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A few days later, Mary found an opportunity to ask Martha a few carefully constructed questions, hoping to discover something about the forgotten room and its former occupant, Amelia. The doll, which she had decided to name Amelia after its original owner, sat in her window seat. She smiled at the little porcelain face, now washed, as she dressed. Mary sat down at the small table by the hearth as Martha was setting out the breakfast dishes.
“Martha, do you know about any children who have lived here before?” Mary asked, as she put on her shoes and stockings.
“Children? I can’t say as I’ve ‘eard anythin’. Are tha’ tired of Colin and Dickon?” Martha teased, sweeping the cinders of the night before into a neat pile.
“Never!” gasped Mary. “I just thought I should know more about the people I’m related to. I did find the doll here, and it just made me wonder.”
“Aye, that’s true ‘nough. It’s a grand idea, Miss Mary, to be lookin’ into tha’s relations. Could be Mrs. Medlock knowed a bit about the family as she ‘as worked ‘ere so long.”
“Could you ask her for me?” Mary asked, adding cream to her steaming porridge.
“Aye, I could,” Martha happily replied as she placed wood for the fire.
“Thank you, Martha.” Mary tucked a large piece of buttered biscuit into her mouth and chewed thoughtfully.
“Anythin’ for you, Miss. Mary. Do you want I should ask about anyone in particular, like grandparents, or just children?” Martha asked.
“Well,” Mary pondered a moment if she should reveal the name she had found on the quilt. After a quick thought, she could see no reason not to. How was Martha to know where she came across the name? Mary could have seen it anywhere. “How about the name Amelia.”
“Like that doll tha’ found?” Martha asked curiously.
Mary began to worry she had given too much away.
“I saw the name in the room where I found the doll,” Mary calmly replied.
“Eh! I see. Tha’ thought it might be the doll’s name.” Martha nodded understanding.
“Or the name of the doll’s owner.” Mary said. “I just began to wonder about a little girl like me living here, and then I realized that in six hundred years, there has to have been many little girls who have lived here.”
“Aye, that’s true enough. Little boys, too.” Martha smiled as Mary finished the last of her breakfast. “I’ll ask straight away, but now you should be off to your lessons.” Martha picked up the tray of dishes and followed Mary out of the room. “’Ave a good day of learnin’, Miss Mary,” Martha called cheerily, heading down the hall toward the kitchens.
Mary waved and hurried off to the library. Miss Edmonds and Colin were already there, but Mary was surprised to see Mrs. Medlock as well.
“Mary! Mrs. Medlock has some important news for us, but she wouldn’t tell us until you had arrived,” Colin said, his face a mixture of annoyance and curiosity.
“Mary, there you are. You really should not be late for lessons in your own home.” Mrs. Medlock’s familiar frown greeted her.
“I’m usually early, but I had to ask Martha something this morning,” Mary replied, taking her seat at the large oak table where lessons were conducted. “Are you here to watch us this morning?” Mary asked Mrs. Medlock, thinking that her Uncle might want his trusted servant to give a report.
“No. I am here to tell you we are going out today,” Mrs. Medlock replied.
“Out?” Colin asked. “Out where? To the gardens?”
“Lord Craven needs to go into Thwaite Village and thought it would be a nice diversion for all of you to go along, including Miss Edmonds.” Mrs. Medlock paused in her explanation as Colin let out a whoop of joy.
“We get to go to the village! I’m going to get my money I’ve been saving and buy something at a shop there!” Colin made haste to leave, but stopped when Mrs. Medlock loudly cleared her throat.
“Master Colin, I was not finished.” She waited a moment for Colin to turn around and pay attention. “We are going to stop by the Sowerby cottage on the way home and visit with Susan and her children,” she finished in one long breath.
“Dickon’s mother and family!” Mary cried happily. “I’ve never been to their cottage before, although we have talked about it so many times. Oh, how wonderful this will be!” Mary was now just as excited as Colin. “I will get my money also, to buy the children some candy,” Mary said. “It’s the least I can do after Mrs. Sowerby was so nice and bought me a jump rope right after I got here, and then came to visit us in the garden.”
Mary and Colin were both very fond of Susan Sowerby. She was a kind, motherly woman who had quiet wisdom and warmth that she gave freely to the lonely children. As a mother of twelve, she had enough experience with children to know all about them and their ways.
