Emmie climbed wearily out of the train, her gas mask bumping against her hip, and the tiresome brown paper parcel clutched in her arms. They had been shut away in the stuffy compartments for hours, and even though they had changed trains at York, they hadn’t had time for anything except a rush to the cloakrooms. Her legs felt stiff, almost like pins and needles, and her dress was clammy, sticking across her back.

The children and the three women stood rather helplessly gazing about the platform, until Miss Dearlove shook herself, and straightened her shoulders. “There’ll be someone to meet us. Into line, come along.” She crouched down and picked up Ruby, who was worn out and swaying on her feet, the bear dangling perilously from her hand.

The train suddenly spluttered, and creaked away with a great heave, leaving them alone at the tiny station. It was unbelievably quiet as the noise of the train faded, even quieter than the backstreet they were used to, where there was always a faint rumble of traffic. Here there was silence – except for a soft jingling of harness, from beyond the tiny station building. The late afternoon sun hung low, and there were bees murmuring over the grassy bank on the other side of the line.

A porter came hurrying up the platform with a trolley, from where he’d been unloading some wooden crates from the baggage car at the head of the train.

“Miss Dearlove? Th’ car’s outside for thee.”

The children gaped at him, confused by his broad Yorkshire accent. Miss Dearlove smiled gratefully, and followed him through the little ticket office, and out to the yard beyond, where a strange mixture of vehicles stood waiting.

A man in a smart, dark uniform with a peaked cap nodded to Miss Dearlove, and then gently wrestled Ruby from her arms, propping her against his shoulder. Ruby was so exhausted, she simply eyed him for a moment, and then thumped her head into his jacket. The man looked at the children thoughtfully. “I reckon we can fit them all in th’ cars, Miss. We brought the cart, for th’ baggage.” He inspected the children’s parcels, then glanced back at the horse-drawn wagon, shook his head and smiled. “Bags won’t fill it, will they?”

Miss Dearlove looked round at the weary line of children behind her, and sighed. “We couldn’t bring very much with us – Miss Sowerby said in the telegram that bedding and such would be provided.”

“Reckon there’ll be enough.” He snorted, and the man standing by the next car laughed. “I dunno. Sleeping nose to tail, tha’ll be.” The same strong accent made his words sound strange, but he was smiling.

The children stared at him, not understanding. Did he mean they’d have to share beds? The man beckoned to Emmie, and pointed into the second car, an enormous cream and black Austin. “Squash up in there, lass. Reckon there’s room for seven or eight of you small ones in th’ back.”

Emmie clambered into the car, and the men lifted the others in after her, piling the little ones on the older children’s laps. Emmie cringed as Tommy, one of the smallest boys, was pushed on to her knee – he was damp, and he smelled. She wasn’t surprised – they’d been on the train all day, after all. She just tugged his coat further round his bottom, and wrinkled her nose.

Emmie peered out of the window round Tommy’s knitted hood as they rolled away, the motion of the car smooth and quick, nothing like the jolting train. The station – Thwaite, it had said on the sign – seemed to be part of a tiny village. The car sped through, and it seemed hardly more than a church, and a few white-painted cottages. But every little house had a garden, bursting out over the fences. It was like nothing Emmie had ever seen before, and for a moment, a tiny, surprising, treacherous moment, she liked it.

The car wound along a narrow tree-lined road, gradually climbing, until the tall hedges opened out into a vast field of brownish-green. Emmie stared, and Tommy let out a squeak of surprise. It was like the park near the Home, but a thousand times over, a great, endless space of low bushes, grey and brown and faintly purple. “What is it?” Tommy whispered.

“I don’t know,” Emmie admitted. “A field? There’s sheep, over there.”

Tommy pressed his nose and his plump little hands against the window. “They’re not fluffy…”

Emmie nodded. She’d never seen a real sheep, but there was a painting on the wall in the sitting room at the Home, and the sheep in it were whiter, and softer-looking. “Perhaps they’re goats then. I don’t know, do I?”

The colours deepened as the sun went down, and Emmie shivered. There was so much space. Sky everywhere. No streets. Even when they went to the park – which was only once a week or so – there were still buildings all around. This openness was frightening, it felt wrong, and it went on and on, without an end that she could see. Where were they going? What sort of place would be in the middle of the emptiness? Emmie gulped as they passed over a tiny stream rushing over rocks. Tommy laughed excitedly, pointing at the water, but Emmie flinched as the car bumped over the little humped bridge.

“Not far now,” the man called back through the glass panel that divided the front and the back seats. “We’re passing over the moor, and there’s the drive up to th’ house. See the trees?”

The dim golden light flickered and turned greenish as they rushed into a tunnel of great trees, looming over the road. Emmie leaned forward to see out at the front. “Here, look. This is where you’re staying.” The car broke out of the tree-lined tunnel, and pulled up in a stone courtyard at the front of a great grey house, shadowy and dim in the evening light.

The children bundled out, and stood huddled by the cars, even the smallest ones gazing silently at the house.

“It’s a palace,” muttered Arthur, and for once, Emmie didn’t sneer at him. She thought maybe he was right. The grey stone walls surrounded the courtyard on three sides. The house wasn’t very tall, and there were no turrets, or towers, but it looked old. The great blocks of dark stone were softened at the edges, and the windows were small and patched into tiny squares – and there were too many of them to count. The low evening sun glittered in the little panes, shining out under spidery trails of creeper.

The cars drew away, moving slowly off around one side, and leaving the children and the three women watching, as a huge wooden door opened in front of them. The light was bright, and for a moment the figure in the doorway showed only black, and Tommy stepped back into Emmie, clutching at her coat. But then the woman hurried down the steps, smiling, and holding out her hands.

