Prologue

It had been a terrible Autumn; something in the air they said. It finished people. Those who were sick, lazy, infirm or wretched. "A bad back end" they said; Missus Edgar had lost two bairns to the cold. Poor wretches, children of the damp, chilled to the bone, deprived of sun light they had a smell and departed with no flourish. Something in the air.

It was late. Eleanor was cold. She clung to her brother's back and pushed her hair out of her eyes. Frances pushed the horse on, down the stony track. A skinny boy of fourteen, he was strong beyond his size and he had told her they would be home for supper. Home was Allotment House, 3 miles up the dale from here.

It was getting dark. It had barely gotten light for weeks. Something in the air. It was a Godless vale she thought. Surely, even He could not make them out through this gloom. Even summer's maiden fair had neglected them this year; month upon month of misty dampness that clung to everything living or not.

The men had come the summer before last. Preachers, loud and smart, bringing their message to the people. They ventured in all weathers - the tempestuous and glorious, through the dreary fells with boots that carried them over bog and torrent; and they set up below glorious fanning trees and gathered the people to listen to them. They came on pay day when the men and women were cheery and they spoke of God and salvation.  

The river loomed. Loud and grey. Cold. The ford was gone. Frances brought the horse to a halt.
Go round" Eleanor shouted
Nor, it's two more miles; I've been through in worse than this"
Frances, you will get us soaked" she implored

The boy was stubborn. Like his father everyone said. One of the men had sought him. He had told Frances of the ways of Truth and Righteousness; how willingness ought overcome willfulness. The boy had not understood. He had either not understood or been unable to listen. The men did not seem to understand childhood she thought.