“Now,” Mrs. Medlock continued. “Go get your things and be at the carriage in five minutes.” With a sharp look at everyone, including Miss Edmonds, Mrs. Medlock swiftly departed, her skirts swishing behind her.
In less time than it takes to sneeze, the library was empty. Mary practically ran to her room. Only dignity, and Mrs. Medlock just ahead of her, kept Mary from speeding away like a breeze. Colin, however, did run to his room. As a result, he was first to the carriage and already hopping with impatience when the others arrived. Miss Edmonds arrived just after Mary. She had her head tilted toward the bright sky, smiling slightly. The sun was warm on her face, the breeze was light and friendly like a small, cheerful spirit gently tugging at her bonnet strings. The children had quickly seated themselves inside the carriage. Mary had been in the carriage only a few times, and she always remembered the night she arrived at Misselthwaite, and the long ride with Mrs. Medlock across the dark moor. It seemed like a lifetime ago, now. Miss Edmonds was just setting her foot on the carriage step when Lord Craven came down the front staircase.
“Miss Edmonds, please allow me to help you.” With a polite but reserved nod, he took Miss Edmond’s hand to steady her.
“Thank you, Lord Craven.” Miss Edmonds smiled at him and lifted herself gracefully into the vehicle.
Archibald Craven waited until she had settled herself, and then he joined them. Mary noticed he was carrying the cane with the golden griffin.
“That’s a very fine cane, Uncle Craven,” Mary said, as the carriage jolted into action.
“Thank you, Mary. I got it in Madrid on my last journey,” he replied. “The griffin is part of my family crest.”
“It is?” Colin asked in surprise. “I didn't know that.”
“That means it is our crest too, doesn’t it?” Mary asked. “I mean Colin and myself, because we are related.”
“Indeed, it is,” Archibald Craven replied. “And the family motto, ‘strong in mind and spirit’ are words we can all hope to live up to.”
“Those are very fine sentiments,” Miss Edmonds said. “Much better than my family motto.” She sighed.
“What is yours?” asked Colin.
“’Always to conquer and survive,’” Jane Edmonds replied. “I don’t think anyone in my family has conquered anything, but we do survive, I suppose.”
At this moment they passed over a little bridge under which ran a small but swift river. It rushed through trailing grass and over smooth rocks with a loud burbling noise. Except for the bumping and rocking motions of the carriage, the wide expanse of the moor made it feel as if they were not moving at all. It was like being surrounded by a wide ocean of land.
“What are you going to get in the village, Colin?” Mary asked.
“I don’t know yet. What about you?”
“I’m going to get some candies for the Sowerby children, and I thought maybe some more seeds for the garden,” she replied.
“More seeds?” Miss Edmonds laughed. “Isn’t the garden full enough? All those flowers and roses, a person can’t take it all in at once.”
“That’s why you come back to a garden, to see things you never saw before. A garden always changes; that’s the magic of gardens,” Mary explained.
Miss Edmonds chuckled and shook her head in surrender.
“You’re right, Mary. Gardens should be full and magical. They should be so full of color and life that you fall over with delight when you enter.”
At this, Archibald Craven laughed. It was a smooth, deep chuckle. Colin and Mary knew he did not often laugh. They watched him as the lines in his forehead grew softer, and threatened to disappear for a moment. His dark eyes lost their sad depth for a brief time as his laughter moved upward to warm them.
“Well said, Miss Edmonds,” he said. “That is just as a garden should be, overwhelming with pleasure.”
“Thank you. I miss my garden at home quite miserably sometimes.” she replied, almost to herself. “I do hope it doesn’t go all to seed before I can return to it.”
“Are you homesick, Miss Edmonds?” Mary asked.
“Sometimes a little bit. However, I am getting quite fond of Misselthwaite Manor.”
“I know how it is to miss your home and what is familiar,” Mary said. “When I left India to come here, I thought it was horrid.”
“It must have been a big adjustment for you. England is not at all like India,” Miss Edmonds replied, hoping to encourage the girl into speaking about her past. “At least that’s what I’ve heard. I’ve never been there myself.”
“It is very different.” Mary agreed. “It is hot and tiresome. I like it here much better.” Mary crossed her hands in her lap, and looked steadily out the carriage’s window. It was clear that was all she had to say on the subject.
