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  As we walked, I was treated to a monologue about Juliana. Juliana’s dancing, Juliana’s wardrobe, Juliana’s embroidery skills, Juliana’s tapestry designs, Juliana’s artistic talent, Juliana’s musical ear (which I wanted to box) and more and more of her favourite subject – Juliana. Not once did she ask about me.

  A surprise awaited me at the supper table. Juliana’s brother, Godfrey, a boy of about eleven, joined us. He is the most delightful child – his face is open and fresh, and when he smiles, his eyes do, too. And he smiles often.

  Lady Anne and Juliana kept the conversation going – non-stop. Sir Roger applied himself to his wine and his plate, and seldom spoke. Few words were addressed to me, and I found myself trying to smother my yawns. Once I had to clench my teeth really hard to stop my mouth opening wide, and I know my top lip curled as if I smelled a nasty smell. I glanced up. Godfrey was watching me, and he gave me a wicked little smile. I shall like Godfrey.

  Once supper was over, Sir Roger spoke at last. “Well, cousin Susannah, your maid will have prepared your new home, so I will call a man to light your way. You will be pleased to take your dog, no doubt.”

  “Dog?” said Godfrey, looking from me to his father and back again. “You have a dog? Really?”

  “She does indeed,” said Juliana. “And it will stay at Keeper’s Cottage.”

  Godfrey stared. “Cousin Susannah’s going to live in Keeper’s Cottage?”

  Lady Anne said firmly, “She is. It is her choice.”

  Godfrey looked at me with respect. “Zooks!” he said, and was rewarded with a cuff on the side of the head for his language.

  As they bade me goodnight, Lady Anne said, “If you are bothered by …by anything at Keeper’s Cottage, you will tell me, won’t you? You do not need to stay there.”

  I promised I would, and reassured her that I would be fine.

  And so here I sit at the octagonal table. And I look out and wonder, how does my brother fare? How long will it be until we meet again? I pray that I will have the patience to wait, for I know it may be years, and I am not the most patient of girls.

  February 10th

  What a night! I began to think Bid must be completely mad!

  I was fast asleep in my large, very comfortable bed, when she burst in, clutching a lit candle stump, and terrifying both me and Jack.

  “Mistress, please let me sleep along o’ you.”

  “Bid, whatever is the matter?” I struggled to collect my wits.

  “I’ll curl up on the floor, I will, you won’t know I’m here!”

  I wasn’t going to let her curl up anywhere until I’d found out what was wrong.

  “I’m scared I might see the keeper,” she blubbered.

  “What keeper?”

  “Him! The keeper as lived here. This be Keeper’s Cottage.”

  I couldn’t understand a word she said, but she was clearly terrified, so I threw back my bedcovers and patted the mattress. “Come, rest here for a moment and tell me what is the trouble.” In truth, I was beginning to get jittery myself.

  Bid didn’t need to be asked twice. She leapt into the bed and pulled the coverlet over her eyes.

  I kicked her icy feet aside, pulled the coverlet down and said sternly, “Bid, stop behaving like a simpleton. Is it a ghost you are scared of?”

  “Yes!” she squeaked, and tried to cover her face again, but I wouldn’t let her. “I swear I never slept a wink last night, with all the creaks and squeaks and sobbing moans.”

  “The creaks and squeaks were almost certainly Jack moving around in a strange place, or my bed creaking, and the sobbing moans…” I stopped. I know I cried last night, though I did try to be quiet.

  “Who is this keeper?” I asked, getting up to shut the door firmly and pick up Jack. I do not believe there are such things as ghosts – after all, I have never seen one, but I take no chances. “Why is he called the keeper?”

  She looked at me as if it were I who’d lost her wits. “Because he keeps things. Kept things. Oh, Mistress Makepeace, before they cleared this place out for you and your brother—” She stopped. “Where is your brother?”

  “Never mind him,” I said. “You were saying about before they cleared this place out…”

  “It were full!”

  “Full of what?”

  “Full of things he kept. He used to walk the lanes for hours, and his eyes were always on the ground and he would pick up anything he found and keep it. That’s why he was the keeper. Oh, there were such things here. Still are, some of them. I saw them while I was getting the place ready.”

