I would write to my friends straight away and arrange visits, but I am afraid that if tomorrow does not go well, I may have to return little Miss Walker post-haste back to Crow Nest. If so, I shall have to come back again without her, though it will not be the same. I want her with me as I walk the walls, visit the tower on the knoll, take a boat down the river. The thought of doing those things alone, as I so often have, now seems lonely to me. She has lured me into such a sense of companionship that, if it were to end, my days may never be the same.

Miss Walker

One moment I forget, the next moment I remember. One moment I feel free, the next moment I feel dread. One moment I am with her and she is my world, the next moment she is forcing me to do something I do not wish. One moment I feel as if I do not need a doctor, the next I feel as if only a doctor can save me.

I stare into the fire and try to quieten my mind. It is delightful here; these rooms, her arms around me, the sweet taste in my mouth; I finally feel warm. But tomorrow looms over me as if a shadow stands just behind me and reminds me of its presence with a chill that runs down my neck each time I momentarily forget.

I managed the coach ride in her company and quite enjoyed the view with my private tour guide who knows every building, hill and sheep on the way. I enjoy her talk when she gets into her tutor role; I can just listen. She does not expect a response and so I lose myself to the motion of the carriage and the sound of her voice and the passing views behind the glass pane.

I knew I would love the Minster and had I not been so cold from the journey I could have sat there for hours. I should like to return another day when I do not have something pressing on my mind, when it is summer perhaps, and my back does not torment me – but only ever with her by my side. I should not wish to be here with anyone but her. If she should disappear, I fear I will never leave Crow Nest again.

She reassures me Doctor Belcome is most kind and patient, and will not commit me to an asylum. She swears that as long as she lives, she will never let anyone take me away from her. She reassures me with some remarkable studies I’d rather not hear, of the types of women who are locked up, of true madness and its manifestations. She says the most I have is melancholy and a bad back, and that both are curable.