As they reached the part of the house where Colin’s room was, they became even more cautious. Mary ran to the end of a corridor, checked the next one, then signaled to Dickon to move. He raced past her and dived into another doorway. Peering out, he beckoned to her, and she made the next move. Corridor after corridor they negotiated their way as they gradually got closer to Colin’s room. They were almost there when Mary heard a door handle turning. She threw her arm up to warn Dickon, and they flung themselves into an empty room, hardly daring to breathe. Risking a peek, Mary saw Mrs. Medlock come out of a room and march away without realizing they were there.
They waited a few moments and then made the final dash to Colin’s room. His door was locked.
“Who’s there?” she heard Colin demand as she rattled the handle. “It’s the girl, isn’t it?”
“My name is Mary, and you jolly well know it!” she hissed.
“I don’t want you here!” said Colin, his voice rising. “I don’t want to see you. You’re cruel.”
Mary felt like stamping in frustration. “We’re past this, Colin. You’ll scream. I’ll scream. No good will come of it!”
Colin started to yell. There was the sound of running footsteps on the staircase at the end of the corridor. Mary hastily pulled Dickon into the nearest doorway and tried the handle, but it was locked.
She thought they were about to be caught by Mrs. Medlock, but it was Martha who appeared at the top of the staircase. Spotting Mary and Dickon, her mouth dropped open.
“What are you doing here?” she hissed.
“I know about Colin,” Mary said quickly. “We’re friends.”
Martha blinked in astonishment, and then her eyes flicked back to Dickon. “If they catch you here, they’ll have you whipped,” she said urgently.
“We want to help Colin, Martha. It’s worth the risk,” Mary said, and to her delight, Dickon nodded.
Martha frowned at her. “You risk being sent to school, miss. We risk more—far more. If Dickon gets discovered here, we’ll be turned out and I’ll lose all my wages. We’ll starve!”
There was the sound of more footsteps. “What’s going on?” called Mrs. Medlock’s voice. She appeared at the far end of the corridor just as Mary and Dickon ducked back into their doorway and pressed themselves against the heavy door.
Martha hesitated and then walked toward the housekeeper, positioning her body to block Dickon and Mary from sight. “Don’t worry yourself, Mrs. Medlock. It’s just the young master. I’ll deal with him.”
“He never normally causes bother at this hour,” said Mrs. Medlock, frowning.
“I’ll take care of him,” Martha said briskly. “You continue with your chores, if you want.”
Mrs. Medlock nodded gratefully. “Very well. Thank you, Martha. There is such a lot to do.” She hurried away.
The breath rushed out of Mary, and she saw Martha’s shoulders sag too.
“I need to see my cousin, Martha,” Mary pleaded, knowing there was no time to waste. Mrs. Medlock could come back any minute. “I think I know a way to help him—to make him feel better.”
Martha looked at her uncertainly.
“Please, Martha!” Mary begged.
Martha hesitated and then unlocked the door. Seeing Mary, Colin opened his mouth to scream.
“Do that and you’ll never see me again!” Mary said hotly. “It’s your decision.”
He saw her angry eyes and shut his mouth.
“Now I want you to meet someone,” said Mary, her voice softening. She gestured to Dickon to come in. He stepped forward reluctantly. “This is Dickon.”
“Hello,” said Dickon awkwardly.
Colin looked Dickon up and down. “He’s handsome.”
“He can whistle,” Mary said proudly. “And all animals are his friends.” She glanced at Martha, who was watching, wide-eyed. “When’s the next time they’ll check on my cousin, Martha?”
“About four o’clock,” Martha replied. She saw Mary look at the chair. “What are you planning, miss?” she said anxiously.
Mary didn’t reply. “He’ll be back by four,” she said firmly.
“Oh, no. I’m not going anywhere with you,” said Colin, starting to shake his head.
Martha looked at Dickon. “You understand what you risk?”
He nodded. “Aye.”
Martha bit her lip and then reluctantly left.
“You’re coming with us,” Mary told Colin. “Dickon and I are going to take you to the secret garden.”
Colin looked alarmed. “You want to take me outside? No, I won’t go. I won’t!”
