The Belvedere.

You Should Not Have Left in Such a Mood.

‘You should not have left in such a mood, my dear.’

Her mother’s calming voice came into her mind.

She responded, talking animatedly to herself, where only the sheep would hear her.

Yes, I know, Mother, but I could not stay home to be bombarded by such rudeness and inconsideration. It is more peaceful out here where I can speak with you and gain from your wise counsel.

Harriet often had various conversations with her absent mother when she was alone, seeking her advice on difficult issues.

You keep reminding me that I should not be so impetuous in my responses to him, or so ready to fly off the handle, but I am sure you cannot so easily forget that he even tried your patience when you were with us.

On this occasion her mother did not respond as she sometimes did. During a difficult episode involving her father, Harriet would engage in several active discussions with her mother. Anyone witnessing such a personal exchange, would regard her as quite deranged, though she was far from that. It was a needed safety valve.

How could life have changed so much for her in such a short time? There had been a time when things had been so much more pleasant and peaceful. Harriet had strolled the streets of London with her mother without a care in the world, going from one shop to another; purchasing a book, or a bonnet, or had visited one friend after another.

Her mother had controlled everything to do with the household and its management when she had been alive, including her husband, but that time had gone, six years earlier. Their finances had suffered a similar set back. They were not church-mouse poor—there was always enough for what he wanted—but he made it seem as though they were one step removed from the sponging house. He denied his daughter the generous allowance she once had. The promise of her inheritance when she reached twenty-one seemed to have faded from sight altogether with the passing of her mother. Her father would not speak of it but grew angry when she raised the subject and tried to learn what had happened to it. He had become a miser and a recluse.

How she had avoided marriage was a mystery to those few who knew her well, but did not know her parent, not realizing the selfish role that he played in the outcome. Her not marrying had not been for lack of suitors.

However, her mother had turned them all away, and did not allow any of them to get close to her. Harriet knew that her mother had other plans for her in that direction and had already found a husband for her but would not tell her more than that.

‘When the time is right, you shall meet him.’

Harriet could not understand why her mother would not say any more of him, other than that he came from an excellent family, and that when the time came for them to meet each other, Harriet would approve of her mother’s choice. She trusted her mother and would rely upon her judgment. Except her mother had died without saying more.

Why did you have to die so soon, Mama, without telling me more of this paragon you had picked out for me to marry? That was inconsiderate of you. I would like to meet him about now and hope that he would rescue me from Father.

She shook her head.

No, too late for that out here. Yes, I suppose I should not allow him to goad me so well and drive me out of the house as he does. However, one day I shall not return, but shall keep on walking. Even today, if the weather holds off. I should warn you of that, so that you will not take me too much to task, as you so often do when I threaten to kick over the traces. No other life could be worse than this one.

‘Can you be so sure of that, my love?’

Harriet rambled on again after turning her footsteps in a new direction.

But there again, you are right to warn me. It could be much worse couldn’t it? Yes, I should be careful what I wish for. It would help if I really were as beautiful as others say I am, but clearly, I am not, and cannot be, else how did I escape the happy social entanglements that face so many young women in London?

She thought for a few moments.

Yes, yes, you are right, Mama. You are always right. I was too young. I keep forgetting. I suppose I should calm my rebellious feelings and settle down to write poetry and tend to the garden, as Father would prefer.

No, she would never do that.

Despite what Harriet believed of herself, in her more vulnerable and darker moods, she knew better than to give in to melancholy. Even with a pitifully small allowance, she dressed well, and fashionably. A little industry with needle and thread, and remnants of other dresses and material—of which there was an abundance—achieved remarkable results in her limited wardrobe. She should escape and become a seamstress to society. Other young ladies, fallen upon hard times, and not having been rescued by marriage had done as much to achieve independence. Her mind wandered in directions as strange as those her feet followed, and with as little guidance.

She was about middle height, with a good and generous figure (she thought it was over-generous, at least as far as her breasts were concerned) and had a head of black hair that she constantly wore in a braid down her back, as a way of keeping it from blowing everywhere when she was out, or coiled upon her head.

Their modest estate, which was never self-sufficient, backed onto the fells and was well protected from the prevailing strong winds down the valley that laid the trees over at an angle, and had them growing with a permanent lean to them.

It was always deserted in that wild and remote area. She had grown to feel safe, as neighboring estates did not appear to harbor any hardy souls who also liked to be out in uncertain weather, or when it was as windy as it was.

There were many locations on the fells where she could take shelter from the wind, or relax, where she could sit and think about life; her life, and what it had become. When her mother had exhausted all that she had wished to say, Harriet could speak to the sheep and knew that—unlike in some of her more difficult conversations with her mother; though there were few of them that were difficult—there would be no argument. On those still days, it was pleasant to sit and eat her lunch (if she had brought one) while she listened to the birds nearby and tried to identify them by their song if she could not easily see them. She disturbed the occasional pheasant or partridge. She often intended to ask her sister, Fanny, in London, to send her a book on birds, so that she could learn more than she knew, but as soon as she returned home, to the atmosphere that awaited her there, that thought was driven from her mind. She would remember it when she next wrote to Fanny, but knew that she could not count on her for anything.

Spoil-heaps of loose shale, tipped over the valley edge, abounded from the older lead mines that had been worked out, and there were still a few ramshackle shelters that existed there, and in the old slate quarry that she passed by on some of her walks. She had extended her range as she became more familiar with what she could see. Her first walks had been no more than local explorations, following the stream, which soon became a small river after any heavy rains, which she had so far been fortunate to have avoided. Now, she could be out most of the day, and could go as far as several miles. She rarely saw anyone else walking, and even then, only at a distance. She was grateful for that. Only once did she see anyone on horseback, and they were far off, and heading away from her, so she did not have to think of walking off the track and staying out of sight, to avoid them. There were a few deer that she blundered across, but they soon took off, bounding through the heather, scattering sheep.

Many times she had arrived back home after dark, and had partaken of a fast supper from the deserted kitchen, after Cook had returned to her own home. Then she had sorted out her clothing for the next day, relegating to the wash, anything that had suffered in her walk. She was careful to see that her walking shoes were placed by the fire to dry out and were stuffed with rags. She would be sure to see to them in the morning. Without her shoes standing up to the rigors of her walking, she would soon become a prisoner.

Out on the fells she had no fear of being alone. She was fit, and felt that she could hold her own against man or beast if the need was there. Wolves had long been hunted to extinction, and the fox would soon follow them the way they were hunted. However, the fox-hunts were confined to the valley bottoms and the farmed areas, rather than where she walked. She could sometimes hear them in the far distance as they sounded their horns, and the dogs bayed in excitement on spotting their quarry.