fairley. Please,’ she pleaded.

Adele was silent, her face like a thundercloud, and she gave Emma a petulant look as she twisted her hands nervously together in her lap.

‘I can put them roses back on in two shakes of a lamb’s tail, when I helps yer ter get ready. So don’t worry about it, Mrs Fairley,’ said Emma reassuringly.

‘Well—all right,’ said Adele reluctantly, somewhat pacified, although still pouting.

Emma smiled confidently. ‘I’ll pop it back in the wardrobe for now. Don’t worry, Mrs Fairley, yer’ll look luvely tonight, yer will that. I promise. Now I’ll go and draw yer bath for yer, ma’am.’

‘Thank you, Emma,’ said Adele dully, still worrying about the dinner. Emma returned the gown to the wardrobe and hurried into the bathroom.

Adele went to her dressing table and took out the red velvet case that contained her diamond necklace, bracelets, and matching earrings. She lifted out the necklace and held it up to her throat. Its shimmering brilliance caused her to draw in her breath in surprise. She had forgotten how magnificent it was and, now that she thought about it, the black velvet gown would set it off perfectly. Perhaps Emma had been right, after all, in her choice. Adele smiled with delight. She would look so ravishing tonight even Adam would be speechless.

Later that day, when Emma finished her general chores, she returned to the upstairs sitting room with afternoon tea for Adele Fairley. Adele had declined to come down for lunch, claiming a headache and fatigue, and so Emma had taken great care with the tea, being determined to make Mrs Fairley eat something to keep up her strength for the important evening that lay ahead. Having overheard the conversation between Adele and Adam, and later witnessing Adele’s concern over her gown, Emma had intuitively sensed her apprehension about the dinner party. She felt protective of Adele, now that her sympathetic feelings were restored, and she wanted to assuage Adele’s nervousness as best she could. Pampering her a little was the only way Emma knew how to do this.

For these reasons, even though she was more overworked than usual because of the dinner party, Emma had painstakingly prepared some of the things Adele enjoyed for tea, hoping to tempt her jaded appetite. There were tiny cucumber sandwiches and others filled with egg, cream crackers spread with shrimp paste, hot buttered scones, home-made cherry jam, Cook’s delicious shortbread biscuits and Eccles cakes. She had also made a huge pot of the tea Mrs Fairley preferred, although Emma didn’t know how she could drink it. To Emma it tasted funny, like smokey water, and not at all like real tea, even if it was expensive and was specially ordered from Fortnum and Mason in London. But there was no accounting for the tastes of the rich, Emma decided, as she trudged up the staircase with the tea tray. They ate and drank the strangest things, to her way of thinking. She liked good plain food herself, and didn’t hold with fancy dishes and rich sauces and peculiar delicacies, which never tempted her. She also believed the gentry ate too many meals with too many courses. To Emma it was disgusting the way they gorged themselves gluttonously like ravenous pigs. No wonder they suffered from indigestion
and were liverish and bad-tempered. It was all that food and drink that did it. Even when I make me fortune, I’ll still eat simple, she commented to herself as she went into Mrs Fairley’s rooms.

Adele had been resting all afternoon. She was still lying in the great fourposter bed, propped up against the pile of pale green pillows, reading the
Yorkshire Morning Gazette
, when Emma entered the room and carried the tray over to the bed. Adele looked up from the newspaper and smiled sweetly.

‘I’m glad you suggested I take a rest,’ said Adele, adjusting her position against the pillows. ‘I slept for quite a long time and I do feel more rested and refreshed for tonight, just as you said I would, Emma.’ She smiled again and there was a hint of gratitude in her eyes.

Emma stared at Adele intently. The tense lines that had etched her mouth with anxiousness that morning had vanished. Her face was relaxed and calm, and her eyes were so clear and bright they were almost merry. Even the badly swollen lids had lost their red puffiness and the deathly pallor had been replaced by a delicate glow that perfectly reflected the pale pink satin nightgown she wore.

Why, she looks ever so beautiful, Emma thought, and said, ‘I’ve brought yer summat ter eat, Mrs Fairley. Yer must be right famished, seeing as how yer didn’t have owt since breakfast. Try and get summat down yer, even if it’s only a few mouthfuls.’ She placed the tray next to Adele on the bed and continued, ‘I even made that funny tea yer like.’

Adele laughed and for once there was gaiety in her voice. ‘You mean the Lapsang Souchong, Emma. Thank you.’

‘Yes, that’s it. Lapsang Souchong—’ Emma repeated slowly, and hesitated. Then she said questioningly, ‘Do I say it proper like, ma’am?’

‘You do indeed,’ asserted Adele, somewhat amused, as she poured a cup for herself.

