The Corset

That's why Ma took in piecework and flowering from Mrs Metyard: to keep us afloat. Pa always used that term, afloat. And it seemed to me Pa did float - he kept his head above the water and painted his pictures. Beneath was Ma, kicking through dirt and reeds.

I don’t mean to sound ungrateful, miss. Charitable people like yourself saved my life. But I wish they’d thought a bit more about what I was to do with it, once it was safe.

But then I have noted that murderous thoughts seldom trouble the pretty and the fashionable.

But instead I shared the fate of all girls who are poor of pocket: I was tied to my work, like a needle tethered by thread.

I knew, as all children do, that when an adult cries all hope is lost.

Grief is a violent emotion, a sort of acid that eats away at the best parts of us. The bereaved are in agony, yearning for someone to blame, and if they cannot find a culprit, they turn their fury upon themselves.

Existence as a society wife must be akin to standing in a bog. That slow, sinking sensation. I would be dragged down day by day, grow vacuous and preoccupied with frivolity like those around me. I should begin to resemble Papa or - God forbid - Mrs Pearce. At least with David I may strive to be a better person, practical and helpful to my fallen creatures.

I might set at the window in that tower there my chest covered in diamonds, and gaze over the hills, remembering my lost love. A romantic picture, but utterly stupid. I should be bored after an hour.

You'll call me heartless for thinking such thoughts. Maybe I was: a cavity yawned in my ribs, where once I'd felt a heart beat back.

Notoriety is by no means a death sentence in the world of art.