Pinkerton's Sister (98 page)

She waited a little while longer, in that listening stance.

After a while – it was one of her drawing-to-a-close actions at the end of each day – she began to count the words she had written, her lips moving, the whispered numbers just audible. A further pause, and then she replaced the journal and the pen exactly where they had been, and went back to the window.

There was an ink stain on the side of her face. She touched it, feeling the blackness entering inside her.

– Young! –

– Young! –

The crows, the starlings, the choughs, the parrots, the herons, the hawks, the owls, the peacocks, the woodpeckers, the finches, the ravens, the lapwings, the magpies: all the birds of the air fell a-sighing and a-sobbing as they swarmed upon her, she become another St. Francis, vanishing beneath the falling feathers.

Soon it would be time to put out the lamp and go to bed. It would be time to dream again.

How she had longed for one day of cloudless skies, one night of dreamless sleep. She had thought – as a young child – that clouds were not there in the nighttime, that they swarmed away to sleep like birds, but they were always there, hidden in the darkness, vague shadows obliterating the stars, blurring the changing shape of the moon, absorbing the muted circle of light.

She stood at the window. With her left hand she gripped one of the iron bars, and with her right hand she picked up her hairbrush.

“One, two, three …”

She had written three hundred and thirteen words.

Three hundred and
eighteen
words if she included the title.

She always included the title.

The day had not been entirely wasted.

She had to write at least a hundred and eighty-two words before she could go to sleep.

She rested her bowed head against the upraised arm, her face hidden, her eyes closed.

“… four, five, six …”

I wish to avoid one of those long, exhaustive, look-how-hard-I've-worked lists of references, but I am anxious to acknowledge how grateful I am to the many writers I consulted during the writing of this novel, especially the novelists, poets, dramatists, and song-writers from whom I quote, or to whom I make reference. Any reader will recognize how essential a part they play in this novel, and how much I owe to them. The dream interpretations are taken from
What's in a Dream
by Gustavus Hindman Miller (1901). Harry Graham's poem “Tender-heartedness” (from
Ruthless Rhymes for Heartless Homes
) is quoted by kind permission of the Trustees of Mrs. Virginia Thesiger. I am not conscious of having quoted from any other copyright text, and apologize if I have inadvertently done so. I have tried to be true to the period about which I have written, though I have adapted some things to suit my purpose. I am grateful, also, to the friendly and efficient staff of the North Yorkshire Library Service – especially Ivy Summons, Shena Hugill, and Liz Luxmoore – for their tireless and interested help in finding what were sometimes elusive texts for me during my research. Numerous other people have helped and encouraged me, and I owe particular thanks to Gerard Galloway, and – most of all – Paul Barton.