“When we tried to fix the dog, he refused us too,” said Mary, her eyes glinting. “Take his arms, Dickon, and I’ll take his legs and we’ll carry him down there.” Colin screamed. Mary’s hand covered his mouth in an instant. “Or you could let us help you into your chair and get you down safely. I promise we won’t kill you.”
“You can’t promise anything of the kind!” Colin said in a panicked voice. “I’ve told you—my legs don’t work and I’m allergic! The pollen, the flowers . . .”
“The flowers won’t kill you and if you don’t come with us you’ll die in this bed and all you’ll have seen your whole life will be this wallpaper. Is that what you want?” Mary’s voice rose. “Is it?”
“No,” he muttered.
Mary’s voice softened. “Then let us take you to the garden, Colin. Please?”
16
New Friends
Trying to get Colin out of the house in his wheelchair was very risky. They almost bumped into Mrs. Medlock in one corridor and Mr. Craven in another. Even Mrs. Pitcher almost caught them! However, they managed to hide just in time and not be spotted. It was as though the house itself was helping them. They used the lift to get Colin down to the ground floor and then wheeled his chair out through one of the back doors. Mary pushed Colin across the lawn, hoping Mrs. Medlock wasn’t looking out of a window.
“Ow! Ouch!” Colin exclaimed, grabbing the arms of the chair as it bounced across the ruts. “You’re going too fast, Mary!”
She ignored him. She had helped him into a warm dressing gown, wrapped a scarf around his neck, and put a hat on his head and a blanket over his legs. She didn’t believe the outside would kill him, but she didn’t want him catching a chill.
As they hurried into the safety of the trees and Mary stopped to catch her breath, Colin started to cough and clutch his chest. “It’s the pollen! I told you. It will kill me!” he gasped.
“Colin!” Mary faced him sternly. “Take a breath.”
Colin did as she said.
“Still alive?” questioned Mary.
He gave a tiny nod.
“Pollen won’t kill you,” she told him firmly. “You may have hay fever and that might make you want to sneeze or feel a bit breathless, but that’s all. When we’re in a safer place, we’ll work out what hurts and what doesn’t, but for now you have to try, just as I do, not to fuss. Does that sound fair?”
He looked at her mutinously but nodded again.
“Good. Then let’s carry on. We can go more slowly now we’re out of sight of the house.”
They continued on toward the garden. As they drew near, Mary handed Dickon the key. He went on ahead of her to open the gate.
Reaching the wall with its covering of ivy, Mary paused and said to Colin, “I need you to hold tight now.”
“Why?” Colin said suspiciously.
In reply, Mary started to push the chair as hard and fast as she could, aiming straight for the curtain of ivy, building up speed to get over the bracken.
“Mary!” Colin shouted in alarm. “Stop! The wall! The wall!” He screamed and covered his head with his arms, bracing himself for a crash, but suddenly the gate opened. They burst through the ivy curtain, past Dickon, and into the garden.
Mary grinned and slowed down. Over their heads there was a broad canopy of bright yellow laburnum flowers forming a long tunnel that seemed to stretch
on and on. The light reflected off the flowers, casting a golden glow on their faces. Colin looked around in wonder as Mary wheeled him through the laburnum tunnel and into the garden. It spread out in front of them, a wonderful secret kingdom.
“See,” she said happily to him as he gazed in amazement. “Magic is on our side.”
The robin circled around Colin’s head, singing joyfully.
“Well?” Mary said.
“It . . . it’s . . .” Colin stared around, lost for words.
Mary felt a rush of happiness at the incredulity on her cousin’s face. “I know,” she said, not needing him to say any more. “Come and see. There’s so much to show you!”
She wheeled him through the garden, showing him the statues and the flower beds bright with spring crocuses and daffodils that had pushed their way up through the weeds. Mary and Dickon took him to the grove of giant, umbrella-like plants and into the ruined temple with its glittering pool.
“I want to leave my chair and feel the grass,” Colin said, and so they helped him out and he sat in the soft grass, leaning his back against one of the temple pillars while Dickon picked up his gardening fork again and Mary used a trowel to dig out the weeds in the flower beds. As they worked, Colin started to ask Dickon the names of the different flowers.
