I care for her, I want to support her, I tell myself over and over as I ride in the carriage back over to Shibden ready to update the family about what new woe has befallen our little adopted flower.

Miss Walker

I should have kept us as friends and rejected her advances and not joined her in the Moss House all those days, not walked with her, especially into Halifax where people would see us together. Is God Himself judging me? Just as I began to feel some happiness and strength return to me, I have been dashed down onto the rocks and am helpless again.

Miss Lister

Another long dull day at Crow Nest. As I take the hour’s walk back to Shibden I see the Hall for what it is: run down, old, falling apart. It even sounds shabby. I shall rebuild it as a castle and it will be Shibden Castle. Or better still, Lister Castle. Yes, that’s where I shall live.

Of course, my sister and father roll their eyes at the idea when I share it with them at supper, but my aunt seems to smile at it. I could loose arrows from the ramparts and install some cannons. That will keep everyone away. I shall fashion it like High Sunderland Hall, one of the Priestley family’s lavish homes; built like a fort, only in the middle of nowhere on the bare hillside. There are no castles or forts in this region, there has never been need of them. We are not on a route to anywhere and are surrounded by unnavigable hills. This region has been left alone, so lacks the history of battles and kings.

Shibden’s roof is leaking again and the windows are draughty. Any plans I have drawn up for improvements seem too expensive. If only I had full ownership, I would forge ahead regardless. But in kindly including me in his inheritance, my uncle failed to give me the other two thirds of the income which would have made my life considerably easier. I must contend with my aunt and my father, who struggle to cope when I move a cushion. How will I ever make Shibden the Grand Hall or Castle it should be with only a third of the income?