The Secret Garden

by Linda Chapman

  Mary was sure they were trying to help. “This way!” she gasped.

  Mary helped her uncle along the corridor, following the ghostly figures. Her mother and Grace went into the room with the murals and disappeared through the wall into the secret room. Mary pressed the hidden catch and desperately pushed her uncle into the room, slamming the door behind them. The sisters were standing on the far side of the room. With a conspiratorial look, they suddenly vanished.

  “No!” Mary cried. And then she saw it. Another door right where they had been standing. It was small and thin, disguised by the wallpaper, but it had a little round handle. Mary turned the handle, but the door was locked.

  “Uncle, help me!” she cried, starting to kick at the flimsy door. She looked back at him. He was kneeling on the floor again, looking around at all the dresses, tears in his eyes. “I need your help!”

  He staggered to his feet and ran at the door with all his weight. It splintered and gave way, and they fell through into a servants’ staircase. It was free from fire. They stumbled down it and came out through a door onto the main staircase of the hall. Flames were licking at the stairs. The figures of her mother and Grace appeared in front of them, running down toward the hall. Mary grabbed her uncle’s hand and followed them. As they neared the bottom, smoke billowed up from the stairwell. Mr. Craven lost his footing and fell, dragging Mary with him. Together they crashed to the bottom, landing in a heap on the tiled floor of the entrance hall.

  For a moment, Mary was too dazed to move. She looked up woozily and saw her mother bending over her. “Mother?” She wasn’t sure if she thought it or spoke it out loud, but her mother smiled.

  “Oh, Mother, I’ve ruined everything,” Mary said, tears filling her eyes. “And I just wanted to make things better.”

  Her mother reached out and stroked her cheek.

  Mary’s heart stopped still. “Please stay,” she begged.

  Her mother gave a sad shake of her head and kissed Mary’s hair. At the ghostly touch of her lips, Mary felt the deep surge of her mother’s love. Their eyes met one last time, then Mary’s mother smiled tenderly and was gone.

  “Mary!” she heard Dickon yell, and he and Martha came charging through the smoke, coughing. “Mary, are you—”

  “Get my uncle!” she screamed. “Take him first!”

  Martha and Dickon lifted Mr. Craven up by the arms. Dickon looked around to help Mary too, but she was already struggling to her feet. As she reached the door, she glanced back and saw the smiling figures of her mother and Grace standing at the foot of the grand staircase. Their faces were happy and peaceful. Taking hold of each other’s hands, they walked upstairs into the flames, reclaiming their home and vanishing from sight.

  Goodbye, Mary thought.

  Coughing and gasping for breath, she staggered out of the door and into the fresh air.

  22

  Believe in Magic

  Martha and Dickon pulled Mary away from the house. She collapsed next to her uncle, drawing in deep breaths. Her uncle’s clothes and face were covered in soot and ash, and she knew she looked no better.

  “Room! Give them room!” cried Mrs. Medlock, flapping around them as the sound of sirens and the fire brigade arrived.

  “What were you thinking, girl? That was very, very stupid of you,” Mrs. Pitcher scolded Mary, not looking like she knew whether to laugh or cry.

  “And very brave,” said Martha, helping Mary to sit up.

  Mary met Dickon’s worried eyes and felt a rush of relief. She’d done it. She’d saved her uncle.

  Mr. Craven struggled to his feet. He looked like a broken man. “Show me,” he said hoarsely to Mary. “Show me my son. I must see him.”

  Mary looked at Dickon, who gave a small nod.

  “It’s this way, sir,” Mary said to her uncle.

  She and Dickon led the way to the ivy-covered gate. Mary glanced at her uncle and saw that his face was rigid. “Colin’s in here,” she said, pushing back the creepers and turning the gate’s handle.

  As her uncle and Mrs. Medlock stepped into the garden, the sun shone down through the long canopy of yellow laburnum flowers. Mary saw the astonishment on her uncle’s and Mrs. Medlock’s faces as they walked through the beautiful golden tunnel and out into the garden with its formal flower beds bursting with blooms.

  “Why, it’s beautiful!” Mrs. Medlock said wonderingly as she looked around at the overflowing flower beds, the tended trees, and the gravel path that was now free from weeds.

  “It’s ours,” said Mary. She glanced at her uncle, who was staring around in shock at the blooming garden with its riot of flowers. “It was hers, but now I think she wants us to share it.”

