sisters, and she found it dull in the great servants hall downstairs
where the footman and upper-housemaids made fun of her Yorkshire speech
and looked upon her as a common little thing, and sat and whispered
among themselves. Martha liked to talk, and the strange child who had
lived in India, and been waited upon by blacks, was novelty enough to
attract her.
She sat down on the hearth herself without waiting to be asked.
Art tha thinkin about that garden yet? she said. I knew tha
would. That was just the way with me when I first heard about it.
Why did he hate it? Mary persisted.
Martha tucked her feet under her and made herself quite comfortable.
Listen to th wind wutherin round the house, she said. You could
bare stand up on the moor if you was out on it tonight.
Mary did not know what wutherin meant until she listened, and then
she understood. It must mean that hollow shuddering sort of roar which
rushed round and round the house as if the giant no one could see were
buffeting it and beating at the walls and windows to try to break in.
But one knew he could not get in, and somehow it made one feel very
safe and warm inside a room with a red coal fire.
But why did he hate it so? she asked, after she had listened. She
intended to know if Martha did.
Then Martha gave up her store of knowledge.
Mind, she said, Mrs. Medlock said it s not to be talked about.
There s lots o things in this place that s not to be talked over.
That s Mr. Craven s orders. His troubles are none servants business,
he says. But for th garden he wouldn t be like he is. It was Mrs.
Craven s garden that she had made when first they were married an she
just loved it, an they used to tend the flowers themselves. An none
o th gardeners was ever let to go in. Him an her used to go in an
shut th door an stay there hours an hours, readin and talkin . An
she was just a bit of a girl an there was an old tree with a branch
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