The Standing Stone on the Moor
Yorkshire, 1845.
Folklore whispers that they used to burn witches at the standing stone on the moor. When the wind is easterly, it wails a strange lament. History declares it was placed as a marker, visible for miles—a signpost for the lost, directing them towards home.
Forced from their homeland by the potato famine, a group of itinerant Irish refugees sets up camp by the stone. They are met with suspicion by the locals, branded as ‘thieves and ne’er-do-wells.’ Only Beth Harlish takes pity on them, and finds herself instantly attracted to Ruairi, their charismatic leader.
Beth is the steward of nearby manor Tall Chimneys—a thankless task as the owners never visit. An educated young woman, Beth feels restless, like she doesn’t belong. But somehow ‘home’—the old house, the moor and the standing stone—exerts an uncanny magnetism. Thus Ruairi’s great sacrifice—deserting his beloved Irish homestead to save his family—resonates strongly with her.
Could she leave her home to be with him? Will he even ask her to?
As she struggles with her feelings, things take a sinister turn. The peaceable village is threatened by shrouded men crossing the moor at night, smuggling contraband from the coast. Worse, the exotic dancing of a sultry-eyed Irishwoman has local men in a feverish grip. Their womenfolk begin to mutter about spells and witchcraft. And burning.
The Irish refugees must move on, and quickly. Will Beth choose an itinerant life with Ruairi? Or will the power of ‘home’ be too strong?
Introducing Beth Harlish
The main character in The Standing Stone on the Moor is Beth Harlish.
Beth is one of four siblings born of humble parents, Tom and Sally, a gamekeeper and a housemaid. By luck, they secured a position as stewards of Tall Chimneys, a remote manor in Yorkshire owned by the Talbot family.
When Jocelyn Talbot was sent to Tall Chimneys to escape the consequences of a scandal, Tom, Sally and their growing family found themselves part of an unusual menage, as Jocelyn demolished the traditional divide between mistress and servant brick by brick. Jocelyn was lonely, confused and vulnerable, but found with the Harlish family and other members of her skeleton staff that there could be friendship and even family. The house began to feel less like a prison to her, and more like a home. You can read more of this in The House in the Hollow which is, for now, the first instalment in the Talbot saga.
Twenty-five years on, and the manor is deserted once more, but Tom and Sally’s two youngest children, Frank and Beth, have taken on the mantle of its stewardship. All the Harlish children have been educated beyond their natural sphere by the philanthropy of Jocelyn, now married, wealthy and well-settled in life. For Frank, schooling was a distraction from the landscape and wild creatures that he loves to nurture, but for Beth it was a portal into a wider world, one she had planned to explore before her mother’s death forced a return to Tall Chimneys. This situation leaves her in a unique and irregular situation, one which feeds from and into the overarching theme of the book, which is displacement.
Beth Harlish was an anomaly. She was low-born but well-educated. Her manners and speech were refined but she was comparatively poor, having only the stipend paid out by the Talbots to support her. She must work, and that work was not of any trivial kind—a house as large as Tall Chimneys did not run itself even when there was no family at home. Beth was ladylike but not a lady. Her superior accomplishments meant that the cottagers and farmers’ wives who should have been her natural associates were wary of her, and yet few of the more elevated families in the district would notice her. Her conversation was good, and she could read aloud, play the pianoforte and draw quite well, but her wardrobe was sadly lacking, and of course she could by no means return any hospitality that was meted out to her.
The sense that Beth is two people, or at least one person with a foot in two worlds, is illustrated by the fact that she is Betsey to some—Frank and the ordinary village folk—and Beth to others such as the vicar and the more genteel of the village residents. This dichotomy was interesting and challenging to write, as well as her enduring hope and aspiration for some kind of escape, which runs parallel to her sense of entrapment and drudgery within her everyday life. She is conflicted on every level; about Tall Chimneys, about her brother, about Ruairi and about herself.
Then a group of Irish people arrives, fleeing—displaced from—their own country by famine, bringing a breath of fresh air with their colourful culture, music and dancing. And bringing Ruairi, with whom Beth feels an immediate affinity.
And here is another of Beth’s qualities that I really admire. She has a natural empathy with people, a sort of light within her that shines through. She befriends old and young, and people of every degree.
Ruairi says, ‘There is a star in you, Betsey. A rare star. You shine.’
Beth is attracted by Ruairi but she is no fool; she can see that he is a charmer, an accomplished womaniser, and although he sends lots of signals her way she isn’t sure she can trust him. That’s another of the qualities about Beth that I really admire. She is cautious and savvy about human nature; her time at school, her reading and education give her a wiser understanding. Where other, greener village girls fall for Ruairi’s twinkling eyes and flattering shpiel, Beth holds back.
Frank isn’t so circumspect and soon falls head over heel in love with Aoife, Ruairi’s exotic, alluring sister, and while Beth doesn’t trust her either, the connection entangles her more firmly with the Irish people.
I constructed the story to have three set-piece social events at which Beth could shine as a gentlewoman. These were a joy to write, and part of that joy was the opportunity to place Beth into what I feel is her natural milieu. Of course, things go wrong beyond even Beth’s ability to control them, but her stoicism is admirable, and a transferable skill, as the book also places Beth in dangerous situations as she faces a blizzard, a confrontation with the mounted guard and a riotous mob. She has courage and backbone; she is a heroine in its true sense—a female hero— although there comes a point when this quality almost fails her.
Beth was so weary—as well as hungry and thirsty and also in a state of shocked incongruity—that she hardly noticed the cold or her tired legs, aching feet or empty stomach. She trudged on, her mind full of the past twenty-four hours—of her foolishness and pride and what it had cost her. She thought also of the future, though this was a blank to her, a wall of mist she could not penetrate.
She was at a loss, without a plan of any kind, without destination, without a friend to whom she could turn. Without hope.
She is no paragon. She makes mistakes, and occasionally the passion, which is part and parcel of her nature, escapes her control.
The sun slipped below the horizon and the conflagration on the moor was extinguished, but the inferno between the two of them only intensified. Beth thought, Burn me! Burn me! Render me to cinders!
Writing Beth’s story was a challenge because I had already, in a previous book, dictated what her future would hold. Usually, I allow the characters to work out their own fates. I don’t impose endings on them that they do not naturally tend towards. Resolving the essential conflict in Beth’s life—who, really, is she? And where, rightly, does she belong?—had to come in a form that dodged the usual algorithm but that still worked.
Did I succeed? Ah! That’s for you to judge.
Thank you hosting me. I hope your readers enjoy reading about Beth.
ReplyDeleteYou're most welcome, Allie. I'm sure they will enjoy Beth's story.
DeleteCathie xx