Carter Joe drives away. He was kind, and talked to me about his pretty granddaughter.
I must not cry, must I?
Carter Joe left me by the front door, with its grand steps, and I am afraid I must walk up them and lift that huge brass knocker. But a girl not much older than me comes crunching across the gravel, and summons me with a wave of her arm. I am to follow her.
The kitchen is smaller than Cook’s – but this is Cook, too, a tiny woman with a face all wrinkled up like an apple saved till spring. She takes my face between her hands and kisses me on the forehead. She calls: a tall thin lady appears.
This must be her ladyship. I curtsy.
The thin lady laughs. ‘I am Mrs Cox, the housekeeper, child. Ooh, your poor hands are so cold. Come to the fire and Cook will find you some hot milk.’ She wants me to sit down! ‘And you will need a box for those treasures.’ She points to the package. ‘What’s inside?’
I kept it clasped to my chest the whole journey. I can hardly uncurl my hands. At last I can take off the string and the brown paper. There are four things, more than I have ever had in my life. I show her: a Bible; a Prayer Book; a book with marbled covers and nothing inside; a bundle of pencils, tied with more string.
She nods solemnly, but her eyes are still kind. ‘Put everything in your rush basket so you can carry it upstairs to your room.’ My room? My own room. But I have learned not to hope. ‘But hot milk first. And yes, one of Cook’s special cakes. Now, I have promised Mrs Baird I will teach you everything I know about housekeeping,’ she says. ‘This is not as large an establishment as the one you are used to, but the same principles apply whatever the house.’