Edith had made her way downstairs rather gingerly. The creaky, narrow treads rather exposed her bold combination of extremely wide bottomed trousers and stabbing high heels as rather an unfortunate choice. Turning sideways, and watching the mesmerising folds of fabric as they swirled like the kilts of marching Scotsmen, she ascended awkwardly, with a tentative, crabbing action. Barely half way down, she suddenly found herself unable to proceed, and she realised with annoyance that she had inadvertently pinned her right hand trouser leg to the floor with the tall stiletto heel of her left boot. As a result, Edith found herself effectively nailed, cross legged, to the spot.

She looked down, impatiently, but the billowing fabric cascaded like a discarded blanket down the steps and obscured any angle of vision that might help her extricate herself. Attempting to bend over for a closer look only saw her wobble dangerously, and she threw out a pale, claw-like hand to grab wildly at the balustrade. After taking a moment to steady herself, she attempted cautiously to lift her left leg but, to her irritation, the heel was wedged firmly through what appeared to be several layers of fabric, and was stuck fast.

The steepness of the staircase bothered her. Still clinging tightly to the slightly wobbly hand rail, she looked down nervously and felt a flash of vertigo. It was not a pleasant perspective and Edith swore angrily under her breath. Where was Ellingham? Loudly, she spoke his name but there was no answer. Enveloped in a cool, gloomy silence, she felt as if she, and the house, had been abandoned.

Realising that no assistance would be forthcoming, Edith concluded that she would have to disentangle herself. Grasping the balustrade with both hands, she attempted to crouch down for a closer examination of the offending boot but the disconcerting sensation of a straining crutch seam forced her back to an upright position rapidly. She realised that her hip and ankle had began to ache in protest, and there was a searing sting in her heels as the stiff new leather abraded the painful blisters she had accumulated over the past few days. Attempting to uncross her legs in one direction, she found herself still anchored firmly but now she was facing upwards and teetering precariously on the edge of the step with a far less secure, one handed grip on the wobbly railing.

Taking a deep breath to steady her nerves, she swivelled her body 180 degrees, stiffly, and lowered her bottom, apprehensively, to sit, cross legged, on the narrow tread. Perhaps she could reach the zip on her boot and slip her foot out of it, which at least might relieve the increasing discomfort in her joints. She groped her way blindly through the layers and layers of heavy woollen fabric and, finally, if she stretched her arm around her knee, she could just feel the top of the boot. Frustratingly, the zip remained just out of her reach and, without thinking she lunged forward, snatching at the clasp. Excruciating pain shot down her leg as a vicious cramp enveloped her and she cried out involuntarily. Her hamstring contracted violently, snatching her leg upwards, synchronised unfortunately with her successful grasping of the zip and, this time, she screamed as the metal teeth bit into the soft flesh of her inner calf, and stuck fast.

Letting out a string of obscenities that would make the fishermen in the Crab on a Saturday night blush, Edith ripped desperately at the zip until it relinquished its hold. Eyes watering, and wincing in pain, she finally acknowledged defeat and, squatting somewhat petulantly on her narrow perch, awaited her rescue.

Within minutes, she was immensely relieved to hear the back door open, accompanied by the low murmur of voices.

"Hello!" She shouted out, as casually as she could manage.

Joan was directing Martin's placement of the groceries when she heard the cry. She looked at her nephew, querulously, and for a moment she thought she saw fear in his eyes. Slowly, he lowered the bags to the table and walked, somewhat reluctantly, towards the staircase, Joan at his shoulder.

When Edith saw them both appear, framed perfectly in the doorway, she smirked ingratiatingly, and gave a self-conscious wave of her hand.

"Hello." She repeated sweetly.

"Edith, what are you doing?" Martin asked tetchily, struggling to control his irritation. "Why are you sitting on the stairs?"

She ignored him, focussing her oily gaze on Joan.

"No point waiting for Ellingham to remember his manners." She said conspiratorially, and gave a slight toss of her head. "Dr. Edith Montgomery. Delighted to meet you."

Joan looked back at her, her face impassive, yet instantly detesting her so irrevocably that the sensation both shocked and disturbed her. To react so vehemently when Edith had barely spoken more than two sentences to her was surprising enough but Joan was even more alarmed by the other memories she invoked. The only occasion she could recall feeling such strong and instant antipathy to anyone was on the afternoon, long ago, when her brother Christopher introduced her to Margaret, his young bride-to be.

She took a deep, shaky breath.

"Joan Norton." She replied cautiously. "And why are you sitting on the stairs?"

Without even the slightest loss of composure, Edith leaned forward and, in a low voice, through gritted teeth, she muttered: "If you could possibly spare me a moment, Ellingham?"

When he failed to immediately come to her aid, Edith felt a stab of annoyance and she found herself growling his name again, more forcefully this time, which was noted by Joan who felt her own dislike for the woman intensify. Martin cursed inwardly and made his way up the stairs. Refusing to make eye contact with her, he glowered in her general direction, and said nothing.

