Not sure if I’ve posted this here before but if I have, here it is again

The MC of my unfinished novel travelled to Yorkshire in the early 19^th Century and this is something that happened to him there.

The story is mostly told from his perspective but this episode focusses on Emily  Jane and her feelings.

Hope you like it.  It still needs a bit of tinkering but it ain’t gonna get it!

She felt so alone. She was a stranger in a familiar land.

The physical and emotional detachment of her father, spending all day as he did, cloistered away in his study, hating the town that he lived in, bruised her soul. The antiquated morality of her aunt, clattering around the slate floors of the house in her wooden clogs, hating the house she lived in,  offended her sensibilities. The bullying and jealousies of her elder sister intruding into her privacy, hating her creativity  made her bile rise. The memory of the kindnesses of her beloved, departed sister  and the vague, distant feeling of being loved as a baby by her adored but long since dead, mother kept her soul alive. Only the support of her brother, limited as it was by his depression and drinking kept her from going mad.

 She spent much of her time when not writing poems, cleaning and tidying the house; the family noting her fervour as a cleaner but not noticing her attempts to clean away the anger and ill feeling that blighted the building.

Only when out walking over  the moors stretching out from behind the house into obscurity could she feel the freedom of being;  there was a connection between herself and the bleak land.It did not judge, it accepted.

He felt so alone. He was a stranger in a strange land.

He had journeyed to the north of the country in his attempts  get away from the sins he had committed in the south. The physical and emotional detachment he felt, spending all day as he had, sheltered away in his self. Hating the god who treated him with disdain, bruised his soul, the old fashioned morality of his church, stamping  around the slate floors of his soul, making demands that he could not fulfil,  offended his sensibilities. The bullying and jealousies of his inner voice, intruding into his privacy, hating his creativity  made his bile rise. The memory of the kindnesses of his beloved, departed Veronica  and the vague,distant feeling of loving Lady Caroline, his adored, but long since dead, friend, kept his soul alive. Now, there was no-one to support him and stop him descending further and further into melancholy…

 He spent much of his time trying to sort out his mind ; noting his fervour as a thinker but not noticing his attempts to clean away the anger and ill feeling that blighted his life. Only when out wandering into the emptiness  that stretched out from his soul could he feel the freedom of being.

When his travels reached Yorkshire he made his way up onto the moors, as far away from people that he could reach,but even in that isolated place he could smell on the wind the smoke from the factories in the cities, miles distant. 

He took up residence an abandoned house that he found  atop a windswept hill,   When not on a nightime ramble hewould sit on a high backed settle in front of a fire that he made by burning old furniture and even floorboards from some of the further rooms of the house, there being no peat or wood on the nearby moors to use. He would sit with his blanket wrapped around him, fervently trying not to think about his past or indeed anything and to to draw some warmth into his body from the fire During the passing of each day he would look out across the moors, trying to see any signs of life beit bird or animal. he felt that the bleak house and even bleaker landscape,  if not actually accepting  him did not reject him either  and he felt he could be at one with the Spirits of this Land, if there were indeed any spirits inhabiting this wilderness.

There was rarely anything moving to see but he noticed in the distance that there in rain and shine was a young woman walking, almost skipping through the desolation, he could imagine that she were singing as she moved; but what sort of song could she be singing?

When their paths did meet, although he and she were both enjoying their solitude they walked together for a distance. .   They did not speak but both felt a togetherness even in their silence.

They would sometimes meet on subsequent days and when they did she would walk with him, he finding a comfort in her presence that was missing in his life and she finding a companionship with him that was missing in hers.

At the end of one particular walk she asked him if he would meet her early the next day to watch the sun rise and spend to the day with her. He agreed.

On her way to meet him the next day  she walked in the darkness before the sunrise, almost dancing in her happiness, thinking about the future; she joined him at the foot of a small hill. As they were climbing to the top she reached out and held his hand and they walked up the hill so encoupled.

At the top of the hill, whose eastern side was a scree cliff, they stood side by side waiting for the Sun to rise.

She reached an arm around him and pulled him closer.   

she heard an exultation of skylarks rise from the heathland about them and as the birds soared upwards filling the air with their song, a charm that would summon the dawn and  shower the countryside  beneath with the bird’s’ blithe spirit she felt her heart fill with love  and sing a joyful song as  it too soared  with the larks into the heavens.

 A shaft of light from the sun, as yet still below the horizon, illumined some gossamer clouds high in the sky and in them she could see the wings of the angel of love and peace blessing this new day.

As he felt her arm enfolding him he looked down the sheer cliff and sensed a feeling as if he were looking down into a deep pit and that if he were not careful he would  fall into and be swallowed up forever.

They spent the morning together watching the moorland life and she shyly sharing with him some poetry that she had written, At midday she kissed him and, raising her skirt, offered her body to him. She felt that if she took him  inside her she could hold him there and never have to feel so alone again.

As their naked flesh met and he slowly entered her they rolled togetherbut before she could feel him climax inside her the spell was shattered. The whistling of a shepherd in the near distance calling to his dogs, and of the bleating of sheep being herded to Haworth to be fleeced.

Emily and the man quickly dressed  and although they did pass the afternoon  in each other’s company something was lost, something, it seemed,  had been stolen away.

As the sun began to set he saw, away in the distance a grey cloud rising that threatened a storm before too long that he felt would drown him. As they said farewell that evening he agreed to meet her the next morning but he knew he had to  get away from her.

He watched her from behind some rocks the next day as she went, almost skipping in her joy , to meet him, her new hero and saviour.  No birds sang to the dawn that day but the harsh cry of Carrion Crows from the trees around the graveyard greeted her has she returned to the Parsonage and her sister.