“What do you call this one?”
“That’s a hydrangea,” Dickon replied.
“And this?” questioned Colin, pointing to a yellow flower.
“Hypericum,” said Dickon.
“Hypericum,” Colin repeated slowly.
Just then, Mary heard a rustle in a nearby bush. “Colin. There’s a good friend I would like you to meet,” she said. Reaching into her pocket, she took out some Spam and gave it to him. “Hold it out and he’ll come.”
“He’s here?” breathed Colin. “The dog?”
“Just hold it out. He wants to say hello. I can tell,” Mary said.
Colin held out the meat, and the dog trotted out from behind the bush. Colin watched, fascinated, as the dog approached him. It looked at him for a moment and then quickly took the Spam from his hand.
Colin yelped in surprise and delight. “He took it from me!”
“He did,” said Mary, grinning.
The dog sat down beside Colin and licked his fingers. “Now he’s licking me!” Colin said, half-alarmed, half-delighted.
“He does that,” said Mary, glancing at Dickon, who smiled.
“It tickles,” said Colin. Suddenly he pulled his hand back and looked doubtful. “He’s not diseased, is he?”
“Not that we’ve seen,” said Dickon.
Colin relaxed and stroked the dog’s ears. “What’s his name?”
“He was called Jemima,” said Dickon with a sly glance at Mary. “Till she knew different.”
Mary didn’t mind being teased. “I didn’t know he was a boy at first,” she protested. “We haven’t thought of a new name for him yet, Colin. He’s just called . . . dog.”
“He needs a better name than that,” said Colin. “Perhaps we should call him . . .” He frowned. “Oh, I don’t know. What was your father called, Mary?”
“Marcus,” said Mary uncomfortably. “But can we not name him that?”
“Well, we shouldn’t name him after my father either,” said Colin. “I can’t believe he’s been keeping me in my room all this time when the outside clearly doesn’t hurt me. What about you, Dickon? What’s your father called?”
“Hector,” said Dickon, looking down. “He was a brave man.”
Mary and Colin both stared at him. “Was—you mean he’s dead?” Mary questioned.
Dickon nodded briefly.
“Would you mind if we named the dog after him?” Mary said.
Dickon shook his head and smiled.
“Well, that’s settled, then,” Colin said.
The dog lay down beside him, and he put a hand on its head. “Dog, you are now called Hector,” he said solemnly. “Mary you already know—and Dickon too. Well, I am Colin, your new friend.”
The dog barked as if he understood. Mary, Dickon, and Colin all laughed and barked back at him. The sunshine caught the embroidered butterflies on Mary’s dress, and for a moment they seemed to actually flutter their wings and fly around her before landing back in the pattern again.
Seeing the happiness on her cousin’s face, Mary felt as if her heart was swelling like a balloon that was being blown up. Yes, she thought, remembering Martha’s earlier words. This was definitely worth the risk.
Overhead the robin twittered as if it agreed.
17
Caught!
Mary and Dickon managed to get Colin safely back into the house by four, and Mary headed to the garden once more. She was walking through a tunnel of yew trees, when she heard a twig crack behind her. Glancing around, she caught sight of Mrs. Medlock ducking behind a trunk. Mary smiled to herself and, diving to one side, began to run through the trees. She heard Mrs. Medlock’s exclamation and ran faster. Once she was out of her sight, Mary scrambled up a nearby fir and sat in the branches as quiet as a dormouse.
A few minutes later, Mrs. Medlock came puffing up. She stopped and looked around, clearly exasperated. As she turned to go back to the house, Mary dropped a fir cone on her head. It bounced off her gray hair, and Mary had to stifle a giggle.
When Mrs. Medlock had gone, Mary jumped down and carried happily on her way. She took the key out of her pocket and headed for the gate. But just before she reached it, Mrs. Medlock stepped out of the shadow of the trees and grabbed her arm. “You think you can just sneak around and act how you like, don’t you, girl?” she said angrily.