Emma smiled slightly. She liked to learn things, for future reference. She would need to know a lot when she went to Leeds to make her fortune. Now she cleared her throat and said, ‘Begging yer pardon, Mrs Fairley, but I’d like ter look at yer dress again, if yer don’t mind. I wants ter be sure that there’s
nowt wrong with it. That there’s nowt that needs fixing. I wants it ter be perfect for the dinner. Will I be in yer way?’

‘Of course not, Emma. And if it does need anything done to it, you may stay here and work. You don’t have to go up to your room. But I’m sure it’s not damaged. I’ve hardly worn it, you know,’ said Adele.

Whilst Adele had her tea, Emma took out the black velvet gown and examined it minutely for any defects. It was in beautiful condition, except for a loose hook and a few torn stitches on the hemline of the train where Mrs Fairley had obviously caught her heel. Emma also noticed there were lots of dangling threads visible down the side of the gown, where she had cut off the roses. She would have to pull the threads out gently, she realized, in order not to damage the expensive black velvet.

Emma carried the gown to the chaise and began to work on it with great care, for she was a perfectionist and gave every task her undivided attention. She was glad to sit down for a while. She had been run off her feet all day and she was facing a long and arduous evening, since she was to help Murgatroyd serve the dinner. She relaxed as she worked and the tiredness she had been experiencing earlier gradually began to evaporate.

A certain kind of compatibility had developed between Emma and Mrs Fairley in the last few months. Disparate as they were in background and age, they were curiously at ease with each other, and although this understanding was unexpressed, it was, none the less, valid. The girl intuitively sensed the older woman’s terrible anguish, and despite her youth and inexperience, she recognized the tragedy of Adele’s life. Quite automatically and without much forethought, Emma knew how to behave properly around her and without underscoring or feeding Adele’s extreme anxiety in any way. On her part, Adele had grown to like Emma, whom she found patient, kind, and unobtrusive when she worked in the suite of rooms. Adele also thought Emma was pretty and this pleased her, for she could not abide ugliness. And so an aura of peace enveloped them as they sat together in the room, the young girl passively sewing, the older woman partaking of her afternoon tea.

The bedroom was filled with the mellowest of lights that
flooded through the tall windows, and the fire crackled and blazed in the grate, giving off a cheery glow that was both warming and comforting. The pale watery apple-green silk that covered the walls, swathed the windows, and fell down in rippling cascades from the four corners of the carved oak bed created a cool and restful effect, one that gave Emma a sense of tranquillity and, since the bedroom was not as cluttered with bric-à-brac as the adjoining sitting room, she also found it less overpowering and irritating to be in.

And it was certainly more restful than the kitchen she had just left, which was full of hot bustle, flying tempers, and all manner of frantic goings-on. Annie, the betweenmaid, was assisting Cook with the preparation of the food for the dinner, which was such an elaborate meal even Annie’s mother had been engaged to help out for the evening. Mrs Wainright had planned a wonderful menu, they all agreed on that, even though Cook kept grumbling that things were getting a little too fancy for her liking. Emma suspected that Mrs Turner’s little tantrums, temperamental outbursts, and complaining sprang from her extreme nervousness about coping with such an intricate meal. Although Mrs Turner always claimed that good solid Yorkshire cooking was her great speciality, Emma had long comprehended that it was her entire repertoire.

As she pulled out the threads, Emma thought about that menu and laughed to herself quietly, as she recalled Mrs Turner’s face when she had read it that morning. Her eyes had stood out on stalks and she had huffed and puffed for a full hour. She could just imagine her flustered rantings and ravings downstairs right now. Poor Cook had never prepared a dinner quite like this in all her years at Fairley. The guests were first to be served chilled cavair garnished with chopped hard-boiled eggs, chopped raw onions, and wedges of lemon with melba toast. After that came the lobster soufflé with a lobster sauce, followed by turtle soup flavoured with sherry. ‘Not too much sherry,’ Mrs Wainright had warned, ‘just the right amount to add a dash of piquancy.’ Then there would be Dover sole cooked in a creamy white wine sauce containing slices of mushrooms and shallots. The main course was roast beef with horseradish sauce, potatoes roasted in the pan with the meat, carrots and
peas, and a thick gravy made of the juices from the beef. There was to be a cheese board of Stilton, Cheshire, and Wensleydale cheeses with a selection of crackers and digestive biscuits. Finally, three desserts would be served as a finale to the meal, which Cook kept referring to as ‘a blinking banquet’. These were a compote of mixed fruits, made from Cook’s pantry supplies bottled last summer, and currently soaking in Kirsch, a fresh lemon pie with thick whipped cream, and a chocolate mousse, which Mrs Wainright had said must be light and fluffy to be really perfect.

Emma knew that some of these dishes had definitely strained Cook’s talents, which had never been put to such a test, and, in fact, Emma herself had been pressed into hurried service earlier. She had made the soup and the sauces for the fish and meat dishes, prepared the mousse, and covered the fruit compote with the liqueur, scrupulously following Mrs Wainright’s instructions.

