Mrs. Medlock's story sounded like something in a book, and it did not make Mary feel happy. A house with a hundred rooms and nearly all of them shut up with their doors locked! A man with a crooked back who shut himself up too! Mary pressed her lips together and stared out the train window as it began to rain.
"Don't expect to see Mr. Craven because you probably won't," said Mrs. Medlock. "And you must not expect that there will be people to talk to you. You'll have to play by yourself and look after yourself. You'll be told what rooms you can go into and what rooms you're to keep out of. There are many gardens. But when you're in the house, don't go wandering or poking about. Mr. Craven won't stand for that."
"I won't want to go poking about," said Mary in a sour voice. She had felt sorry for Mr. Craven, but now she felt he deserved all the trouble that had come his way. He certainly sounded unpleasant. Mary turned away from Mrs. Medlock and watched the rain streaming down the window of the train. Soon she was asleep.
When Mary woke up, it was quite dark. The train had stopped, and Mrs. Medlock was shaking her. "Open your eyes! We're at Thwaite Station, and we have a long drive ahead of us."
Mary stood up and waited while Mrs. Medlock collected their things. They stepped down from the train and found a carriage waiting for them. A footman opened the door. After they were seated, he climbed up next to the driver, and they set off.
Mary was not a shy child, and she was not exactly frightened. But there was no knowing what might happen in this strange house on the edge of the moor.
"What is a moor?" she suddenly asked Mrs. Medlock.
"If you look out the window in about ten minutes, you'll see one. You won't see much because it's a dark night, but you can see something. We have to drive eight kilometers across Missel Moor before we get to the manor."
Mary asked no more questions but waited in the darkness, keeping her eyes on the window. They drove through a tiny village, where Mary saw a church, a few shops, and some whitewashed cottages. Soon they were on the highway, and she saw hedges and trees.
After a while the horses began to go more slowly. There were no more hedges or trees. Mary could see nothing but a dense darkness beyond the yellow light of the carriage lamps.
"We're on the moor now, sure enough," said Mrs. Medlock.
The rough road seemed to cut through bushes and low-growing things. The wind began to make a wild, rushing sound.
"It's . . . it's not the sea, is it?" asked Mary, looking at Mrs. Medlock. "It sounds just like the sea."
"That's the wind blowing through the bushes," Mrs. Medlock said. "The moor is a dreary place, though there are plenty of people who like it, especially when the heather is in bloom. Nothing lives on it but wild ponies and sheep."
On and on they drove through the darkness. The rain stopped, but the wind whistled and made strange sounds. Mary felt as if the drive—and the moor—would never end.
"I don't like it," she said to herself. She pinched her lips tightly together for a moment. "I don't like it."
The horses climbed a hilly part of the road. Just then Mary caught sight of a light. Mrs. Medlock saw it too and gave a sigh of relief. "I am so glad to see that bit of light twinkling!" she exclaimed. "We shall soon get a good cup of tea."
But after the carriage passed through the gates of the estate, there were still three more kilometers to drive.
At last they arrived at Misselthwaite Manor. When they stepped down from the carriage, they were standing in a courtyard. A servant opened the front door. As Mary walked into the enormous hall, she felt very small.
A thin, old man stood near the servant. "You are to take her to her room," he said. "Mr. Craven doesn't want to see her. He's going to London in the morning."
"Very well, Mr. Pitcher," said Mrs. Medlock. "Come along," she said to Mary. She led Mary up a broad staircase and down a long corridor. Then they went up a short flight of steps and through two more corridors. Finally they came to a room with a fire in the fireplace and supper on a table.
"Well, here you are!" said Mrs. Medlock. "This room and the next are where you'll live—and you must not wander from them. Don't forget that!"
Mary looked around. "I don't like it," she said to herself again.