Even now I remember that evening. If I close my eyes I can hear the soft snick of cards on the polished walnut table and the sonorous ticking of the long-case clock. I can feel the gentle heat of the fire that crackled in the grate at my back and see the shifting shadow of the chandelier that swung slowly from the ceiling. It is a layered memory, for it is set in the middle of my life story, with the past behind it and my then-future in front, a hinge-day from which much sprung, yet also a day that reminded me of the steps that had brought me to such a pass.
There were eight of us present that October night in 1803. Emily Napier and her silent husband James, Elizabeth Campbell and the amiable Colin Campbell, young Marie Elliot and Gilbert, her intended, Mrs Bessie Faa, famous as Mother Fa
