asked, really interested now.
Anna nodded.
The idea that they could, by themselves, find out something more about the people who had once lived in Clairmont House was enough to overcome any qualms Marjorie might have had about going into the house again. She wasn’t in the least frightened by Isobel’s suggestion that the house was haunted, but she did worry about being caught trespassing, though she couldn’t imagine who would care.
The garden looked more neglected now, with the first lush growth of the spring. Daffodils nodded among the weeds in a border under the window, and bluebells were growing in the long grass at the edge of the shrubbery.
They entered the house through the coal cellar as before. Once inside, Marjorie was uneasy, struck again by the size and the emptiness of the house. But when they reached the sanctuary of the little turret room, everything looked welcoming, just as it had when they first found it.
Anna ran over to the small cupboard, obviously quite familiar with its contents, and sorted through a pile of books. She brought out a small, buff-colored exercise book for Marjorie to read.
They sat together on the couch in front of the empty fireplace, and Marjorie opened the book. She saw that it was filled with neat, though childish, handwriting. She turned back to the first page and read, “Jane Carruthers, My Diary. January 1920. I have decided to write a journal, although nothing exciting ever happens.”
The first few pages of the diary seemed to confirm that, indeed, nothing exciting did happen to Jane. They were a catalogue of what Jane wore each day and what she ate. Mrs. Johnstone was mentioned once or twice, and Marjorie thought that she was, perhaps, a housekeeper or governess. Then, a few pages farther on, she came to an entry that made Marjorie and Anna feel they were reading about a real friend of theirs.
“January 31. Escrigg Pond is frozen over and I want so badly to try out my new skates. Mrs. Johnstone says I can’t go today and, of course, I can’t go tomorrow because it’s Sunday. By Monday, who knows, the ice may be gone. But I have a plan. I’m going to slip out this evening. What an adventure!!”
The next entry on February 4, read: “The adventure didn’t turn out at all well. I was no sooner on the ice then—crack!—I went right through. The water was very cold and I was sure I was going to drown. Someone from Escrigg Farm heard me screaming and rescued me and took me to the farm. Mrs. Appleby was very kind and wrapped me up in a blanket and made me tea and hot scones.”
“Just like she did for me!” Anna said, her face shining. Mrs. Appleby’s kindness seemed to forge a link between the girls.
“Let me read more,” Marjorie said.
“Mrs. Appleby is Becky the maid’s mother. It was nice at the farmhouse but it stopped being nice when Mrs. Johnstone arrived in a rage. She wasn’t a bit sorry that I’d nearly drowned and told Papa and he was in a rage, too. Now I have a cold and have to stay in the playroom all the time and they say it serves me right. I wish I had drowned, then they’d be sorry.”
“Poor Jane!” Anna said. “They were horrid to her.”
“Listen to this,” Marjorie said, reading another entry. “Becky stayed and played with me today. We played dominoes and I won. Then I taught her to play Ludo and she won that. Games are no fun if there is no one to play with. I hope she comes again soon.”
Marjorie laid down the diary and went over to the toy cupboard. She found a box of dominoes, yellow ivory ones with black dots.
“Here’s the Ludo board, too. Isn’t it strange to think that these are the toys’ she’s writing about?”
“I wish she could play with us,” Anna said.
“I think she would have liked that. She sounds rather lonely. But she’ll be grown up by now. This was written twenty years ago.”
“Read some more,” Anna said.
“There isn’t much more. I suppose she got tired of keeping a diary. I
Anna nodded.
The idea that they could, by themselves, find out something more about the people who had once lived in Clairmont House was enough to overcome any qualms Marjorie might have had about going into the house again. She wasn’t in the least frightened by Isobel’s suggestion that the house was haunted, but she did worry about being caught trespassing, though she couldn’t imagine who would care.
The garden looked more neglected now, with the first lush growth of the spring. Daffodils nodded among the weeds in a border under the window, and bluebells were growing in the long grass at the edge of the shrubbery.
They entered the house through the coal cellar as before. Once inside, Marjorie was uneasy, struck again by the size and the emptiness of the house. But when they reached the sanctuary of the little turret room, everything looked welcoming, just as it had when they first found it.
Anna ran over to the small cupboard, obviously quite familiar with its contents, and sorted through a pile of books. She brought out a small, buff-colored exercise book for Marjorie to read.
They sat together on the couch in front of the empty fireplace, and Marjorie opened the book. She saw that it was filled with neat, though childish, handwriting. She turned back to the first page and read, “Jane Carruthers, My Diary. January 1920. I have decided to write a journal, although nothing exciting ever happens.”
The first few pages of the diary seemed to confirm that, indeed, nothing exciting did happen to Jane. They were a catalogue of what Jane wore each day and what she ate. Mrs. Johnstone was mentioned once or twice, and Marjorie thought that she was, perhaps, a housekeeper or governess. Then, a few pages farther on, she came to an entry that made Marjorie and Anna feel they were reading about a real friend of theirs.
“January 31. Escrigg Pond is frozen over and I want so badly to try out my new skates. Mrs. Johnstone says I can’t go today and, of course, I can’t go tomorrow because it’s Sunday. By Monday, who knows, the ice may be gone. But I have a plan. I’m going to slip out this evening. What an adventure!!”
The next entry on February 4, read: “The adventure didn’t turn out at all well. I was no sooner on the ice then—crack!—I went right through. The water was very cold and I was sure I was going to drown. Someone from Escrigg Farm heard me screaming and rescued me and took me to the farm. Mrs. Appleby was very kind and wrapped me up in a blanket and made me tea and hot scones.”
“Just like she did for me!” Anna said, her face shining. Mrs. Appleby’s kindness seemed to forge a link between the girls.
“Let me read more,” Marjorie said.
“Mrs. Appleby is Becky the maid’s mother. It was nice at the farmhouse but it stopped being nice when Mrs. Johnstone arrived in a rage. She wasn’t a bit sorry that I’d nearly drowned and told Papa and he was in a rage, too. Now I have a cold and have to stay in the playroom all the time and they say it serves me right. I wish I had drowned, then they’d be sorry.”
“Poor Jane!” Anna said. “They were horrid to her.”
“Listen to this,” Marjorie said, reading another entry. “Becky stayed and played with me today. We played dominoes and I won. Then I taught her to play Ludo and she won that. Games are no fun if there is no one to play with. I hope she comes again soon.”
Marjorie laid down the diary and went over to the toy cupboard. She found a box of dominoes, yellow ivory ones with black dots.
“Here’s the Ludo board, too. Isn’t it strange to think that these are the toys’ she’s writing about?”
“I wish she could play with us,” Anna said.
“I think she would have liked that. She sounds rather lonely. But she’ll be grown up by now. This was written twenty years ago.”
“Read some more,” Anna said.
“There isn’t much more. I suppose she got tired of keeping a diary. I
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