  “And he’s here?” Her uncle looked at her pleadingly. “Where is my son?”

  “Call for him, sir,” said Mary encouragingly.

  Her uncle moved swiftly through the garden. “Colin?” he called, pushing plants aside as he searched. “Colin?” Mary, Dickon, and Mrs. Medlock followed.

  “Please be careful, sir,” said Mrs. Medlock anxiously, but Mr. Craven ignored her.

  “Colin!” His voice rose.

  Colin was sitting on the grass by the temple, his sleeves rolled up. “There!” Mary said, pulling her uncle’s sleeve and pointing.

  “Father!” Colin shouted in relief. “You’re safe!”

  Mr. Craven broke into an unsteady run. Mary bounded beside him. He stopped a little way from Colin and stared as if he couldn’t believe his eyes. “I thought I’d lost you,” he whispered, his eyes riveted on his son’s face. “And of all the places to find you. Here. In her garden . . .”

  He stepped closer, but Colin shook his head. “No, wait. Please, Father.” He began to struggle to his knees and, using a stick that Dickon had carved for him, he pulled himself to his feet. He smiled proudly at his father.

  Mr. Craven paled. “You are standing, Colin!”

  Colin nodded and took a step toward his father. He paused, then took another and another. Mr. Craven watched, transfixed. “But how is this possible?” he whispered.

  Colin stumbled the last few steps and fell forward into his father’s arms. “Magic,” he said as his father grabbed him. Their eyes met. “Secrets.” He glanced around the garden. “Her.”

  “Her?” said his father, confused.

  “His mother,” said Mary.

  Mrs. Medlock spoke. “She’s here. I’m sure of it, sir,” she said, and her voice was warmer than Mary had ever heard it before. She and Mr. Craven looked at each other over Colin’s head and a tear fell down Mr. Craven’s cheek. With a groan, he hugged Colin as if he would never let him go. Eventually, he pulled back.

  “Forgive me, Colin. I should have visited you more, and then I would have realized you did not need the medicine. But it was . . .” He swallowed. “Too hard for me. I am sorry, so very sorry.”

  “It’s all right, Father,” Colin said, his eyes bright with tears. “I understand. You have been in a prison as much as I.”

  His father looked at him wonderingly. “How is it that we are taught by our children?”

  Mary exchanged looks with Dickon. We have all taught each other, she thought. And the garden had taught us most of all.

  Colin’s voice became brisk. “Enough of this. Tell me, Father. How do you like our garden? Would you like me to give you the grand tour?”

  A smile lit up his father’s face. “Yes, Colin,” he said, clearing his throat and nodding. “I believe I would like that very much.”

  With a grin, Colin began to hobble around the garden, pointing out the different plants to his father and Mrs. Medlock. Mary smiled at Dickon as they followed on behind, with Hector trotting at their heels.

  23

  Four Months Later . . .

  Mary, Colin, and Dickon sat on the bank of the stream, dangling their legs in the clear water while Hector nosed in the bushes beside them. Spring had passed, and the garden was a riot of summer flowers—tall hollyhocks and Canterbury be
lls, scrambling roses, twining sweet peas and honeysuckle, beds of lilac lavender and pink geraniums and joyful bright yellow and red dahlias. The gate to the garden stood open all the time, and the house was a very different place. Mary’s uncle had dedicated himself to rebuilding it, opening up the old rooms, organizing the builders and decorators, his soul coming to life again as he constructed a new home from the ashes of a prison. The plan to send Mary away to school had been dropped on the day of the fire, and now Mr. Craven used the books in his library to teach Colin and Mary about the world.

  He had employed more staff so Mrs. Medlock, Martha, and Mrs. Pitcher didn’t have to work so hard, and the house was a bustling, happy place again. Dickon was now the official gardener. He could still slip through the mist like a shadow but was more often to be seen strolling through the grounds, whistling, with Hector at his heels.

  After their morning lessons were over, Colin and Mary always fetched their lunch from Mrs. Pitcher—with extra Spam for Hector—and met up with Dickon and Hector in the secret garden. They spent their afternoons together, taking care of it, weeding, separating out plants that were too close to each other. They would also play, and Mary would tell them all stories. Their laughter seemed to make the plants grow, and every day Colin became stronger and healthier. He could run now—and swim and dive.