  I was losing patience with the silly girl. “What things?”

  “Well, a badger’s skull, and a closet full of old rags as you wouldn’t make a floor cloth out of, and sticks and funny-shaped stones, and mountains and mountains of fir cones, and old bones, and a whole cheese that must have been twenty years old it stunk so rotten, and a coffin with no one in it—”

  “A what?”

  “A coffin with no one in it, and shrivelled cider apples, and drawings he did that were weirder than anything I’ve ever seen, and bits of broken guns that weren’t no good, and a wasp’s nest with no wasps, and four complete birds’ wings and I can’t remember no more, Mistress.”

  “That’s quite enough, Bid, but tell me, why do you think he’s a ghost?”

  “He’s dead, and he’s been seen, Mistress, and them as do see him – they dies.”

  I thought about that. “How do you know?”

  She patted Jack (for which I liked her) and snuggled down. “Because that’s what happens.”

  I lay down too. “But if they die when they see him, how do you know they’ve seen him? They cannot tell you if they’re dead.”

  Bid smiled sleepily. “’Tis true, Mistress.”

  And now it is morning, and I have walked outside. Though it is cold, the air is crisp and clear and Jack and I both have wet feet from the dewy grass. Beautiful.

  Later

  Bid busied herself this morning, trying to clean out my clothes chest. It has a stale, musty smell which seems to creep around the whole room. I took time to look around my new home. It is a little rough and ready, but it has been prettily furnished, on the whole, and I’m sure I will soon be cosy. I have not examined the outbuildings yet. I know that Bid has thrown much of the keeper’s collection into one of them.

  Just a short way away are the gates to Gracy Park. I shall be able to see everyone coming and going! And if I wish to leave the park, why, nothing could be quicker or easier. Though why I should wish to leave, I cannot imagine. There are walks aplenty here, that’s for sure, though there is nothing else to do. I must grow flowers! Lots of flowers! And vegetables, too.

  I ate my midday dinner alone, as Bid wanted to go to the dairy for milk (and a little gossip with the dairymaids, no doubt). I daydreamed about Dominic. How was he faring? Had he reached the port safely? How long will he have to wait for a ship? How wonderful life will be when he returns!

  Jack, out in our little garden, gave a sudden bark, which snapped me from my daydream. I looked around and suddenly saw my life as it really is. Without warning, I was in floods of tears. Tears for my poor, dead mother, tears for my brother, who I may not see for years, but mostly tears for myself. It suddenly hit me that I am alone. There is no one to love me.

  Except my Jack! I hurried out to him, to see why he’d barked, and found him rolling on the ground with Godfrey.

  “Good day!” I cried, wiping away my tears.

  They both ran to me.

  “Good day, cousin,” said Godfrey. “Your eyes are fat and red, did you know?” Then he clapped a hand to his mouth. “Sorry. Mama says I mustn’t be honest with ladies.”

  I laughed. “It doesn’t matter. A visit from you is just what I need to cheer me up!”

  “I really came to visit Jack,” he said. Honest again!

  “Then we are both glad of your company,” I said. And I was.

  While Godfrey and Jack
raced around together, I wondered where Bid had got to. Then I began wondering what to do with her and her silly fears. I have always been brought up to believe what I see, not to see what I believe. At least, that’s how my mother explained it. She said I wasn’t to assume something was real simply because I had imagined it, and she went to great lengths to explain that the tales she told me by firelight were not true. She had made them up, especially for me.

  I had to find out about this stupid ghost story.

  Godfrey took me and Jack for a long walk around Gracy Park. It is enormous, and quite beautiful even before spring has really got going. There are two lakes, each with many water birds, and a deer park, and a wide stream which feeds the lakes, cutting almost through the middle of the whole estate. Godfrey showed me the cottages where some of the Gracy Park tenants live. They are poor people, that’s clear. But, I reflected, I wager none is as poor as me, for I am totally dependent on the goodwill of the de Gracy family. Oh, how I wish they were all as charming as Godfrey.

