Ethan flicked the reins of the horse and dug his heels in to urge the animal forward. Together they trotted briskly out of the farmyard and down the bridlepath to Wharfe. Rosie sat close to Ethan and felt the sun on her face as she hugged him tightly. She looked at his dark hair as it shone like jet in the morning’s sun and breathed in the smell of him. It was a comforting scent of warm hay, with a hint of the carbolic soap that he had obviously washed in that morning. She wasn’t worried that he’d seen her ankles and most of her left leg as she mounted the horse. Her mother would be mortified, but how was she to know?

The horse walked carefully across the stream next to the clapper bridge at the wash-dubs and then carried on trotting down the bridlepath to Wharfe. The limestone walls on either side of them made them nearly invisible on the centuries-old path, until they came to the small hamlet of Wharfe. Luckily it was quiet, with most of the inhabitants at church, praying for the Lord to keep their souls. Once out on the road to Helwith Bridge, Rosie thought she was riding with the devil himself, as Ethan urged his horse into a gallop. She held him even tighter and could feel her long blonde hair whipping her face as they passed the limestone boulders and farms spread along either side of the road. The horse galloped faster and faster, making her cling on for her life as they raced down the road. On reaching the entrance to Windfell, both of them looked up the driveway, hoping that nobody would notice the fleeing pair as they galloped the two miles into Settle. Ethan felt guilty at not seeing his parents on the Sabbath, and Rosie felt guilty at deceiving her parents. Still, it was worth it, just to be near the lad she had feelings for. And the day had only just begun.

Once at the outskirts of Settle, Rosie dismounted, out of view of the prim eyes of the ladies of the district, and walked through the town. She waited on the corner of New Street, and watched as Ethan took the horse into the livery stable of the Golden Lion. She looked across at the clock in the post office’s window. It showed twenty past ten; ten minutes to go before the train left for Appleby and then carried on to Carlisle. She felt her stomach churn as she saw Ethan running out of the Golden Lion and, at the same time, her parents’ carriage passing the town hall a hundred yards behind him. Hiding around the corner of New Street, she waited for Ethan to join her and hoped that he had not been recognized.