scuttle across the floorboards. Shuddering, Jess made a mental note to get Simon to put some mouse traps up there. The whole place could be infested with rodents for all she knew, and she’d had a fear of mice ever since she was a child.
Jess didn’t know where to look first. To one side of her was a large dressmaking mannequin, obviously very old, with straw sticking out of it. Crossing to the nearest chest, she cautiously raised the lid to find herself staring down at a collection of china-faced dolls. They looked very old and she wondered if they might be worth anything. The next chest she opened revealed bed linen, yellowed with age. Soon her trip into town was forgotten as she continued with her exploration. She found an old rocking horse with a beautiful if somewhat dusty mane beneath one of the sheets, and exclaimed aloud with delight. That would look beautiful in the bay window in the drawing room if I were to clean it up, she thought, and determined to get Simon to carry it downstairs for her. It was far too beautiful to be hidden away up here.
Beneath another dust-sheet she unearthed a set of six matching ladder-back chairs. One of them was wobbling dangerously and the seats were in dire need of re-upholstering, but even so Jess fell in love with them and vowed to restore them to their former glory. She knew that they would look superb in the dining room. She just hoped now that she might be lucky enough to come across the table they belonged to.
Another half an hour and a lot of rummaging later, she came to a smaller wooden chest with metal straps around it set beneath the eaves. She had to drop onto her knees to drag it towards her, causing a storm of dust to make her cough, but at last she managed it. The lid was stiff, and despite her best efforts she was beginning to think that she would have to wait until she could get Simon to force it open for her, but then the heavy brass hinges suddenly squealed in protest and slowly but surely the lid creaked open.
This time she found herself staring down at a number of crudely bound leather books. They certainly didn’t appear to be of any value but all the same, Jess was consumed with curiosity as she lifted one out and blew the dust from its cover.
Opening it to the first page she read, This Journal belongs to Martha Reid . The handwriting was neat and now Jess became excited. The sampler she had found in the servant’s room where the clothes still hung had been embroidered with the name Martha , and she wondered if this was the same girl’s journal. Curious to find out, she tucked it under her arm and headed for the door where she hastily snapped off the light and hurried downstairs, the shopping trip ignored for now.
Jess made herself a large pot of tea and after plonking it on a tray with some custard creams, she headed for the drawing room where she curled up on the sofa and opened the journal to the first page.
The first entry was dated 20 June 1837. And as Jess read on through the painstakingly written pages, splotched with blots and sprays of faded ink, she was transported back in time . . .
Today I, Martha Reid, am seventeen years old. This book is a birthday present from my Granny Reid and from now I shall try to find a little time each day to write my journal in it, with my best grammer and handwriting. I know that I am fortunate to be able to write, as most of the staff that work here are only able to make their mark with a cross. But Granny had been taught how to read by the vicar before she married my grandad, in return for cleaning and baking for him, and she has taught me and my sister Grace our letters and how to do sums for as long as I can remember. My birthday has been slightly marred as word has reached us that today our King, King William VI, has died at Windsor at the age of 71 years. Princess Victoria, who is only one year older than me, will now become Queen of Great Britain and Ireland. It is strange to think that a girl of about my
Jess didn’t know where to look first. To one side of her was a large dressmaking mannequin, obviously very old, with straw sticking out of it. Crossing to the nearest chest, she cautiously raised the lid to find herself staring down at a collection of china-faced dolls. They looked very old and she wondered if they might be worth anything. The next chest she opened revealed bed linen, yellowed with age. Soon her trip into town was forgotten as she continued with her exploration. She found an old rocking horse with a beautiful if somewhat dusty mane beneath one of the sheets, and exclaimed aloud with delight. That would look beautiful in the bay window in the drawing room if I were to clean it up, she thought, and determined to get Simon to carry it downstairs for her. It was far too beautiful to be hidden away up here.
Beneath another dust-sheet she unearthed a set of six matching ladder-back chairs. One of them was wobbling dangerously and the seats were in dire need of re-upholstering, but even so Jess fell in love with them and vowed to restore them to their former glory. She knew that they would look superb in the dining room. She just hoped now that she might be lucky enough to come across the table they belonged to.
Another half an hour and a lot of rummaging later, she came to a smaller wooden chest with metal straps around it set beneath the eaves. She had to drop onto her knees to drag it towards her, causing a storm of dust to make her cough, but at last she managed it. The lid was stiff, and despite her best efforts she was beginning to think that she would have to wait until she could get Simon to force it open for her, but then the heavy brass hinges suddenly squealed in protest and slowly but surely the lid creaked open.
This time she found herself staring down at a number of crudely bound leather books. They certainly didn’t appear to be of any value but all the same, Jess was consumed with curiosity as she lifted one out and blew the dust from its cover.
Opening it to the first page she read, This Journal belongs to Martha Reid . The handwriting was neat and now Jess became excited. The sampler she had found in the servant’s room where the clothes still hung had been embroidered with the name Martha , and she wondered if this was the same girl’s journal. Curious to find out, she tucked it under her arm and headed for the door where she hastily snapped off the light and hurried downstairs, the shopping trip ignored for now.
Jess made herself a large pot of tea and after plonking it on a tray with some custard creams, she headed for the drawing room where she curled up on the sofa and opened the journal to the first page.
The first entry was dated 20 June 1837. And as Jess read on through the painstakingly written pages, splotched with blots and sprays of faded ink, she was transported back in time . . .
Today I, Martha Reid, am seventeen years old. This book is a birthday present from my Granny Reid and from now I shall try to find a little time each day to write my journal in it, with my best grammer and handwriting. I know that I am fortunate to be able to write, as most of the staff that work here are only able to make their mark with a cross. But Granny had been taught how to read by the vicar before she married my grandad, in return for cleaning and baking for him, and she has taught me and my sister Grace our letters and how to do sums for as long as I can remember. My birthday has been slightly marred as word has reached us that today our King, King William VI, has died at Windsor at the age of 71 years. Princess Victoria, who is only one year older than me, will now become Queen of Great Britain and Ireland. It is strange to think that a girl of about my
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