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The butler asked them to wait in the hall while he climbed the stairs to the drawing room. Eliza had mixed emotions as they were ushered into Lady Dauntsey’s presence. She was surprised by how pretty the room was, painted in rose pink with a large butter yellow carpet. In the middle sat Lady Dauntsey, like a black and white magpie in a white lace cap, the prettiness at odds with her severe, forbidding face.

The two young women hesitated at the door and were motioned over by a peremptory hand. ‘Good afternoon, Marina, and Miss Gray.’ She inclined her head and Eliza once again noticed her compelling eyes, like her own but steely in their cold regard. ‘To what do I owe this unexpected visit?’

Miss Fairley walked forward. ‘We hoped you could clarify a mystery about who Miss Gray’s father may be.’

Eliza added, ‘Your cousin, the Marquess of Bathwick, told me that I am not his daughter. As you and I share our eye colours, I wondered if we are in some way related. Could this be so?’

Lady Dauntsey motioned them to the chairs facing her. She was sitting ramrod straight and fixed the young women with a hard gaze. ‘Marina knows I strongly disapprove of her father. He happened to be my brother, but all his actions scorned my religion and affronted my God.’ She turned to a locked drawer in the table beside her and took out a small package and held it on her lap. ‘As for you, Miss Gray, I cannot tell you who your father may be but I know that my brother, Lord Rotherhyde, may well have had many unacknowledged children. I live in dread of who will crawl out of the slime.’

Marina Fairley leaned forward, her voice fierce. ‘Lady Dauntsey, your language is very intemperate. For better or worse, he was my father and he may also be Miss Gray’s.’

‘Well, it is nothing to celebrate, my dear. There’s no glossing over the truth. You were both born in sin and your father died of his wickedness.’

Eliza had in her hand the portrait of the man she believed was her father and felt protective of him. ‘I thought our religion required us to practice Christian charity towards others,’ she said, trying to control the outrage in her voice. She held out her hand with the miniature and asked, ‘Could this be your brother?’

Lady Dauntsey’s face blenched as she examined the man in the painting. In a softer voice she said, ‘He was once young like this and the world was yet to corrupt him.’ She handed the portrait back to Eliza. ‘That is Lord Rotherhyde. I nightly pray for his soul.’ She then looked speculatively at Eliza, as if uncertain how to proceed. With a sigh, she appeared to have made her decision and handed over the package in her lap. ‘When my brother died, his few belongings were sent back to me from Paris. This was found in an inside pocket in his coat.’

Eliza’s fingers trembled as she unwrapped the sheet of paper that was folded over something hard. There was a small silver-framed watercolour drawing of a woman with a baby on her lap. Was this fair-haired young woman her mother? Was she the baby in the picture? She could barely hope that she had a representation at last of how her mother looked. Overwhelmed, she could not speak.

Lady Dauntsey said with some impatience, ‘Yes, that is Eliza, your mother. It’s how I remember her too. I presume the child is you.’

Eliza looked up and met the eyes so like her own, but hers were brimming with tears. ‘Thank you. You cannot know what this means to me. To be no longer buffetted on an ocean with neither mast nor sail. You have given me a compass and a map and now I know better who I am. Thank you.’ She handed the portrait to Miss Fairley for her to see and only then noticed that the paper that wrapped it had a line in her mother’s fine cursive hand. She smoothed it out and read:

Since your Leaving dimmed the Flame, our Child born of Love stirs these Embers once again.

Eliza’s heart stopped. She was loved. Her mother had loved her. Her father too; he had kept the portrait in his inner pocket, close to his heart. This momentous thought swept away the years of uncertainty, the loneliness and longing; her empty dreams of family had been filled and given meaning.

‘Well, Eliza, she certainly looks like you.’ Marina’s words flooded warmth into every cell of her being. I’m part of a line of ancestors. I belong as a branch on this great tree. Then her friend continued, holding the miniature of Lord Rotherhyde in her hand, ‘And this red-haired rogue is our father. We are sisters!’ It was confirmed. They reached across to each other and embraced, a fountain of joy bubbling between them.

‘I’ve always longed for a sister!’ Eliza said laughing.

‘So have I! We’ve now a blood bond against the world!’

Lady Dauntsey’s face turned stony, her disapproval was implacable. ‘I think your behaviour shows a lack of moral education. Rather than unbridled delight in your parents’ licentiousness, you should exhibit modesty and shame. Neither of you are born of Christian union.’

Miss Fairley was uncowed by her aunt’s thunderous disapproval. ‘Surely the Bible teaches us: “First cast out the beam from thine own eye and then shalt thou see clearly to cast out the mote in thy brother’s”,’ she said calmly with a smile.

Her aunt was momentarily disconcerted. Then standing to her full height, she said, ‘I wield the righteous sword!’

‘More the self-righteous sword!’ Marina muttered to her sister.

Eliza took Lady Dauntsey’s hand and gazing into those remarkable eyes, said with warmth, ‘What you have told me today has changed my life. What you have given me I shall treasure all my days. Thank you.’

The noble lady momentarily relaxed her stance. ‘I am pleased I have brought some light to your life. And it is indeed true that the sins of the father should not be visited on the child. I wish you both well, and perhaps we will see each other again. After all, our blood unites us, however shamefully.’

The young women bobbed quick curtseys and fled from the room, Eliza clutching to her breast the priceless portraits and the crumpled piece of paper in her mother’s hand. They collected Polly from the hall and walked back to Mount Street first so Marina Fairley would not travel unchaperoned. Marina was once more whispering in an urgent voice so Polly could not hear. ‘Sister, I meant to tell you that my despicable cousin, our despicable cousin, he who should not be named, set off yesterday in a hurry. Can you surmise where he was headed?’

‘I have no idea.’ Eliza felt the warmth of the conspiracy between them.

‘Well, he was speedily to Bath. He had heard that the Marquess was not long for this world and intended to make sure he was there at the end so nothing could come between him and his Bathwick inheritance.’

For all the new-found warmth of sisterly feeling, Eliza felt a peculiar shock that her legal father was nearing death; it was saddening to feel she had never known him and now never would. Sad too that his estate and title would go to a distant cousin who cared not a single jot for him or the property. She turned to Marina. ‘What will he do with the house and land? With the Bathwick jewels my mother used to wear?’

‘He’s an inveterate gambler with prodigious debts. No doubt he’ll raise money against the property. Then he can continue at the tables night after night, as is his wont.’

They embraced on the doorstep in Mount Street. ‘I am most glad to have found you,’ Eliza said into her friend’s shoulder.

Marina hugged her closer and replied, ‘You’re all and more than I could have hoped for in a sister. If you too decide not to marry, perhaps we can live together as two old maids?’ She laughed as they pulled apart and their eyes met.