As my aunt joins her brothers in Heaven, I wonder what they think when they look down at us three that are left, pacing the house, none of us speaking, breathing in the cold air which tastes of melancholy.

Shibden Hall now finds itself inhabited by three orphans, all of us in black.

Miss Walker

I notice at the funerals that Anne is no longer separate from us as we are all of us in black, all as one – yet Anne’s head remains high, her face fixed. Anne, I realise, will never blend in. Perhaps she should have worn red, or white.

I do not know how she manages it when my entire body shakes with tears and I cannot stop their flow. I can see them watching me, judging me, for who am I to sit with the Lister family? Both times I should have gone to my own pew and sat with my own aunt and the Priestleys, but when I say this to Anne she simply says, sit wherever you want to sit. I choose her. Once in the pew she holds my hand tight the whole time. Anne understands. My grief for her father and aunt is genuine, but she knows that my grief is not just over the death of these two; it is grief for all of them gone before which overflows. My tears may seem excessive to some, but Anne knows why they fall so readily. She told me later she could not help but think of her brother Samuel too, and in these long cold winter nights we hold each other and cry freely, away from the public show, away even from Marian as Anne does not wish her to see her upset. She tells me that in other countries they mourn more openly; they throw themselves on the coffin and wail and shout and scream and cry. What a release, she said, to be able to let it out. Whilst we English are expected to keep it inside and so carry it with us for the rest of our days. I agree, but think that I cry all the time and it never seems to lessen. I do not tell her this, and ponder what would be a release for me? I think perhaps if we could receive something like a medal for each loss, to wear with pride, and show others what we have suffered, lived through, endured. Let them see our sorrow borne upon our breast and give us pity and understanding.