  “I would like a dog,” he said, throwing a short fat twig for Jack to fetch.

  “I think you would probably like one cleverer than him!” I said. My dog picked up the stick and, instead of retrieving it and bringing it back to Godfrey, he ran off with it. “Jack expects you to run after him.”

  “Then I will!”

  And the two of them had the most glorious romp, which only ended when Jack got too close to the lake and some angry ducks flew at him, quacking crossly.

  “Godfrey,” I asked, “what can you tell me about Keeper’s Cottage?”

  “Not much,” he said. “I’ve never been inside. Everyone is frightened they’ll see the keeper’s ghost.”

  “Do you believe in ghosts?”

  “Of course. Don’t you?”

  “Oh yes,” I said, wishing to please him.

  “Then why do you stay there?”

  How could I tell him I would rather face something unseen than be swallowed up in the de Gracy household? I am Susannah Makepeace, who will one day be carried away by her knight in shining armour – her brother. I must be free to go. If I lived with the de Gracys, I would become someone’s companion, someone’s waiting woman. Someone would come to rely on me – I might even come to care for someone. No. I must remain free. I just wish I was independent.

  February 15th

  I spend my days walking with Jack, chatting with Bid, and helping her to make Keeper’s Cottage a pleasant place to live in. She still has her night terrors, bless her, and sometimes her fear is infectious. But I have seen nothing ghostly yet, so I do my best to keep the nights calm. Soon she will be brave enough to sleep in her own room, I’m sure.

  I have had little contact with the de Gracy family. Food is sent to me, or else Bid fetches it. I sometimes see Juliana when I’m out walking, but she will not come close when Jack is with me. Lady Anne has called twice to see how I’m faring. She doesn’t stay long in the cottage – obviously she fears what people believe is here. I don’t mind that she doesn’t stay. It’s not easy talking to someone who is on edge all the time.

  Life is not exciting, but perhaps it is better so.

  March 1st

  A letter from Dominic. How my heart leapt when I saw his writing! But then my heart sank. He has still not left England! I had hoped he was well on his way, perhaps a few hundred miles nearer his goal, and almost a month nearer our reunion.

  He expects that he and Ned will take ship within a day or two. He is fast running out of money, and must go soon.

  March 3rd

  I worry so much about Dominic that I find I cannot concentrate on a thing. This morning Bid asked me if I knew where the blue butter dish was, and I said I would get it. I went upstairs and brought down my chamber pot! And then, after I had broken my fast with some of yesterday’s bread, I put the dried-up bits of crust in my sewing box instead of outside for the birds.

  At least the weather is warmer. Bid and I left the kitchen door open nearly all day, and the cottage smells less of wood smoke now.

  March 8th

  I thought my life in Devon was dull, but at least I had the odd moment of excitement, like milking the cow, or washing my stockings. Here there is nothing – absolutely nothing – to do, because Bid does everything. I have explored the house. I have explored the outbuildings. One is now stacked almost to the rafters with the keeper’s keepings. I was taken aback to see the barrel of a gun pointing at me from beneath a heap of old rags, but Bid pulled it out and showed me that was all it was – just the barrel.

  “There be bits of guns all over the place, Mistress Susannah,” she said. “They won’t harm you none, not in bits.”

  “They would if someone put the bits together,” I retorted.

  She laughed. “Who would do that? Me?”

  “No,” I said, advancing slowly upon her. “The keeper!”

  How she screamed!

  To be truthful, I do have moments of excitement, but they are all at night, when Bid’s nerves and imagination get the better of her, and she is convinced the ghost of the keeper is coming up the stairs. I know, of course, that should anyone – or anything – make its way into the house, my Jack would bark. But it is delicious fun to pretend to be scared! Bid still refuses to sleep alone, which is annoying. No, if I’m honest, I don’t mind having her company, apart from her occasional snorts. She sleeps on a mattress on the floor beside me, and will not be alone in any room at night if she can help it. Even during the day, when I’m out walking, she leaves the house-cleaning or the cooking and works on the little vegetable garden, which she’s attempting to clear.

