I stood on the road from Whitby up into the moors, and with my newly-keen eyesight took stock of Haviscourt Manor, the shabby edifice that rose above me. Usually, I did not bother to look up at it. I had lived in that house my entire life and was intimately familiar with its each and every detail. But now the moonlight was as bright to me as the sun I would never see again, and I looked upon the house with a fresh purpose.
The house had the feel of a grand old man, stooped and slumped under the weight of years. A fond visitor might have said it had character, but I had no fondness for the bitter drafts that blew through the whole manor each winter. Signs of neglect were everywhere; from the cracked, shedding roof tiles, to the broken windows of rooms we no longer used, to the cobwebs that hung like decorations from every surface. It would have taken a small fortune to restore Haviscourt Manor to its former glory, and a small fortune was far, far more than we were blessed with.
Now, though, I was beyond such things. This would be my last night at the manor. Then, freedom.
I was beyond the night's chill too, but as I approached the manor house I still drew my cloak tight around me. It was a habit, I supposed. This strange state of un-life would take some getting used to, and I had heard a lifetime's warnings that one could easily freeze to death up on these moors. This year, 1897, was proving kinder than many before, but now that the seasons had well and truly turned, inclement weather was a daily concern.
There! Light at one of the downstairs windows caught my sharp eyes. It was the very thing I had been waiting for. The dim candlelight signaled that my sister had come down for her supper. That, in turn, meant that the groundskeeper had retired for the night. Cordelia and I could be alone, exactly as I desired.
I did not mean to delay, but I found myself lingering a little. Watching. Cordelia was my elder sister, and in the parlance of writers and poets, she was a formidable woman. She was tall, imposing, and had a personality to match, and despite the poverty into which our old family had sunk, she carried herself like a noble lady, nose in the air, never letting people see her unless she was dressed impeccably. This resplendent pride had won her no small amount of local admirers, though she cared not a whit for their admiration.
I, however, knew her differently. I knew the smile she never graced others with, when her mouth curled into a thin expression of contempt. I knew the glint of pleasure in her blue eyes that men must have longed for, when she beheld me in all my smallness and weakness. I knew the perfect silkiness of her raven hair, because she insisted that I brush and style it for her each morning, in the neat, high bun others saw. And I knew the way her high, arching cheekbones pulled tight and stern when I did something she disapproved of, which was always, and how sharp her wit and tongue could be when she chose to express her disdain.
She was my keeper and tormentor, and I her servant. It had been so ever since we were young, since the death of our sickly mother and the departure of our father.
But no longer.
Putting my hand over my chest to check my pulse, I scolded myself for my hesitance. Savoring the anticipation was all well and good, but it could easily be mistaken for cowardice. A moment later, I realized my foolishness: my heart no longer beat, and could not decide the matter. I still felt as though it ought to have been pounding. Was I not yet ready? Should I choose another night?
No, no! Before leaving Whitby, I'd had my mind made up. I could not be a coward. There was nothing left to do but gather my resolve and set about my task.
My old, iron key turned in the lock of the front door with a loud click that my sister was sure to have heard, so I wasted no time pushing open the creaking slab of oak and stepping across the threshold. It did not even take a single second for the dim hallway to be filled with the sound of Cordelia's scorn:
"Laura?" she called. "Is that you? Have you finally seen fit to come home and stop living like a stray?"
Oh, how deeply I despise the spell that her mere voice cast on me! It made me feel like a child again: small, timid, afraid. I had lived in Cordelia's shadow for so long, I almost forgot my purpose there and then. A moment later, the humiliation of it all made my blood boil.
I stepped into the parlor. My sister was standing there, waiting for me, with an expression of utmost severity fixed on her face.
"And where have you been?" she rounded on me. "Bringing our house into disrepute, I shouldn't wonder. I sent you into town two days ago to post a simple letter. Are you incapable of even that, Laura?
Yes, she was beautiful. Very beautiful, even in the throes of outrage. It was impossible for me not to think so. I had grown up wishing my figure would fill out the way hers had, and that my hair would darken to a less mousy shade in imitation of her. To me, she seemed a worthy subject for busts and portraits, and I often wished that she would simply allow me to bask in her approval.
But she never did, and I was lost for words in the face of her scorn. "I..." I began - the worst of beginnings.
"Did you even spare a thought for your dear sister, while you were out busying yourself with goodness-knows-what?" Cordelia continued, as if I had not even opened my mouth. "I practically raised you, you know." I did, she reminded me of it ceaselessly. "I have a mother's care. And yet you abandon me here, alone."
Still, I was speechless. I had rehearsed our encounter in my head over and over again, but I had forgotten my script. "I..."
"Is that all you can say?" she sneered. "Speak up, girl! You are educated better than that, I should hope."
I choked down hard on the bitter embarrassment that rose like bile inside me. "You shouldn't speak to me that way anymore," I said quietly, with venom.
Crack.
The sound of her slap across my cheek was like a thunderclap. It didn't hurt, precisely - I was beyond pain - but it stung. I was wounded by her audacity. Didn't she know? I was changed. She couldn't treat me this way.
"Don't make me do that again," she said crossly. "Now, out with it! Where were you?"
I looked up at her - yes, up, she dwarfed me - and for the first time, she seemed a touch disconcerted. It was the unnatural crimson of my eyes. Seeing her falter gave me back my speech.
"I posted your letter in Whitby," I told her, "and was preparing to return as the sun set. But then I came across a man-"
Cordelia interrupted me with an ugly sound. "A man! Of course! I should have known. What becomes of the Haviscourts? Chasing after rogues and drunkards out of wedlock is beneath even you."
"I did not...!" I was aghast and had to fight for my composure. "I have not slept with any man, as well you know! You never allow me near unmarried men, nor will you let me marry!"
