“Well, there she is, queen of the cottage,” Mrs Trelawney said. “Thought you’d had a better offer, we did.”

“I’m sorry,” Emily muttered, taking her place at the table. A large bowl of something brown and spongy was put in front of her. With it came the overwhelming smell of onions.

“What is this?” she asked politely.

“Tripe and onions,” the housekeeper said. “You have to take whatever meat they can give you these days.”

Emily had never eaten tripe in her life. She wasn’t quite sure what it was, but seemed to remember it being something to do with a cow’s stomach. She tried a mouthful. It felt slimy and chewy as she fought to swallow it. She was all too aware that if she rejected it, she would be fed the worst scraps of everything from now on, if she was fed at all. She swallowed bravely, holding back the bile that rose in her throat. She washed it down with mug after mug of tea. As soon as she had eaten it, she got up.

“Would you excuse me? I’d like to finish cleaning the cottage tonight so that I can start work on the garden tomorrow.” She didn’t wait for an answer. As soon as she was clear of the house, she disappeared into the rhododendron bushes and vomited her meal on to the carpet of leaves. Her stomach still heaved as she made her way down to the cottage. It was pitch-black, and she stumbled several times. How was she going to find her way on dark winter nights? She certainly couldn’t carry a candle in this wind. Then she realized she’d have to leave a lamp in the cottage window to guide her.

This time, the cottage felt warm, but the shadows from the flickering fire emphasized the bleakness and were somehow unnerving. She realized she had never slept in a house alone before, and wished she had accepted Lady Charlton’s invitation for a room in the big house. But I have to learn, she thought. She took out pen, ink and paper, deciding it was time she wrote to Clarissa, but she couldn’t make herself put the words down. She didn’t think Clarissa would think badly of her, but she couldn’t risk losing one of her only friends. So she did what Alice had shown her and banked up the fire, then she got undressed and climbed in between the cold sheets. Wind rattled at the windows and moaned down the chimney, filling the cottage with smoke. The grim reality that this was her future overwhelmed her.

“I want to go home,” she whispered.

CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE

The morning dawned bright and breezy. As Emily opened the back door to step out to the privy, she heard a small noise at her feet. A black cat sat there, looking up at her with anticipation.

“Mew?” it said.

“Hello.” She bent to stroke it, and it purred, rubbing against her legs. When she went back into the house, it darted in front of her. “Well,” she said, “I suppose you can stay. But you’ll have to be a good hunter. I can hardly feed myself.”

The cat settled itself in front of the fire. She looked at it fondly. At least she was no longer alone. “You’ll have to have a name,” she said. Blackie, Sooty, Satan . . . she toyed with several, then settled on Shadow. “My Shadow and I,” she said. It felt quite satisfying.

After a couple of slices of bread and jam, she went out to work, starting on the kitchen garden, which was in serious need of weeding. The summer crops had died off, and she now knew that winter vegetables should be planted in their place. She weeded and dug out dead plants all morning, then picked the few remaining apples on the trees, carrying the basket up to Mrs Trelawney. The woman actually looked pleased.

“Well, fancy that. They’ll come in handy. Now I can bake a couple of pies for the harvest festival on Sunday. I was wondering what to take this year, what with not having much in the garden. And I don’t suppose there’s a marrow left?”

“A couple of little ones,” Emily said. “There’s a good-looking pumpkin.”

“There you are then.” Mrs Trelawney nodded with satisfaction. “A pumpkin it will have to be. If you pick it and bring it up to the house, we’ll take it on Sunday.” She looked up from her baking. “It’s not what it used to be, of course. Before the war, there was always a rivalry here. Mr Patterson at the school always grew the biggest marrow, and Dickson the carter, he always had the best-looking cabbages. And in those days, we had the three gardeners, so we had plenty of good-looking produce to carry up to the altar, although Her Ladyship has never been much for church herself. Won’t set foot in the place here. But we servants go.”

They had a hearty vegetable soup and cold pork pie for their midday meal, then Emily went back to work. She was interrupted by Simpson with a message from Her Ladyship. Would she take sherry and dine with her that evening? So she changed out of her work clothes and presented herself at six o’clock for sherry. The outdoor work seemed to have done her good, and she was feeling quite hungry when they sat down together by the big fire.

“So did you survive your first night in the cottage?” Lady Charlton asked. “Did you meet the ghosties and ghoulies and things that go bump in the night that Mrs Trelawney seems to think inhabit it?”

“Actually, I slept remarkably well,” Emily answered. “And I have a room-mate. A small black cat.”

Lady Charlton chuckled. “How appropriate for a witch’s cottage.”

“Was there really a witch here once?” Emily asked.