“Not what you’d call a proper route. You’d have to have a word with Mr Gurney from the home farm when he comes through early in the morning. If you put out a jug or a churn, he’ll fill it for you. Twice a week, he comes through.”

“And bread?” Emily asked.

“I’m not a bakery, my dear. The women around here bake their own. And I’m not a butcher either. You have to go into Tavistock or arrange with one of the farmers when you hear he’s going to slaughter a sheep. And frankly, these days, it’s hard enough to get your hands on any kind of meat. It goes straight to the government, doesn’t it?”

Emily saw that fending for herself in the cottage was going to be harder than she had imagined. “So what can you let me have?”

“Did you bring your ration book?” Mrs Upton asked. “Because most of the things you want are on ration these days.”

Emily hadn’t thought of that. Her ration book was still at home with her parents. The government had fed her while she was a member of the Women’s Land Army. And if she managed to acquire her ration book, it would still be in the name of Emily Bryce. It seemed as if there was to be one problem after another.

“It’s still at my parents’ house, I’m afraid,” she said. “I’ll have to write to them and ask them to send it to me.”

“Well, I can’t let you have anything without it, my dear,” the woman said, looking more kindly now. “It would be more than my neck is worth. They have fines, even prison for those who abuse the system.”

“I see. Thank you anyway.” Emily came out into the bitter wind. How was she going to feed herself and her child with no ration book? But if she wrote to her parents and asked them to post it to her, then they’d know where she was living, and she didn’t want that at all costs. She went back up the hill to Bucksley House, her footsteps dragging now.

“Mrs Trelawney,” she said, “I don’t know if Lady Charlton has told you that I’ll be taking my midday meal here while I work on the garden.”

“She might have mentioned something about it.” The woman eyed her coldly.

“So I wondered if I might have a few staples from your kitchen so that I don’t have to bother you for my other meals,” Emily said. “A little flour and sugar and tea, butter . . . those sorts of things.”

“Those things are on ration these days,” Mrs Trelawney said. “Do you have your ration book?”

“I don’t. It’s at my parents’ house,” Emily said. “I’ll have to send for it, but in the meantime . . .”

“I suppose we can spare enough to keep you going,” she said grudgingly.

“And I wondered, if you bake bread for the house, if you could maybe bake an extra loaf for me,” Emily dared to add.

“As if I don’t have enough work around here,” the woman snapped. “You think I’m your servant, too?”

“Of course not. It’s just that I’ve never had to bake bread, but I’m willing to learn if you can show me.”

“I don’t want you under my feet. I’ll bake you the loaf,” she said.

Daisy came into the kitchen. “She can share my rations, Mrs Trelawney,” she said, having overheard the last of this conversation. “I’ve got my book, and I don’t eat much.”

“I expect we’ll manage then,” the woman said with an exaggerated sigh. “Did you take up the clean clothes to Her Ladyship’s bedroom?”

“I did,” Daisy said. “What would you like me to do now?”

Emily looked at her with secret admiration. She seemed so naive and awkward, but she knew how to work with people like Mrs Trelawney. The older woman was looking at Daisy almost fondly. “You’re a good little worker, I’ll say that for you,” she said. Her expression hardened as she turned back to Emily. “So you’ll probably be wanting your supper here tonight, seeing as how you’ve no provisions yet.”

“If you don’t mind,” Emily said. “But after that, as I said, I’ll just share my midday meal with you and manage for myself in the evenings. I can make do with something simple like bread and cheese.”

“Bread and cheese?” The woman sniffed. “That will give you bad dreams, that will. But then you’re probably going to get bad dreams anyway in that cursed place. I’ve only been in there a few times myself, and each time I felt it—that malevolent presence. You’ll feel it if you haven’t already, believe me.”

She grudgingly packed a basket with tea, milk, sugar, bread, butter and jam. “They’ll keep you going for now,” she said. Emily thanked her, and carried them back to the cottage, where she unpacked her belongings, putting them away in the rickety chest of drawers. Then she went up to the attic, unpacked the books from the trunk and dragged it down the stairs, before going up again to retrieve the books. As she placed the books on top of the trunk, she fingered the leather-bound journal. I suppose I can read it now, she thought. Daisy said it would bring me bad luck, and it already has, so my luck can’t get much worse at this moment. But still she hesitated. Not now, she thought, although after all the tales about the cottage she had heard, her curiosity was piqued. She put it down and went back to her chores. Then suddenly she was overcome with exhaustion. She lay on the bed and fell asleep. In her dream, she was hiding in the upstairs room. “They won’t find me here,” she was saying, and then she realized that she had long black hair flowing over her shoulders. She awoke with a start, her heart thumping, to find it was almost dark. The dream had quite unnerved her. Had she been dreaming about the witch who had once lived in the cottage? But she had actually been the witch in her dream. She tried to shake off the feeling of unreality as she splashed water on to her face. Mrs Trelawney would be waiting to serve supper, and would not take it kindly if Emily were late. She put on her mackintosh and hurried up the path. Daisy and Ethel were already seated at the kitchen table.