“Wh-what?” stammered Mary, completely taken aback.
“Little savage,” hissed Mrs. Medlock. “I knew you were hiding something!”
The key, Mary thought. She managed to slip it into her pocket. “I don’t know what you mean—”
“You and your secret ways,” Mrs. Medlock interrupted. “Poking about. Sneaking off.” Her fingers gripped Mary’s arm tightly.
Mary began to feel afraid. Mrs. Medlock looked almost insane. “Mrs. Medlock, whatever you think I’ve been doing, I promise . . .”
“You’re nothing but a common little thief!” Mrs. Medlock snapped.
Mary was so shocked she didn’t know what to say. Whatever did Mrs. Medlock mean? She’d never stolen anything in her life!
“After the master was good enough to take you in—this is how you repay him!” Mrs. Medlock said. She reached into her pocket and pulled out a string of pearls. Mary’s heart dropped. The pearls! She’d meant to put them back in the secret room, but she’d forgotten.
“I . . . I . . .” she stammered. “I didn’t mean to take them.”
Mrs. Medlock glared at her furiously. “The master is waiting!” she snapped.
Mary was marched to the house, her mind racing. She had to make her uncle believe she had never intended to keep the pearls. Surely he would listen and understand? But as Mrs. Medlock pulled her up the stone steps and into the entrance hall, she saw her uncle standing on the staircase, and his face was terrible. Fury flashed in his eyes.
“So you found her, Mrs. Medlock?”
Mrs. Medlock gave a triumphant nod. “Messing around on the grounds. Look at the state of her.”
“Bring her upstairs,” ordered Mr. Craven, setting off up the staircase.
“Uncle . . . sir.” Mary tried to tear her arm away from Mrs. Medlock, but the housekeeper’s fingers gripped tightly. “I didn’t mean to take the pearls. I was going to put them back.”
“Where did you find them?” he demanded.
Mary hesitated. She had a feeling that if she said she had been in Aunt Grace’s room that would get her in even more trouble. “Under a floorboard,” she lied.
“Which floorboard?”
“I . . . I can’t remember.” Tears prickled Mary’s eyes. “I’m sorry.”
“You understand these pearls mean something to me?” her uncle barke
d.
Mary nodded unhappily.
“She’s been everywhere, sir,” broke in Mrs. Medlock. “To the boy too. When I went into his room this morning, his chair had moved. It was that that aroused my suspicions, and so I checked her room and discovered the pearls.”
“My son? She’s found my son?” His eyes bored into Mrs. Medlock, Mary temporarily forgotten. “Have we just given her full run of the house, Mrs. Medlock?” he said incredulously.
“I warned you, sir, what a young girl could be like. Yes, I did,” Mrs. Medlock said.
Mr. Craven looked back at Mary. “Was it not explained to you that you were to stay away from the parts of the house that were not yours to roam in?”
“Colin is my friend. . . .” Mary’s voice faltered. “I just thought . . . if I could excite him about life then . . . then . . .”
“You stupid child!” exclaimed her uncle. “He is weak. Your excitement could kill him!”
“I . . . I didn’t know. I was just trying to make things better.” Mary realized they were heading toward Aunt Grace’s room. Her heart started to pound. “Where are you taking me?”
Her uncle pulled her into the room with the murals and glanced back at her. “I shall give you one last chance, Mary, and this time I suggest you answer truthfully. Where did you find”—his mouth tightened—“my wife’s pearls?”
Mary didn’t know what to say.
“There is only one place they would have been,” Mr. Craven continued. He opened the secret door, revealing the hidden room. The two dummies were still lying on their side, the clothes scattered over the floor.
“Oh, girl, what have you done?” whispered Mrs. Medlock in horror as they surveyed the chaos.
“I’m sorry!” cried Mary, seeing the pain leap into her uncle’s eyes as he looked at the mess. He walked slowly forward without speaking and picked up one of the dummies, straightening the dress on it. His hands lingered on the silky fabric, and then he shut his eyes as if his loss was suddenly too much to bear.
Tears spilled down Mary’s cheeks. She had never meant to hurt him.
The Secret Garden Page 8