  Bid insists on doing all the work. She says it is her place, and that it is my place to be a lady. Little does she know that in my heart I am no lady. I am not (as my mother used to tease me) a rumpscuttle, but I have always been ready to ride a horse, run with Jack, climb a tree, paddle in a stream.

  However, as I am always aware that Lady Anne or the awful Juliana might visit, I do not do these things. I sew or read the Bible, which is my only book. Once I sang for a while, but only once, because Bid gave me such tight-lipped looks that I thought it best to stop.

  Oh, I am so frustrated! If Bid did not sleep here, I would go out into the moonlight and dance under the stars and sing to the owls. Anything not to be cooped up like a pet canary.

  The one good bit of news is that there is no news from Dominic. It must mean he has taken ship at last. It must!

  March 14th

  Juliana is a – a – a mullipuff! I cannot think of anything nice to say about her.

  She called today and checked my pantry.

  “Yes, Susan, you have enough food for a couple of days. Mama will arrange for Bid to fetch more shortly.”

  Then she checked that the cottage was clean. She pretended she was just looking round, but I saw her run her hand along a shelf and then she examined her glove, which was spotless. One of the cushions in the parlour gave out a small cloud of dust when she banged it. (I suspect that Juliana would give out a cloud of dust if I banged her.)

  “Susan, you must learn to control your servants. Keep checking Bid’s work.”

  Then she caught sight of a deep bowl of wild daffodils I had picked among the trees near the stream. “Who arranged those?”

  Bid bobbed a curtsey. “I did, m’lady.”

  Juliana tutted, then she pulled and poked and stuffed and prodded until she’d arranged the flowers to her satisfaction. They stood up, each separate and ignoring the others. She stepped back, head on one side, and said, “There, Susan – much better, I think, don’t you?”

  “Very natural-looking,” I said. This was obviously the wrong thing to say because she gave me a slit-eyed look, her lips pinched so tight I could scarcely see them.

  The daffodils actually looked a lot better the way Bid did them – as if they were growing in a garden and the breeze was upon them.

  “Flowers are best arranged by the lady of the house, you know, Susan,” said Juliana.


  When she had finished her tour of inspection, which I’m sure was kindly meant, I offered her refreshment.

  “Thank you, Susan, no.”

  I had the feeling she wouldn’t lower herself to drinking out of the cups in Keeper’s Cottage.

  I walked with her to the garden gate then asked something which had been niggling me.

  “Cousin Juliana, why do you call me Susan? It is not my name.”

  She looked down at me, smiling her narrow smile, but said nothing.

  “Cousin Juliana, my given name is Susannah. It may be different here, but where I come from, Susan is more likely to be thought of as a servant’s name.”

  She smiled again, her thin lips stretched more widely this time.

  “I think Susan suits you very well, cousin.”

  I pressed my lips together, trying not to speak hastily. But it is a fault of mine – I often do.

  “I do not like you calling me Susan, cousin Juliana. You make me feel as if I am just a – a – a poor relation.”

  She looked at me, slightly puzzled. “Well, you are, aren’t you?”

  I took a deep breath. For once I held my tongue and strode indoors. “Bid!” I said. “It’s about to rain. Fetch in the washing.”

  She looked out. “It b’ain’t gonna rain, Mistress!”

  I turned on her, and I know my face must have been full of fury. “Go!”

  She scuttled outside, muttering to herself.

  I went to the shelf and picked up the Makepeace family Bible. Clasping it between my hands, I made a solemn vow that, while I would accept the de Gracy family’s charity because it is well meant (and I have no choice), I will never, ever ask them for anything. Not for anything at all!

  March 17th

  I am still fuming over Juliana’s insensitive tongue. Doesn’t she realize how hateful it is for me to be here, dependent on people whom, until a few weeks ago, I had scarcely heard of?

  Oh, I loathe this place! Everything conspires to drive me mad, even Bid, with her constant chatter and her never-ending twittering about the keeper’s ghost. Well, I’d like to meet that ghost right now – the mood I am in, he would do well to avoid me, for I would most certainly punch him on the nose.