Emma was decidedly happy to have escaped for a while. The hubbub had increased with great rapidity in the last hour and Cook was so harassed she was getting truculent with the maids, and Annie’s mother as well. Emma smiled again. She knew only too well how easily rattled Cook became when there was any change in the kitchen routine. Not only that, this was the first big dinner party the Squire had given in several years and it had sent everyone into a flurry, except Mrs Wainright. And me, Emma thought then, preening a little inside, remembering Mrs Wainright’s compliments about her cool head, her efficiency, and her light hand with the sauces and the mousse.

Although she had no taste for rich and elaborate dishes herself, Emma liked cooking and had begun to find it a challenge to prepare interesting meals. With Olivia’s arrival, the menus in general had become a little fancier than was normal at Fairley, and Emma had been helping Mrs Turner with the cooking lately. She was also learning a lot from Mrs Wainright, who wrote out explicit instructions for every new dish and usually came down to the kitchen to supervise. Emma had kept the menus and the instructions and had pasted them into an old school exercise book. Her intuition had automatically told her they would come in useful one day. Now she reminded
herself to copy down the name of the peculiar tea, Lapsang Souchong, in her book, and the names of the wines Mrs Wainright had selected from the cellar with Murgatroyd, each one for a different dish. Emma had listened carefully to Mrs Wainright that morning and had learned for the first time that red wine was always served with meat, white wine with fish, and champagne with dessert. The names on the bottles were funny. ‘Frenchy names,’ Mrs Turner had told her with a huffy grimace. Murgatroyd had glared. ‘But the very best, you ignorant woman,’ he had snapped. ‘Vintage wines the old Squire himself put down years ago. Can’t be bettered hereabouts, not even in fancy London town,’ he had finished pompously.

Yes. I must remember to copy the wine names proper like, and ask Mrs Turner for the dinner menu and them there recipes, Emma said to herself. She pulled off a length of black cotton from the reel, licked the end, threaded the needle, and began to sew the hemline of the dress, her mind on her exercise book. Everything that might be of some value went into it. She didn’t know what information she might require in Leeds when she put her Plan with a capital
P
into operation, and she must be absolutely prepared in every way. The tattered old book contained menus for all kinds of meals, innumerable recipes, household hints, sewing instructions, little sketches for dresses and hats Emma had designed herself, and some of Mrs Fairley’s special and most secret beauty hints. Now it’ll have a wine list, Emma thought, and was pleased. Emma sewed patiently, thinking her ambitious thoughts, glancing up from time to time to observe Mrs Fairley. She must keep a close eye on her, to be sure she didn’t get nervous or upset before the dinner, which was a long way off yet. The guests were coming at eight-fifteen and dinner was to be served at eight-thirty sharp, Murgatroyd had told her, warning her in a snooty voice to be dressed and ready in a fresh uniform. As if she didn’t know that.

Adele Fairley was unusually calm as she finished her tea, picked up the newspaper, and continued to read it. Sheer fear of Adam’s wrath, if she appeared in any way strange that night, had made her control her impulse, her very need, to send for Murgatroyd and ask for the drink, the only thing that could
blunt the sharp edges of her pain these days. She had resorted to alcohol as an anodyne for her ills only in the last year and was still able to resist it, when circumstances forced her to do so. As yet she was not sodden with it, nor had she become a confirmed alcoholic. That afternoon she had assiduously removed the temptation of drinking by taking to her bed. Cowardly though this stratagem was, it had served its purpose. Also, Adele had not realized just how worn out she was, and she had fallen into a numbed and exhausted sleep immediately. When she awakened she discovered she felt better, and more importantly, and much to her amazement, she was less riddled with anxiety.

She concentrated on the newspaper, another ruse to keep her mind occupied and prevent her from dwelling on either the need for a drink or the impending evening that loomed ominously ahead. She turned the page and glanced at the Court Circular, which gave items of news from Buckingham Palace. As she scanned the column of fine black print she learned that the Russian and French ambassadors had been received by King Edward yesterday; the Marquess of Londonderry had had an audience with His Majesty after the Council; the Queen and Princess Victoria had visited an exhibition of drawings. Bored, she rustled through the paper to the back pages. Her eyes caught the words Bradford Market. She passed on hurriedly. That was all she needed! More about wool. She knew enough about that to last her a lifetime. As her eyes lighted on the advertisement for John Smith and Tadcaster ales, Adele thought longingly of the whisky and her mouth felt suddenly dry. She moistened her lips and her eyes flew nervously to the other page. She folded the paper in half and began to wade through a long story about Lord Fitzwilliam’s Hunt at Clifton near Doncaster. She concentrated all of her attention on this, attempting to block out the persistent image of the glass of amber liquid that floated before her eyes and settled enticingly on the centre of the page.