Misselthwaite

Chapter Nine - 'The Boy Raised by the Moors'

MEDLOCK SCARCELY WORRIES HERSELF WITH ME.

Each morning I am bathed and dressed, fed a light breakfast and urged to find something to occupy my attention for the remainder of the day. In the past few days I have managed to explore each of the paths that lead from the grey fountain, finding many a lush space in which to spend an afternoon, but never my aunt's hidden garden. Disappointment colours me at its evasion, but I find that each morning, when I am attended to by Martha, I am ready to begin the search with renewed fervour.

It is on the seventh day, when I have been at Misselthwaite for a full week, that I once again lay eyes on the pinch-faced housekeeper that brought me here. Medlock looks as crow-like as ever as she appears in the doorway, a black lace collar creeping up her throat. I am startled by her appearance, surprised that she has thought to break away from her private sitting rooms, where Martha had told me she preferred to remain whenever my uncle was away.

I put down the silver spoon I hold, my morning porridge on hold. Martha hurries to my side, smoothing down my skirts and running her hands over the sleeves of my dress. The housekeeper seems satisfied by this show of importance, holding her head higher than before. Her voice is clipped when she says, "You're not nosing about where you aren't wanted?"

I find I have become quite accustomed to Martha and her ever-present warmth, for it takes me a moment to summon up my invisible armour and not let Medlock's approach affect me so. I am not yet used to the way in which she speaks down to me, and every instinct I possess cries out in protest. I want to volley back something smart and cutting, something accusatory of my own, but I know that this exchange will be over more quickly if I simply give her the answers she so very wants to hear. I am quite restless to be once again outside, and though a victory over Medlock would be sweet, I know it will come with consequences.

"No, Mrs. Medlock," I say simply, resolute.

"And you're not preventing young Martha here from performing her other tasks?"

Beside me still, Martha is silent, head bowed. I answer once more, "No, Mrs. Medlock."

Her gaze still roams me, attempting to find a weakness in my armour, but after a long pause she seems suitably satisfied with the results of her brief interrogation. I let out a little breath I didn't realise I was holding. I surmise it could have been much worse.

Her duty done for the day, Medlock nods once at Martha before shuffling down the corridor with an audible clinking of keys and crinkling of layered skirts. Martha herself looks incredibly relieved, smiling weakly and catching a breath of her own.

I finish up what is left of my porridge quickly as the young servant busies herself with the changing of bed linens, listening as she chatters on about her family's cottage on the moors. I learn that she is excited about her upcoming day off and I wonder what it must be like to spend an afternoon baking bread and bottling preserves in a small, moor-battered cottage.

Through the enormous window that dominates the room, lead panes framing the grounds and moors beyond, I see that it is another brilliant summer day. The sky blazes a vibrant blue and the moors rustle with lazy wind. I imagine tumbling about it like Martha's little brothers and sisters, unearthing all the secrets that rest beneath the heather. Perhaps I, too, will have a secret of my very own once I find my aunt's garden.

"Do you know when my uncle will return, Martha?"

"I don't know, Miss. Lord Craven can be away for months at a time - never tellin' anyone when he's to be back. I 'spect he don't know himself."

---

I make the walk from the kitchens with a new ease; finding that my muscles have moved from a mild soreness to a steady strength. I do not know if it is pure imagination or if my eyes indeed have become clearer, but it as if a veil has been lifted whenever I look out over the rolling green expanse of Misselthwaite. There is a sense of purpose within me that has not been there before.