Making Friends

hat night, Mary was woken up by the same high-pitched wailing again. She listened, open-eyed in the dark. Was it the wind like Martha had said? Or was it a ghost of one of the soldiers who had died here? Remembering the fear she had felt the night before, she pulled the coverlet over her ears and stayed in bed.

When Mary woke in the morning, she sat up to see Martha kneeling beside her fireplace, arranging a layer of paper on the ashes. A tray with more porridge was on her table.

‘Hello, Martha,’ she said.

‘Miss,’ Martha said coldly.

Mary remembered the noises in the night. ‘Were you here when the soldiers were, Martha? Did you work in the hospital?’

Martha didn’t reply; she just kept laying the fire.

Mary realised that Martha was still upset with her. She wondered how she could get back the friendly Martha from the day before. Climbing out of bed, she knelt beside her. ‘Is there an order to how you put the fire together?’ she asked.

‘Yes, miss,’ said Martha, not looking at her as she started to put coal on the layer of paper.

Mary picked up a piece of coal with her fingers. Its black coating stained her fingers and the dust dropped on to the rug.

‘Oh, miss, please don’t!’ exclaimed Martha, sounding exasperated. ‘You’ll spoil the rug and your dress, and it’ll be me who has to clean both.’

Mary sighed. Helping Martha didn’t seem to be making the maid any friendlier. She gave up, sat back on her heels and changed the subject. ‘Martha. The noises I hear in the night – do dead soldiers haunt this house?’

For a second, Mary was sure she saw a look of alarm in the maid’s eyes. ‘I’m sure I don’t know what you’re talking about. If you hear noises, then just turn over and go back to sleep. That’s the best thing to do.’

Mary was sure Martha knew more than she was admitting. She watched as Martha lit the fire in silence and then went to the door without saying another word.

Anger and unhappiness rushed through Mary at the thought of being left on her own again. ‘I didn’t ask to be here you know!’ she burst out angrily.

Martha looked back. ‘And Mr Craven didn’t ask to take you in, but he did all the same,’ she said calmly but firmly, and then she was gone, shutting the door behind her.

Mary stamped her foot. It seemed like the one person who might have talked to her in this dismal place now didn’t want to. She glared at the closed door, feeling lonelier than she had ever felt in her life.

Later that morning, Mary put on her outdoor boots, a new warm blue coat and matching hat and paid another visit to the kitchen.

‘Mrs Pitcher,’ she said to the cook, ‘you gave me a sandwich yesterday for my luncheon. I need the same meat in my sandwich today.’ She hesitated. ‘Please?’ she added, remembering her manners.

Mrs Pitcher gave her a surprised look and then nodded and took a loaf of bread from the side.

‘What is the meat you put inside the sandwiches?’ Mary asked curiously, watching her.

‘Spam,’ said Mrs Pitcher.

‘Spam?’ echoed Mary, trying out the unfamiliar word.

The cook chuckled. ‘Yes, spam.’ She quickly made the sandwiches. ‘Now go on, away with you,’ she said, shooing her out of the kitchen.

Mary pushed the sandwiches into her leather bag and hurried outside. She had a plan! No one in the house seemed to want to be her friend, but she had a feeling that maybe there was someone – or something – in the garden who would. What she would really have liked to be doing was exploring the upper floor of the house and solving the mystery of the night cries. The strange look Martha had given her that morning when she had mentioned noises in the night had convinced her that something was being kept from her and Mary was determined to find out what it was. But she didn’t dare risk exploring and Mrs Medlock finding her. She wasn’t sure what the housekeeper would do if she found Mary ‘poking about’, but she didn’t want to find out.

I’ll wait until tonight, she thought. When everyone’s asleep.

In the meantime, she was going to concentrate on something else. She hurried to where she had eaten her lunch the day before. Feeling very daring, she unwrapped a sandwich and took out the spam. She placed it in the exact same spot where she had thrown it before. Looking around hopefully, she retreated to the tree stump and sat down to wait. Where was the dog? She’d been sure it would be here and even a dog as a friend would be better than nothing.

She waited and waited.

‘Come on,’ she whispered. ‘Please come.’

She heard a bark and saw that the brown, shaggy dog was standing in the bushes. ‘There you are!’ she said, smiling as it trotted out and gobbled the meat up, watching her all the time.

‘Hello,’ Mary said. She felt strange – she’d never talked to a dog before. But she decided that its eyes looked cleverer than those of many humans she had met. ‘What’s your name then?’

The dog gave a short woof.

Mary felt a flicker of anxiety. ‘Are you diseased?’ There were some dogs in India that had a nasty sickness called rabies. They barked and foamed at the mouth and bit people. But this dog didn’t look like it was dangerous. ‘Well?’

The dog barked again.

‘You see I’ve no idea if that means yes or no,’ Mary told it. ‘Very well. I shall start with a simpler question – are you a girl dog or a boy dog?’

The dog whined hopefully and put its head on one side.

‘Oh, no,’ said Mary, realising what it wanted. ‘I’m saving the other slice for later. We’ll have a play first. Do you think you would like that?’

The dog’s tail wagged a little. Mary smiled. ‘I think you are a girl dog,’ she declared. ‘And I shall call you … Jemima! Come on, Jemima. Let’s play!’ Mary started to run. The dog hesitated for a moment and then raced after her.

It was the first time Mary had run outside since she’d arrived at Misselthwaite. She charged across the muddy ground. The dog bounded behind her, veering to one side and then overtaking her, leading the way down twisting paths that curved through the trees. Mary raced after it, her breath coming in pants as she drew in deep lungfuls of fresh air. It was wonderful to have someone who wanted to be with her! Water and mud splashed up from the puddles and for the first time in ages she felt properly alive. A laugh burst out of her. The dog barked and she barked back. The dog danced round her, barking three times. Mary copied it, spinning round, her face lifted to the sky.

The dog bounded to the bottom of a very high wall that was almost completely hidden by a curtain of creepers and disappeared. Mary stopped in surprise and ran to where it had been. She spotted a small hole under the wall. The dog must have crawled through it. ‘Jemima?’ she called.

Nothing happened. Mary felt a wave of disappointment at losing her friend. She was about to turn to go when suddenly the dog’s head reappeared. It barked as if it was encouraging her to follow.

‘I can’t follow you through there, Jemima,’ said Mary with a grin. ‘That hole’s much too small for me. Is this where you live then?’

The dog whined.

Mary glanced up. The high wall had a thick covering of ivy on top and a tree growing beside it. What’s on the other side? she wondered. Maybe I could climb up and see …

Just then, there was the sound of the bell ringing in the distance and Mrs Medlock’s voice calling faintly, ‘Mary! Mary!’

Oh, bother, thought Mary crossly.

Mrs Medlock’s shouts and bell-ringing grew more insistent.

Mary sighed and looked at the dog. ‘Tomorrow,’ she promised, putting the rest of the sandwich down on the ground for it to eat. ‘I’ll see you then, Jemima. Make sure you come.’

The dog barked and Mary smiled as she turned away. Her heart felt much lighter as she skipped back to the house. She’d made a friend at Misselthwaite at last.