The coach pulled by four greys rattled along the tracks of Bodmin Moor, taking me ever nearer to my destination of Ravensmount near the Lizard in Cornwall. I looked at my maid, Tilly, and her head lolled on the glass window, her pink lace bonnet askew on her dark ringlets, her chest rising and falling as she slept. At least she could sleep I mused, whereas I had hardly slept since I received my friend, Amelia’s, letter some four weeks ago. I could hear Amelia’s voice, ‘Sara, I am to be married!’ she had said last September, her words followed by her gay laughter, ‘But I am to live in Cornwall,’ she said quietly, her final words to me being, ‘I am deliriously happy.’ Until four weeks ago I had not heard from her in spite of my having written to her frequently at Ravensmount, nor had she told me of Tobias Tremaine, the man she had married, except to say that he was devilishly handsome and was the master of his home Ravensmount in Cornwall. As the never ending moor passed slowly by the window and grey skies brooded over us, our only companion was a stout middle-aged woman who snored incessantly irritating me some-what.
