“What’s that for a greeting?” said the maid with a smile.

Mary blinked at her impudence.

“You’ll call me Martha. You’re Mary, I hear,” the maid went on. After putting the tray down, she went over to the fireplace.

Mary stared at her. She was used to Indian servants who never spoke unless they were spoken to. They would answer her if she asked a question, but otherwise they bowed and stayed silent.

Martha began to rake out the cinders. “There’s a fine chill in the air today, isn’t there?” she went on chattily as she spread paper on top of the ash. “But spring is on its way. That’s what my brother, Dickon, says. He’s always out on the moors and knows more about nature and animals than anyone.”

Mary frowned. She wasn’t sure she liked this talkative servant. “I was cold in the night,” she said accusingly. “No one heard when I called.”

“I’m guessing that’s because we were all in our beds too,” the maid said. “There’s a second blanket under your bed if you’re cold tonight.”

“And I heard noises too,” Mary went on. “Wailing, screaming.”

“No,” Martha said firmly, adding a layer of coal to the fire. “You heard the wind, that’s all. It blows right bad around the house.”

Mary considered this. Maybe Martha was right and she’d gotten scared over nothing. Not wanting to seem foolish, she changed the subject.

“Well, I needed someone. You should sleep outside my room. My ayah did, and she would always come if I called her.”

To her astonishment, Martha just raised her eyebrows. “Well, whoever Ayah is, she’s sure as not here, is she?” she said, lighting the fire. “And I won’t be sleeping outside your room tonight or any other night. I’ll be sleeping in my own bed, thank you very much.”

“But aren’t you going to be my servant?” said Mary, surprised.

“Your servant?” Martha’s smile widened. “No, girl. I’m just here to check the fire’s lit, the room’s shipshape, and you’ve food in you. Nothing more. I’ve got countless other jobs to do around the house. Now eat your porridge. It’s getting cold.”

Mary inspected the porridge. It was lumpy and had a skin forming on top of it. She didn’t like the look of it at all. “I don’t eat porridge,” she informed Martha, lifting her chin. “For my breakfast, I like bacon and eggs.” She waited for Martha to take the tray away and fetch her something else, but Martha just grinned.

“I like them too but you’ve got porridge. Now come on, time to get yourself dressed,” Martha said, opening the wardrobe. Mary saw it was filled with clothes for her. Martha handed her a dress, some undergarments, stockings, and a cardigan.