Mary felt a sudden stab of pain as she looked into Jemima’s blank face. Jemima was just a doll, not a friend. Only children played with dolls, and children had to eat what they were given and keep quiet. Children were passed from place to place; children had to do what grown-ups wanted. She suddenly made up her mind.

“I’m not a child,” she said fiercely. “Not anymore.”

She let Jemima go. As the doll hit the water far below, shock filled Mary. What had she just done? Jemima floated on the surface for a moment. She stared up at Mary one last time, and then the waves dragged her under.

A lump swelled painfully in Mary’s throat, but she swallowed it back. No more tears, she told herself. She lifted her chin, her eyes defiant. She wasn’t going to cry again—not now, not ever.

Crossing her arms, she turned away from the railings, a lock snapping shut on her broken heart.

3

Misselthwaite Manor

When the ship arrived in England, Mary was met by a stern-looking woman with gray hair. She wore a buttoned-up blue woolen overcoat, with just the hint of a scarf at the neck, and had a leather handbag over her arm. She looked Mary up and down, and from the way her forehead crinkled, Mary had a feeling she didn’t approve of what she saw. “My name is Mrs. Medlock,” she announced. “I am Mr. Craven’s housekeeper, and you are to come with me.”

Mary was reminded of a word her father had once used to describe the elderly aunt of a colleague. Formidable, he had called her. Yes, formidable is just what Mrs. Medlock is, thought Mary. But she reminded herself that Mrs. Medlock was just the housekeeper—a servant—and so had to do what the family told her to do.

Remembering her decision not to be a child anymore, Mary met Mrs. Medlock’s gaze. “Very well,” she said coldly.

Head held high, Mary followed Mrs. Medlock to the train that was to take them to Yorkshire. As the whistle went and the train started to puff along the rails, clouds of steam shooting out from its funnel, Mary became aware that Mrs. Medlock was studying her.

“Well, you’re a plain little piece of goods, aren’t you?” Mrs. Medlock said in her Yorkshire accent.