  “Tell us a story, Mary,” he said as they splashed the water with their toes.

  “Very well.” Mary looked at her two best friends and felt happiness fill her. “There were once three people who loved each other very much. . . .” she began.

  “Four,” interrupted Colin, putting his arm around Hector. “What about Hector?”

  “Maybe I was including Hector and not you,” Mary teased.

  Colin picked a handful of grass and threw it at her. “I want there to be five people in this story—no six—Hector, my father, and Martha too.”

  Dickon nodded. “Yes, put Martha in.”

  “If you both don’t pipe down, I shan’t tell the story at all!” Mary said tartly.

  The boys exchanged looks. “Sorry, Mary,” they said together.

  “Thank you.” She settled herself into a more comfortable position. “Now, if you are ready and silent, I shall try again.” She gave them an impish grin. “There were once some people who lived in an old deserted house together. And they had a garden of their own—a secret garden that they discovered.”

  The robin perched on a nearby rock. It twittered at her encouragingly, and she smiled.

  “There were friendly birds and animals in the garden, a healing stream, and loving ghosts who watched over it,” she continued. “The people who lived there didn’t know it at first, but it was a magic garden and the more they visited the garden, the stronger and healthier they grew.”

  Colin nodded with satisfaction.

  “They were all happy together—very happy.” Mary looked around. The air of the garden seemed to sparkle with secrets that had been imprisoned but had now been told. Joy filled her. “The people saved the garden as much as it saved them,” she said softly. “Because they believed in its magic.”

  A wind rustled through the flowers and trees.

  “Magic,” the garden whispered back.

  Photo Section

  Mary Lennox roams the forests of her uncle’s vast Yorkshire estate alone. That is, until she meets a new friend.

  Mary explores Misselthwaite Manor’s mysterious surroundings. She stumbles upon an enchanted place, unlike any Mary has ever seen.

  Climbing over an ivy-covered wall, Mary discovers a magical garden. Mary must keep this place a secret.

  A bright-eyed robin guides Mary to a hidden key that can unlock the gates to the garden!

  Misselthwaite Manor is owned by Mary’s uncle, Archibald Craven. Overcome with grief due to his wife’s passing, he has no time for his niece.

  Archibald’s son, Colin, is Mary’s cousin. Bedridden with a mysterious illness, Colin never leaves his room.

  The manor is run by this stern housekeeper. Always suspicious, Mrs. Medlock takes an instant dislike to Mary.

  A maid at Misselthwaite, Martha is good-hearted and gives Mary advice when she needs it most.

  Dickon meets Mary and a friendship blossoms. With his help, and the magic of the garden, he and Mary heal Hector’s injured paw.

  Wonderous flowers bloom to life, reaching their leaves and petals out to Mary and Dickon as they run through the secret garden.

  Mary is determined to get Colin to the secret garden so he can experience its power for himself. She wonders if the bubbling waters within the garden will heal her cousin, just like it healed Hector.

  Mary and Dickon sneak Colin to the garden’s stream, where they dip him in the cool, majestic waters.

  The power of the garden heals Colin! Standing on his own, he asks to see his father.

  Archibald is astonished to see his wife’s garden bursting with life and love. It is here that a father and son are reunited after years of heartbreak.

  Through love, a family has formed. The garden has shown Mary, Dickon, Colin, and Hector the power to change lives, including their own.

  Copyright

  THE SECRET GARDEN: THE CINEMATIC NOVEL. © 2020 STUDIOCANAL S.A.S., All rights reserved. All rights reserved under International and Pan-American Copyright Conventions. By payment of the required fees, you have been granted the nonexclusive, nontransferable right to access and read the text of this e-book on-screen. No part of this text may be reproduced, transmitted, downloaded, decompiled, reverse-engineered, or stored in or introduced into any information storage and retrieval system, in any form or by any means, whether electronic or mechanical, now known or hereafter invented, without the express written permission of HarperCollins e-books.

  www.harpercollinschildrens.com

  Cover art © 2020 STUDIOCANAL S.A.S., All Rights Reserved.

  Library of Congress Control Number: 2019956227

  Digital Edition MARCH 2020 ISBN: 978-0-06-297103-6

  Print ISBN: 978-0-06-297102-9

  2021222324PC/LSCH10987654321

  Originally published in Great Britain by HarperCollins Publishers, 2020

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