Mrs. Medlock went on. “He’s suffered enough, poor man. And now to see you, looking the way you do . . . No.” She shook her head as if that would be too much. “A shadow, that’s what you’ll have to be at Misselthwaite, girl. Just a shadow.”

Mary had no idea why the way she looked might upset her uncle, but before she could ask, Mrs. Medlock was already leading the way up the stone steps to the iron-bound oak front door. Mary followed her into the huge entrance hall. Portraits of stern-looking ladies and men frowned down from the walls, and a wide central staircase led up to a landing with a huge window. It couldn’t have been more unlike the bright, airy villa where she had lived in India.

“First things first,” said Mrs. Medlock, marching over to a brass light switch on the wall. “We’re fully electric.” She pulled the switch down. The huge glass chandelier in the center of the hall lit up briefly, but then there was a fizzling sound and the lights went out again. Mrs. Medlock raised her eyebrows. “But that doesn’t mean it always works. So, if you’re needing the facilities in the night, take a lamp. Second, the master is a widower and on his own. He has promised you will have someone to look after you soon enough, but in the meantime don’t you be expecting there’ll be people to talk to you because there won’t.”

Standing in the cavernous hall, Mary refused to be daunted. She lifted her chin. “I need no entertaining. I am not a child.”

She felt a stab of satisfaction as she saw the housekeeper blink in surprise. Mrs. Medlock turned and led the way up the grand staircase. On the first landing the staircase split, heading off in opposite directions. Mary followed her down a long, gloomy corridor.

“This house is six hundred years old,” said Mrs. Medlock as the corridor twisted and turned past endless closed doors. “There are near a hundred rooms. You’ll be told which ones you can go into and those you’re to keep out of, but until then you’re to stick to your rooms and your rooms only. Is that understood?” Mary nodded. “You may play in the grounds outside, but no exploring the house.” Mrs. Medlock gave her a warning look. “No poking about.”

Mary met her gaze. “I assure you, Mrs. Medlock, that I have no interest in ‘poking about.’”

“Hmm,” Mrs. Medlock sniffed and stopped beside a door. “This is you,” she said, opening a door to a bedroom. Mary went inside, and Mrs. Medlock quickly shut the door behind her. She heard the housekeeper walking away, her boots tapping on the floorboards.