“You’re here, at last! Oh, you poor things, you must be exhausted. Welcome to Misselthwaite Manor.”

 

Emmie lay in the high, carved wooden bed, watching the night light burning in its saucer of water, and peering at the room. The night light hardly gave enough light to see by, so it was half-looking, half-remembering, in a strange jumble of the day.

She was tired, but she’d slept in the train, and now she felt oddly restless. Ruby was fast asleep across the room, snuffling into her bear – and that was odd, for a start. Emmie was used to one huge room, with eight girls in it. Although this room would be about the size of the dormitory, if they took all the furniture out.

The candle flame jumped a little, and a creature glimmered in the light for a second: a horse with a thin, arched neck, and a jewelled bridle. The walls were covered in them, pictures made out of fabric, all castles and horses and dogs. Emmie had never seen anything like them before. She had never seen anything like this house. They had been hurried inside, the woman who had welcomed them explaining worriedly that they’d been told they mustn’t show lights because of the new blackout regulations, but she’d thought they might trip over the furniture if she didn’t turn the light on. A maid in uniform shut the door behind them with a slam, and the friendly woman shook Miss Dearlove’s hand, and beamed at Miss Rose and Mrs Evans and the children.

“Mrs Craven?” Miss Dearlove asked, rather uncertainly.

“Oh! Yes, I’m so sorry. I’m Mrs Craven. I wish my husband could be here to welcome you too, but he went to London this morning. You probably passed his train going the other way.” She gave a little laugh, but it sounded odd, as though she didn’t think her joke was that funny. “He’d retired from the Navy when his father died, you see, but now that war is about to be declared, he’s re-enlisting.”

“Craven,” Emmie whispered to Joey, who happened to be standing next to her. He was staring open-mouthed at a suit of armour that was standing up against the stone wall. If the hall hadn’t been full of armour and weapons, it would have looked like a church, it was big enough. “The same name as the Home? Is that why we’re here, you reckon?”

Joey dragged himself away from the armour, and the spears crossed over each other on the wall, and looked down at her in disgust. He was only a year older than she was, but he was a lot taller. “Course it is, stupid. This is the place, isn’t it? Didn’t you ever read that sign on the front of the Home? Founded by Mr Archibald Craven of Misselthwaite Manor, in gratitude for the recovery of his son, Colin? Misselthwaite, that’s what she just said. Besides, I’ve seen her before.” He nodded at the smiling woman, who was now talking to Miss Dearlove and Miss Rose, and pointing at the stairs. They were working out where to put all the children, Emmie thought. The man driving the car must have been teasing them, saying they’d have to sleep nose to tail. Surely a house like this would have enough beds?

“And so’ve you if you weren’t so dim,” Joey poked her in the ribs. “She comes to visit. She’s one of the Board.” The Board came twice a year, and their visits meant shoe-polishing, and even more frantic hair-brushing than usual, and Miss Rose panicking in case someone had made a mistake in their exercise books.

“You might have said,” Emmie muttered, but Joey only rolled his eyes. She hadn’t recognized Mrs Craven at all, but now she decided it might be because she had only seen her in a tailored suit and a smart hat, not an old tweed skirt and a cardigan. Miss Dearlove obviously hadn’t known her straight off, either.

It was very strange, Emmie thought sleepily, to have no idea what would happen tomorrow. She was used to things being always the same. She lay staring towards the wall, hoping to see the horse leap again.

All they had been told was that they were to stay mostly in this part of the house – not that Emmie thought she would ever be able to find her way out of it anyway. After they’d had supper, they had been led back through the huge hall, up a polished wooden staircase, and in and out of corridors, down a few steps here and round a corner. The house was like a rabbit warren: all passages. Emmie had wondered wearily if they might lose Ruby, or one of the other little ones tagging along at the end of the line.

The red-cheeked woman who had shown them to their rooms had smiled at Emmie, and told her that the country air would be good for her, that she was far too thin.

“All bones,” she added, patting her cheek. Emmie scowled. She knew she was too thin. Everyone always said so. She was even more thin because she’d been saving up her food for Lucy. Thinking of the little cat waiting for her on the fire escape only made Emmie scowl harder.

“Take that look off your face, Emmeline,” Miss Dearlove snapped. “Say you’re sorry to Miss Sowerby.”

“Emmeline, there’s a pretty name.” Miss Sowerby seemed to be one of those people it was hard to offend. She just went on smiling, even when Emmie growled her apology. “You’ll have this room, dear.” She looked around it thoughtfully as she drew the curtains closed. “These curtains are good an’ thick; we should be safe for this dratted blackout. Mr Craven went marching round the house last night, trying to see if there was a chink of light showing anywhere, but how do we keep a hundred rooms all covered up? Not that we use all the rooms, o’ course. Most of the second floor is under dust sheets. Now, we’ve put another bed over here for one of th’ smaller ones.” She glanced down at Emmie again, still beaming. “We’ve had no little girls at Misselthwaite for many a year. Mr and Mrs Craven have two boys, I expect you’ll meet Jack tomorrow. He must be about the same age as you.”

Emmie nodded, and didn’t say that she thought she had met him already. She wasn’t sure, of course. But there had been a face peering down at them from a little flight of stairs, as they followed Miss Sowerby through yet another passage. A thin, angry face, with a scowl that Emmie didn’t realize looked a great deal like her own.

The boy had seen Emmie watching, and stuck out his tongue. Everyone else had been so friendly, so sweetly concerned, that his furious face almost made Emmie feel better. She didn’t care if the boy was rude – she could be just as rude back. She glanced round to check for Miss Dearlove, and put her own tongue out, waggling it at him gleefully.

Emmie smiled in the darkness, thinking of the surprise on the boy’s face. Obviously, he hated them being here. Well, she hated being here too, and she didn’t care who knew it.