The Arrival of Missives by Aliya Whiteley

fight at all.
    Then she looks away and I see the pretence fall, and I know she is hiding all her thoughts and feelings in order to pander to him. He is an enormous tyrant baby to whom she will be forever bound.
    But the story goes that she wanted him above all others, that she defied her own parents to have him. I can't help but despise her for this; she should have known better, even if she was in love. It seems love does not always guarantee happiness. In point of fact, my love for Mr Tiller has yet to bring me any happiness at all, and we are only in the early stages of our relationship, which hardly bodes well. If only love could be controlled; I would switch it off and pack it away for a more sensible use on a different occasion.
    *
    'Here,' says Daniel. He is as good as his word, and has taken his father's horse and cart. We meet at the place where the field adjoins the road, and I clamber over the stile, and climb up beside him. He looks so very nervous; does he see the same fears in my face?
    'Let's go,' I say, breathless, and he clicks his tongue and shakes the reins, and the journey to Taunton has begun.
    The great temptation upon me, immediately, is to blurt out that Mr Tiller has gone mad, but I remember that I have decided against it. It would certainly help to have a confidant in such matters, though. Instead I say, 'Thank you for this.'
    'You should have your chance,' he says.
    'So should we all. Have a chance at our dreams.'
    He does not reply. All the lightness has gone out of him. Could we really have kissed? It seems like a moment that happened between two different people.
    I think about what I observed between my mother and father this morning, and I say, 'You will not believe what I overheard in the village yesterday.' I make up some tale about the Braddicks falling out, I keep my voice sweet and clear, and slowly charm him into laughter even though it gives me no time to myself to think about what I will say in my meeting.
    The miles pass. The road widens and smoothes to a well-worn path.
    When we reach Taunton I see the main street, the market building, the houses, and the lines of the train tracks. It would be possible to live in Taunton and never be recognised once, I think. Or to board a train and travel to some place where nothing would be familiar – where every building blazes with electric light, and cars are as numerous as people.
    I would be lost in a moment, but Daniel knows where we are, and where we must go. He clicks his tongue, and the horse travels onwards as I stare about in wonder, and imagine a future where I belong here.
    *
    'Miss Fearn, please,' says the man. He wears a suit and a blue bow tie, and has a greying beard, trimmed to the loose contours of his face and neck. He is exactly how I have always pictured venerable academics.
    I stand and smooth my skirt. I wish I could have dressed more smartly; I look dowdy compared to the other girls, with their fine hats and bags, and shoes in the latest style. They must all come from good families. I pray these outward signs of wealth do not matter. Surely these men would not make judgements on such grounds. The only thing that matters about the presence of these other girls is that it reminds me how big the world is, and how much competition there is for the best opportunities.
    I am shaking in my muddy boots when I follow the venerable academic into the room appointed for the meeting. There are dark wooden panels on the wall, and the floor is polished parquet, making my footsteps so loud that I wince with each step. And there are many steps to take; this is a hall, long and empty, apart from the table at the far end where the academic takes his seat, the last in a row of three. His two colleagues look much like him in attitude. They sit in their equidistant chairs, all facing me, all showing no sign of welcome or interest. I am just one of many girls to them.
    I reach their table, and hesitate. What should happen next? Do I introduce