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Disclaimer: All characters owned by Mutant Enemy. No copyright infringement is intended.Intrigued Ella set aside the tumbled clothing, made a cup of coffee and turned to the first entry in the book. There were no dates, but the journal seemed to be some kind of diary. The writing was faded and difficult to make out, but once she began to read she was unable to stop. Her coffee grew cold as she sat, entranced and increasingly troubled, and read on and on…
Father has insisted that Mother takes us to London for the season. I do not want to leave Yorkshire, but Mother and my Sisters are pleased and excited. Mother has sadly missed the life that she led there when we were younger, before Father's business interests compelled us to move to The Ridings. I love the hills and the quiet of the countryside. I even love the village and talking to the wives and children of our workers! Mother laughs at me and says that I am playing Lady Bountiful, but surely The Bible teaches us that we must have concern for those in our employ? I cannot speak of these things at home, and, kind though he is, I cannot speak to the Minister. He is not of our faith (though for the sake of appearances we must attend service every Sunday). In Yorkshire, the Church of Rome is considered to be strange and alien. Only the Irish Servants and the great aristocrats retain the old ways. I may not mix with the former, and we are not now, nor indeed ever likely to be, invited to the private chapels of the latter. At least in London I may be able to attend Confession, for I am much troubled in my mind. My family cannot understand why I cling to the old religion; they find it more expedient to embrace the new. But my Faith sustains me, as my family cannot. My Faith gives me a rock to cling to. If I lose hold I must surely drown.
I am fearful of this adventure. We have money and fine clothes and a carriage, but I know that, despite our education, our speech betrays our origins. Amelia says that Mother is a fine lady now and that before long, Father will receive a title and then all doors will be open to us. In the meantime, our money should ensure that she and Ann can make a good match. I dislike this talk of money and marriage and feel in my heart of hearts that this journey will bring ill fortune on us all. I have dreamed lately of a dark man; a man who I feel sure intends to do us harm. But my Family laughs at my fears, and Mother grows angry and bids me be silent lest others should think me touched.
We have been in London for a week now. Mother has established us in a fine House in Cavendish Square, and has sent invitations to the families who attended our shooting parties last autumn. I must dress up and receive guests, and I confess myself horribly discomfited by the prospect. Amelia and Anne twit me for my rough speech and strange ways. They say that I speak more like a servant than a Daughter of the House, and that I should strive to improve my elocution. I fear that I am too much my Father's Daughter to ever play the fine lady.
Yesterday evening as we walked from the home of the Smithsons, I became aware that we were being watched. Amelia and Anne continued laughing and joking of their conquests, but the air was icy cold and I turned to see the dark man of my dreams, and with him a beautiful Lady. I feared them both, and tried to hurry my chattering sisters away. I do not know who this man is, but I know he means us harm. May God protect me, may God protect us all for I am quite certain that these beings are not of this world.
Oh Dear God! Last night I dreamt of disaster, of falling rock and blackness and the terrible screams of men trapped in the dark. I wakened Mother, and begged her to telegraph Father and warn him. But she grew angry with me and sent me back to my room. I realise now that the milk she bade me drink was laced with Laudanum. My head aches; my senses are muzzy, and yet I cannot forget the terror, the stench, the cries for help. I fear I am accursed
It is true! There was an accident, a cave in. Merciful Heaven, to know these things and yet not to be believed. I saw the terror in Mother’s eyes when the telegram came this morning, saw her look at me then look away. I ran to embrace her and she pushed me from her saying that I was no child of hers, that my Sight came from the devil. None in this house will speak to me. I shall take the carriage and go to the church. Surely there I will find solace and confess my sins. I must indeed be a sinner for The Lord to lay this burden upon me. And still the face of the dark man haunts me, sleeping or waking, I fear that I am becoming unwell.
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