I shall wear more black. Show my allegiance to her. However, I do not own a single black garment, except my mourning clothes. I shall purchase a new shawl. A beautiful black lace shawl. I wonder if she will notice?

Would I wish to live at Shibden as she suggests? It is cosy. I like the company she has of her aunt, father and sister and they seem to like me well enough. It is busier there than here and feels more alive. I may quite like to live somewhere like Shibden Hall with its wooden panelled walls and large fires, so tucked away from the world.

But here there are happy memories of when we were small. I remember how we would play in the entrance hall on the black and white tiles like a chessboard. The black tiles, should you stand on them, would fall away and drop you into Hell. The white tiles were safe and solid like the Earth. Although fanciful, the fear grew innate and even now, I step delicately along the white tiles. Just a few weeks ago I dropped a glove and as it fell towards a black tile, I honestly believed for a moment that it would disappear as if down a hole.

Moving away from here may be best for me after all. I should consider it.

How do I explain to her my silly exit from the Moss House? I’d felt a panic rising and didn’t want her to see. I dashed out into the trees to catch my breath and let my tears out. I hoped she would come for me, but the door stayed closed. I waited, but the woods closed in and I had to summon all my courage to march back up to the Hall. Luckily I saw her groom and asked him to take me home. What must he think of us? He readied the horses quickly, but there was enough time… and she did not come for me.

I had a dream that I was on a life-sized chess set, full of pieces. I was a pawn on the front row, waiting to be moved forward in sacrifice. Miss Lister was behind me, the king. She gave the orders for pieces to move and watched them fall as she made notes for her diary. She moved me onto a black square and as I fell, I heard her laugh. A triumphant laugh, as if she had won. Miss Lister will always win.

Chapter Eight

Chapter Eight

Winter, 1832: An awkward interruption and a Happy New Year

Miss Lister

Christmas is upon us. A new year dawns. I carry on with business as usual for Shibden. I can barely keep on top of the estate, yet even so my precious time is ever more taken up with wooing Miss Walker.