CHAPTER THREE

MEETING MARTHA

When Mary woke up, the sun was shining. She looked around her room. It had a lot of nice furniture, but it wasn't very cheerful. It was more like an adult's room than a child's. She was surprised to see a young woman in her room who was making a fire in the fireplace. She wore a maid's uniform. Mary looked out the window at the grasslands. The grass was dry and brown, because it was winter. There were no trees or bushes growing on it. All Mary could see was brown, dry grass, going on for miles and miles. "How do you do? I'm Martha. Do you like our moor?" asked the maid suddenly, in a cheerful voice.

"No, I hate it," said Mary.

"That's because you're not used to it," said Martha. "It's not very pretty now, but in spring it will be beautiful."

"So you like the moor?" asked Mary.

"Oh, yes. In spring the grass is green and the birds are singing. The fields are full of flowers and the air smells sweet. I wouldn't live away from the moors, not if you paid me!"

Mary listened to Martha talk. She thought this servant was very strange. In India, the servants never talked to their masters like that, as if the masters were their friends. Indian servants only spoke when spoken to. They were always quiet and obedient. Mary had always hit her Ayi in the face when she was angry. Mary looked at this young English woman. She wondered what Martha would do if Mary hit her. Probably, she would hit her back!

"You are a strange servant," Mary said.

Martha didn't seem upset by this comment. She just laughed. "I know it," she said. "If Mr Craven had a wife, I could never work here. I'm too plain, and I don't speak like an educated lady. But this is a strange house, even though it seems so fancy. Mrs Medlock gave me a job here because she's a friend of my family. She said I couldn't work here, if this house was like other rich people's houses."

"Are you going to be my servant?" asked Mary.

"I'm Mrs Medlock's servant," said Martha firmly. "Just like she's Mr Craven's servant. But I'll clean your room a little, and help you. But you won't need much. You can take care of yourself."

Mary didn't understand what Martha was talking about. "What do you mean? Who's going to dress me?"

Martha stared at her. "What? Can't you dress yourself?"

"No. I never dressed myself in my life. My Ayi always dressed me," said Mary. She didn't like this servant.

"Well," said Martha, "it's time for you to learn! It will be good for you to take care of yourself. I think it's amazing that rich people's children don't grow up to be very stupid. They can't do anything for themselves. Their nurses are always dressing and washing them, just like dolls!"

"It is different in India," said Mary coldly.

"I'm sure it is," said Martha. She didn't seem to know that servants weren't supposed to talk this way. "It's because there are so many black people in India, instead of nice, normal white people. When I heard you were coming from India, I thought you were black too!"

Now Mary was really angry. "What!" she shouted. "You thought I was a black person? How dare you! You daughter of a pig!"

Instead of looking sorry, however, Martha just looked angry. "Who are you calling names?" she said. "A young lady shouldn't talk that way. I've always thought black people must be very nice. I heard that they are very religious. I was hoping to see one. When I came into your room this morning, I walked over to your bed to see you. And there you were. You're not any blacker than I am! You're just very yellow," Martha said. She seemed disappointed that Mary wasn't an Indian.

Mary had never been so angry or embarrassed. "I can't believe you thought I was a native Indian! You know nothing about India! The natives aren't people—they're servants who have to do whatever white people want. You don't know anything!" she shouted.

Suddenly she was feeling confused and alone. She did not understand this strange new country or its customs. She felt terribly lonely, and everyone she knew was dead. She began to cry.

Martha looked upset. "There, there. Don't cry!" she said. "I didn't know you'd be angry. You're right—I don't know anything. You mustn't cry, Miss Mary!" she said gently. Soon Mary stopped crying. She felt a little better. Martha looked very relieved.

"Now, it's time for you to get up. Mrs Medlock told me to bring you your meals into the room next to this. I'll help you with your clothes," she said.

Martha helped Mary get dressed. Martha thought to herself that she had never seen a child like Mary. Mary just stood and waited for Martha to put her clothes on! It was as if she didn't have hands or feet.

"Why don't you put on your shoes?" asked Martha.

"My Ayi did it," said Mary. "It was the custom."

If Martha had been a well-trained maid, for a rich lady, then things would have been different. Martha would have been quiet and obedient to Mary. But Martha was only a poor Yorkshire girl, who had many small brothers and sisters. These children always dressed and fed themselves. So it is understandable that Martha thought Mary was a very strange girl. As for Mary, she had never known a servant who talked as much as Martha. In India, the servants were always quiet. At first Mary was not interested in Martha's talk, but soon she began to listen. Martha was talking about her family.

"Oh! You should see them all," she said. "There are twelve of us, and my father has a hard time making money. It's hard for Mother to find food for everyone. But the children just run and play outside. Mother says the fresh air fattens them up. Perhaps they eat the grass, just like our Dickon's pony."

"Where did he get the pony?" asked Mary.

"He found it when it was a baby. It was alone on the moor; its mother had died. Dickon began to make friends with it. He found it grass to eat. Now, the pony lets him ride on his back. Dickon is a kind boy, and animals like him."

Mary had never had an animal of her own. She had always thought she might like one. She began to feel a little interested in Dickon. This was important, because Mary had never been interested in anyone but herself.

When Mary went into the little sitting room next to the bedroom, she saw that a breakfast was laid out for her. But Mary had always had a very small appetite. She looked at the food without interest.

"I don't want it," she said.

"What!" said Martha. "You don't want your breakfast?"

"No."

"You don't know how good it is," said Martha.

"I don't want it," repeated Mary.

"Hm!" said Martha. "I can't stand to see good food be wasted. I wish my brothers and sisters were here. They would eat everything in two minutes!"

"Why?" asked Mary.

"Why! Because they've never had a full stomach in their lives. They're always hungry," said Martha.

"I don't know what it means, to be hungry," said Mary.

"Well, it would be good for you to learn!" said Martha. "I don't understand people who just stare at good bread and meat. Don't I wish Dickon and Phil and Jane had what's on this table!"

"Why don't you take it to them?" asked Mary.

"It's not mine," said Martha firmly.

Mary drank some tea and ate a little toast. When she had finished, Martha said, "Well, there's nothing for you to do in the house. You should go outside and play."

"Who will go with me?" Mary asked.

"You'll go by yourself," Martha said. "You'll have to play alone, just like my brothers and sisters do. Our Dickon goes off alone by himself and plays for hours. That's how he met his pony. There are wild sheep that know him too. Even if there's little to eat, Dickon always saves a bit of bread to give to his pets."

The mention of Dickon and his animals made Mary decide to go out. She wanted to see if the birds of England were different from those in India. "If you walk around the outside of the house, you'll find the gardens," said Martha. "There are lots of flowers in the summer, but there's nothing growing now," she said. Then she thought for a moment.

"One of the gardens is locked up," she said. "There's a wall around it, just like the other gardens. But there's no door to this garden. No one has been inside it for ten years."

Mary turned and looked at Martha. This was something interesting. "Why?" she asked.

"It was Mr Craven's wife's garden. She loved it. When she died, Mr Craven had the garden shut up. He dug a hole and buried the key. Oh! I hear Mrs Medlock's bell ringing. I must go." Martha hurried away.

(end of section)