“What was my aunt, Grace, like?” Mary asked curiously.

Martha looked surprised. “Didn’t your mother talk of her at all?”

“No. She never talked about England. Not that I can remember anyway,” said Mary.

“Maybe it pained her too much,” said Martha with a sigh. “She and the mistress, thick as thieves they were. The crying that happened when it was announced that your father was going to be sent to India. . . .” She shook her head. “I’ll never forget it. I don’t know how your mother coped to lose the mistress when she died. It must have half killed her.” She stood up. “Do you need anything else, miss?”

“No,” said Mary, seeing that her porridge was on the table. She smiled. “I can manage now, Martha. Thank you.”

Looking surprised but pleased, Martha left. Mary got herself clothed, choosing a dress that had no buttons at the back, then she sat down to eat her porridge. She thought about everything that Martha had said. She’d never realized her mother and Aunt Grace had been so close. It must have been terribly hard for her mother to leave England. Even more terrible must have been the news that Aunt Grace had died.

The dream she’d had the night before came back into Mary’s head. She knew it wasn’t just a dream—it was a memory too. She could remember waiting on the veranda and the unhappiness that had surged through her when the door had been shut in her face. But for the first time, she wondered if maybe her mother had been unhappy too—grieving for her sister who had died. Thinking that made Mary feel a little differently about her mother.

Mary was still pondering it when she went outside. She’d managed to get some more Spam sandwiches from Cook, and she headed into the gardens. As she walked down a path, she heard a crack behind her. Her heart thumped. Was someone following her?

She slipped behind a huge oak tree and found a space underneath a cavernous rhododendron bush. Hiding under its branches, she watched as Mrs. Medlock came past, looking suspiciously left and right.

Oh, thought Mary with a slight smile, so Mrs. Medlock is on my trail and thinks she is clever enough to spy on me, does she? Well, we shall see about that!

12

Dickon

Mary waited until Mrs. Medlock came back along the path, looking cranky as she retraced her steps. Once she had vanished from sight, Mary emerged from the bush and continued on her way, calling for Jemima.

The dog didn’t appear, but Mary caught sight of a figure in the mist. It was Martha’s brother, Dickon. Anger surged through her. She was sure he was the one who was responsible for setting the trap—for injuring Jemima!

“Dickon? Stop!” she said, marching toward him.

Dickon started to step away.