"I'm stuck." She muttered, attempting to illustrate her predicament by jiggling her stuck leg up and down.

"What?" Martin replied icily.

"The heel of my boot. It's stuck. And I'm pinned to the stairs."

"Oh for goodness sake." He replied testily.

"What's going on Marty?" Joan asked suspiciously from behind him.

"I'll be fine." Edith replied loudly, with forced gaiety, as Martin crouched down to have a closer look.

He grabbed her stuck foot and pulled at it.

"Ouch!" Edith squeaked angrily. "Be more careful, will you?"

"What a surprise." He barked back at her with some bitterness. "Ridiculously impractical footwear."

"Marty?" Joan cried out. "What's the matter? Do you need my help?"

He wrenched on her ankle again.

"The heel of her boot appears to be impaled in a fissure in the stair tread." He replied, over his shoulder. "Do you have a saw?"

"Ellingham! Don't you dare." Edith shrieked at him furiously. "They cost me £200!"

He glared at at her, and his eyes were as cold as ice. She could stay here all night for all he cared.

"Suit yourself." He replied acidly, and stood up.

She narrowed her eyes at him, meanly.

"I'm warning you." She spat at him.

"Do you need the saw?" Joan shouted, a bit too loudly. "I'll fetch it from the barn."

"No, he bloody doesn't!" Edith shouted back at her before venting her burgeoning hostility at Martin. "For God's sake! I'm tired, I'm sore, I have recurring cramp in the biceps femoris and the semitendinosus. I have had the trip from hell to get here and now I'm marooned in this cruddy, moth-eaten flea pit in the middle of god knows where! Stop being so bloody aggravating and just get me out!"

Knowing that his aunt was standing at the bottom of the stairs, and would have heard and felt every spiteful word, filled Martin with cold fury. His face contorted with rage and he was about to unleash it upon Edith when he noticed Louisa suddenly appear at the top of the stairs.

She was smiling down at him with a slightly puzzled expression.

"What's with the shouting?" She asked, with a little sideways incline of her head.

Martin cleared his throat uncomfortably but did not reply.

"Louisa." Joan said loudly, and smiled up at her reassuringly.

"Hi, Mrs Norton." She replied with a cheerful grin. "Oh, and hello Colonel Spencer, what are you doing, sitting on the stairs? You okay?"

Martin immediately shot her a confused look, and Edith, swivelling as best she could in her anchored state, turned to glare at her furiously.

"Oh, Edna, it's you." Louisa said, her eyes twinkling mischievously. "From the back I thought you were Colonel Spencer. You look just like him. Must be the tweed thingy."

At the bottom of the stairs, Joan was beset by a coughing fit which momentarily distracted Martin from Edith's predicament. When he looked back at her, she was glaring up at him malevolently.

Louisa skipped lightly down the stairs and paused next to them.

"Problem?" She asked pleasantly, trying to disguise the glee she felt at Edith's obvious discomfort.

What was that word she'd had to look up in the dictionary a few weeks ago that described this exact circumstance? Schadenfreude. That was it.

"Mmm. Edith is...aah..her heel is wedged." Martin replied uncomfortably.

Louisa nodded at her sympathetically.

"Really? Oh dear. Well, no need to be embarrassed I suppose." She said unconvincingly, her eyes twinkling and with the hint of an insolent smile.

Nimbly, she dodged past Martin and danced to the bottom of the staircase where Joan stood. They glanced at each other quickly, and Louisa gave a theatrical roll of her eyes. It was too much for Joan who began to cough violently again, and rushed back into the kitchen. Louisa paused momentarily and then turned to look back up at them.

Edith stared back at her with hard, cold eyes and an unmistakably hostile expression.

"Come to think of it." Louisa said thoughtfully, "There is a big knot hole on one of those stairs. Maybe if you take the shoe off and try and pull it out at an angle, that might work."

"Yes." Martin replied quickly, watching Louisa flounce into the kitchen with a curious expression on his face. After a brief moment, his attention returned to the task at hand, and he cocked his head questioningly, at Edith.

"Tawdry little wench." She spat viciously. "Does she think we're stupid?"

"We?" Martin responded indignantly.

"I tried that. Can't get my boot off. You'll have to do it."

"For god's sake, Edith." He said, taking both her knees in one hand and forcing her onto her side. With his free hand he grabbed at the ankle of the offending boot and, with a rough twist, finally yanked it free.

She smirked at him, and put out her arm so he could help her up.

"See Ellingham, you can be masterful if you try."

He stared back at her contemptuously, ignoring her outstretched arm and, without responding, turned his back on her. Edith watched him walk away and was struck by a strange sensation of disappointment; it was almost as if her power over him had evaporated, and she didn't like the feeling one bit.