The Master of Liversedge by Alice Chetwynd Ley

on her bedroom door. In spite of the cold night, a prickle of perspiration started on her forehead.
    ‘Mary!’ She recognized her cousin’s voice, although it was only a whisper. ‘Are you awake?’
    For a moment, fear kept her from answering. Gradually, the wave of terror receded, to be followed by relief. She picked up her candle, and tiptoed across the room to open the door.
    John Booth was standing outside. She noticed at once how pale his face was in the candlelight, and that his lips twitched nervously. She recognized this mannerism from past years; it had always been a sign that he was labouring under some strong emotion.
    ‘What is it?’ she asked, in a low tone.
    ‘The light, cousin! Can you have forgotten what you were told earlier?’
    She drew in her breath in dismay. Both her uncle and his housekeeper had warned her that she must not on any account show a light after ten o’clock at night. The Watch and Ward had strictly forbidden it, since the recent disturbances in the West Riding, and penalties for infringement were severe.
    ‘Oh, John, I am sorry! How could I be so foolish? Here, take my candle, and I will close the window. I’ve already drawn the curtains.’
    He shook his head. ‘No, l-let me. I can find my w-way about the room in the dark — you do not know it w-well enough. You may hurt yourself.’
    She stepped out on to the landing, and waited there with the candle while he went into the darkened room, closing the door softly behind him. After a minute, he joined her.
    ‘All’s right and tight.’
    He stumbled over the words, as he had done before. She knew the symptoms of distress, and looked at him in concern.
    ‘What’s wrong, John? Why are you not abed? And who — who are they?’
    She waved her arm vaguely in the direction of the front of the house.
    He shook his head. ‘We mustn’t talk here. My father isn’t likely to wake up, but Mrs. Duckworth might. I’d best go.’
    When they had been younger and were visiting together, Mary had unconsciously fallen into the habit of treating John as one of her younger brothers. Two years’ absence seemed to have made little difference in their relationship, for she found herself reverting to the role of elder sister, now.
    ‘No, cousin,’ she said, decidedly. ‘I don’t retire until I know what’s troubling you.’
    He swallowed, and turned his head away for a moment.
    ‘V-very well, if you will have it so. We c-could go down to the kitchen — there’s a fire there, and — and no one w-will hear us.’
    ‘You go, then,’ said Mary, taking the candlestick from his loose grasp. ‘I’ll follow presently, when I am dressed. Make a warm drink — some milk, or a hot posset, if you prefer.’
    She returned to the bedroom, set down the candle, and hurriedly flung on some clothes. Her hair she left in the thick plait which was her usual style for sleeping. Not more than five minutes had elapsed before she entered the warm kitchen.
    She found her cousin sitting huddled over the fire, which he had blown up into a flame with the bellows. A small saucepan of milk was set on the hob, and two pewter mugs stood on the well-scrubbed deal table. She sat down, and glanced at the clock: the hands stood at twenty past two. She listened for a moment; the sound of marching had now quite died away.
    ‘How did you come to see my light?’ she asked, for by now she had had time to think of this. ‘You must have been out of doors.’
    He nodded. ‘I couldn’t sleep — I t-took a turn or two in the g-garden.’
    ‘In this weather?’
    ‘I didn’t notice the weather. I was too — too — ’
    ‘Occupied with your thoughts?’ she hazarded, in a gently quizzing tone. ‘Shall I give you a penny for them?’
    ‘They’d not be worth it,’ he replied, bitterly.
    She waited, hoping he might add something to this. After a time, he seemed to have settled into a brown study, his eyes fixed on the fire. The milk began to simmer in the saucepan; she