I remember a piece of talk from many years back. A rumour about Miss Lister from when she was young. That her school friend went mad and was taken to the asylum in York. I’m sure that this is yet another reason why people wrote to warn me about her. No one could ever imagine her true secret or intentions towards me; they were not worried for my soul but for my mind. It seems that everyone in Halifax, in Yorkshire, in fact, knows that Miss Lister turned her school friend insane!

The girl is still locked in the asylum. Perhaps that’s where Miss Lister is taking me. She’s had enough of me and is going to have me declared insane by a doctor and locked away!

Chapter Nine

Chapter Nine

Winter, 1833: A carriage ride to York
and news of an accident

Miss Lister

As the horses’ hooves finally clatter onto the cobblestones of York, I feel at home. An excitement rises in me as we travel through the gatehouse in the high city walls, through the bustling streets as the carriage heads up towards the Minster. I insist on taking Miss Walker there first. Though she protests tiredness, she has never seen it before and so I drag her there in confidence she will be in awe of it as I have been every time I have visited.

It is a cold January morning but the sun shines brightly, as though God Himself is reminding us of His presence. I sit her down in a central pew and tell her of its history, the architecture, the import of those buried here and the stories captured in the beautiful glass. I show her the damage by the fire just a few years before and the work undertaken to restore its former glory. She sits in wonderment and I slide my arm around her – I cannot help myself. I feel privileged to share this with her, see the delight of a new discovery on her face. I cannot wait to take her to new lands, new cities, new cultures, beyond anything she can imagine from her life in Yorkshire. The heat abroad will do her good too. I vow that this will be her last winter in these cold climes. I shall take it upon myself to find us a place in southern France where we can retire for warmer winters. I shall make her strong again.

As she sits in the pew, following my finger with her gaze as I point at some marvel or other, I see that she is beautiful, as if coming into full bloom so many years after she should have done, but she is managing it at last. I am the gardener who has tended her roots, fed and watered her, sheltered her and now am planting her into the world itself.