The Other Cathy by Nancy Buckingham

self, but cut in hotly, ‘Why are you so anxious to gloss over the fact that Matthew Sutcliffe was transported to Australia? That he’s a convicted criminal? The man who killed my father, your own brother, Aunt Chloe!’
    ‘Your twin brother,’ added Jane with malicious enjoyment. ‘I must confess I was astonished to learn that he had been invited to dine here. In my opinion it’s in very questionable taste to entertain him at the Hall.’
    Chloe looked nonplussed, and Emma suspected that she privately agreed, but, as usual, dared not oppose any decision of Uncle Randolph’s.
    ‘Suppose we had not invited himhere,’ she argued, ‘what then? There are many others in the Brackle Valley who would gladly have taken up with him. No, Randolph is right. The Hardakers must be seen to lead the way, in this as in everything else.’ Abruptly, her domineering tone became persuasive. ‘After all, it was all so long ago, wasn’t it? Are you suggesting there is never a time to be merciful, to be ready to forgive and forget?’
    Jane sighed. ‘It is precisely Paget’s opinion, too, that we must forgive and forget. So I suppose one must! As you say, it is a long time ago, fifteen years. You know, I can scarcely call to mind what Matthew Sutcliffe looked like in those days.’
    ‘He was extremely good-looking,’ put in Blanche. Then she added with a false laugh, ‘I mean in a very boyish way, of course. He has grown a great deal more mature, don’t you agree, Chloe?’
    ‘So one would hope!’
    ‘I thought his appearance rather striking,’ Jane observed, easing the rings on her plump fingers. ‘I do so like to see a good head of hair on a man.’
    Emma was unable to contain herself another instant. She rose from her chair and went across to the pianoforte which stood in an arched alcove at the far end of the room.
    ‘You all discuss that dreadful man as if he were respect able,’ she said angrily. ‘If we must put on a show of accepting him in public, then surely between ourselves we can be honest and acknowledge him for what he is – a common criminal. Who,’ she snapped, ‘while grubbing in the Australian mud, chanced to find a fortune in gold.’
    Raising the piano lid she struck a chord at random. The sound, reverberating round the room, seemed to relieve her feelings, so she played another chord, and then another, until she found herself running into the opening phrases of Chopin’s Military Polonaise; loudly, though far from well.
    The doors from the hall opened and the gentlemen came in. Emma broke off in a confused discord, but Randolph said benignly, ‘Ah, music! We’ve interrupted you, lass. Pray con tinue.’
    ‘No, uncle, I – I couldn’t,’ she mumbled, much embar rassed.
    ‘Well, happen that piece is a little forceful. But I have an idea – you shall accompany Bernard in a song. What say you, lad? You’re ready and willing, eh? That’s the spirit. Now, there was a grand piece you gave us once before, “Where e’er you walk”, that’ll do splendidly.’
    ‘But, uncle,’ Emma protested faintly.
    ‘I insist, my dear. Bernard has a very pleasing baritone, and we shall all enjoy hearing it.’
    ‘Please do,’ Cathy’s small voice added, and Emma gave in gracefully.
    As Randolph and Paget Eade disposed themselves on chairs, Emma watched Matthew Sutcliffe cross to where Blanche was gracefully ensconced in a tête-à-tête sofa and take the place beside her. He made a remark, to which Blanche responded with a nervous smile.
    ‘I hope you don’t object to accompanying me, Emma,’ said Bernard, sorting through a pile of music sheets.
    ‘Mind? Why should I mind? Do let’s hurry up and get it over with.’
    Bernard sang well, and Emma was painfully conscious that her accompaniment was below standard. While everyone clapped politely, she saw Matthew Sutcliffe lean forward and speak again to Blanche, who smiled at him less nervously this time and lifted her gold-spangled fan in a coquettish