Darkness settled fast on the moors. One moment it seemed day; the next, night had arrived and they were in the middle of a sea of darkness. Not a single light could be seen along the horizon as Anne gazed out the window. She hoped the parson had made it home in time. Lisle had retired to her room upstairs, but the parson's visit had driven Anne to start trying to sort the main parlor, in case he returned—or better, Harry came to visit. After dragging the settee to the large main doors, she had whipped the dust, leaving crisscrossing marks on the faded velvet. A plume of dust had arisen and been swept away by the wind, although some returned into the house.
After wiping dusty surfaces in the room, she felt tiredness ache in her body. She wasn't used to this degree of work, but she was slowly getting used to it, or her body had just stopped protesting. Her married life had involved a great deal of drinking tea and embroidering, flower arrangement and directing servants. Skills which were all more or less unnecessary at the moment.
Putting her rag aside, she took the small lamp resting on a table and moved upstairs. She missed gas lighting, having grown used to a lit house. Here, darkness encroached from all angles.
At least there was now order in her bedroom. The floors were clean, if carpet-less, and the mattress had been stuffed with fresh vegetation they had dried. Hay would be preferable, but it wasn't an option just at the moment. She had nothing like the wool overlay she used to have, but perhaps that would come one day. Surely it wouldn't prove difficult to find wool in Yorkshire.
The bed was bare of the curtains that had hung tattered and moth eaten. With the decay removed, the room was acceptable. It was a large room and the fireplace was massive compared to modern preferences. It smoked, so she couldn't really use it, which was a problem she wasn't sure how to tackle.
Instead she heated bricks by the kitchen fire, which kept her warm enough under her blankets. Hastily, she undressed and donned her night dress. Before she would braid her hair, but there would be no elaborate hairstyle in the morning; a simple bun was most useful when performing arduous tasks.
Grabbing her book, she crawled under the blanket and started reading. The house creaked as it settled with the increasing cold outside the window. There was no frost on the window panes yet, but it would be there in the morning, when her room was icy. They really needed to sort the fireplace, but then there was the wood to consider—another problematic task. Perhaps having a strong lad around would be a good thing.
Her eyes quickly drifted shut, but flew open again when the acrid smell of smoke hit her nose. Sitting up abruptly, she looked around. There were no signs of smoke. Perhaps Lisle was cold and was trying to keep warm. If so, she was smoking the house out. Maybe she'd even fallen asleep and the fire had gotten away from her. Anne jumped out of bed and ran to the door.
As soon as she reached the landing, the smell was gone. There was no trace of smoke at all. She stood in the darkness and considered what to do. The smell of smoke had definitely been there so it had to come from somewhere. Walking into the bedroom again, it was still there, pungent and stinging her nose. There had to be something amiss.
Taking her lamp, she walked upstairs and knocked on Lisle's door.
"What?" the girl said sourly, coming to the door.
"I smelled smoke. Have you lit a fire?"
"No," Lisle said. "And the fire in the kitchen's out."
"I'll just go check."
Anne heard Lisle's door close behind her and continued down the stairs. The kitchen was dark and empty, no sign of a fire anywhere. Anne checked the whole house but found nothing. Even when she returned to her bedroom, the smell of smoke was completely gone.
Maybe she had dreamt it, she wondered—a fear playing with her senses. Feeling disturbed, she crawled back under her blankets and extinguished the lamp. Even through her exhaustion, it wasn't easy to return to sleep now. She kept checking if she could smell smoke, then worried her nose had grown too accustomed to notice.
The ice lay in moons around the window panes when she woke, her breath condensing in front of her. Some coal would be marvelous, but who would drive coal all the way out to them? Anne missed the comforts of the city and her old life, but conceded she had to be grateful. London was few on comforts for anyone without means. Once they had the house sorted, they would be comfortable here.
Taking a moment longer in bed, she thought through the massive list of things that needed doing. First the cow. She needed to get the milk flowing. Lisle apparently knew how to make cheese and rennet, which according to her, could be made from nettles or thistles, neither of which were in short supply.
The cold assaulted her as she slid from under her blankets and she dressed as quickly as she could, her body getting colder by the second. The thick wool shawl helped and she was soon getting warm enough again.
When Anne returned to the house after seeing to the cow, movement caught her eye and she saw a figure walking along the path leading to the road. Hope flared as she wondered if it was Harry, but Harry would not be approaching the house on foot. As far as she knew, Harry wasn't aware walking was a mode of transport.
The figure drew closer, a young man with a sack over his shoulder, brown hair shorn short and with long, striding steps. Perhaps this was the young man the reverend had spoken about. He wasn't so young, in fact, he was tall and broad. Anne had expected someone ten or twelve, but this man was more a man than a young man. Definitely older the Harry, maybe even over twenty.
He stopped when he reached the gravel. His clothes were worn and his hands were dirty. A patch had been sown across one of his knees and his shoes looked like they barely held together. "I have been told there is a position here. Reverend Whitling sent me."
"I hope he told you there is only room and board. That might change in the future, but for right now, we have no means."
"He might have mentioned," the man said. He didn't greet her in any way, probably had no manners at all from what she guessed.
"I am Miss Sands, formally Mrs. Kinelly."
If her reduction in status meant anything to him, he didn't show it, and he stood there with a thumb inside his belt.
"It is just I and my servant, Lisle, here. We have just acquired a cow that is pasturing. Have you any experience with cows?" Anne said hopefully.
"Aye. Not what you'd call clever beasts."
Anne didn't quite know how to take the statement, or even if she liked this young man. She wasn't immediately warming to him. "And what is your name?"
"Alfie," he said. By his accent, she could tell he had grown up in these parts.
"Well, we only have one cow. The intention is to get some chickens as well, but we have nowhere to keep them just at the moment. Is that something you could contrive?"
"It is." Not a man of many words then, just like Mr. Turner.
"This house has been derelict for many years, so it needs care, as will a room for you. We can prepare one."
"I'll find something," he said.
"Of course," Anne said, feeling foolish, but not exactly sure why. "I will leave you to find your way, then."