Arabella and Jeremy stared at me as if they’d seen a ghost. I suddenly remembered that the judge who’d had me transported to Australia had recorded me as deceased. It seemed that none of my letters had reached my old home to reassure them I was alive.
They were both taller than me, and frighteningly thin. Arabella had twin vertical scars on her face that glinted with surgical silver. I hadn’t been there to look after her when Mother died. Mother herself had needed looking after, and I hadn’t even known. I had been no more use than a corpse, after all.
‘I’m so sorry!’ I blurted out at once, my voice breaking.
‘For what, precisely?’ said Arabella. Her accent was pure Belgravia, and it suddenly sounded utterly fake to me. ‘For abandoning us, for killing Mother, for letting us think you wer
