The Secret Garden Page 7

“Oh,” Colin said, blinking. “Surprisingly simple.” He copied her, and they shook hands.

  “Now we have spat and shaken, we can never break the promise,” she told him earnestly.

  “I won’t tell a soul,” said Colin. “You have my word. Now I want to know more about this dog. Maybe you will be able to train it,” he said. “I have a book on dog training in my bookcase.” He pointed across the room. “Fetch it.”

  Mary laughed. “I most certainly shan’t if you talk to me like that.” She sat down in the wheelchair instead. “When was the last time you used this chair?”

  “Fetch me my book!” Colin said crankily.

  She ignored him. “I don’t believe your back is half as painful as you make out.”

  “And I know you didn’t kill your mother like you said,” retorted Colin. “So who’s the bigger liar?”

  Mary was shocked. “How do you know that?”

  “I said to the maid who cleans my room that I’d heard you moving about, and I demanded she told me who you were. She said you were an orphan and that both your parents died in hospital of cholera. She was very clear you weren’t a murderess.”

  Mary felt a lump swell in her throat. She wished what he said was true, but she knew what she’d done. Not wanting to talk about it, she changed the subject. “Colin, do you trust me? I want to show you something.”

  “Why would I trust you?” he said.

  She raised her eyebrows. He had the grace to look slightly ashamed and nodded. “Very well. But I am not going outside,” he added warningly.

  “This isn’t outside,” said Mary. She took the wheelchair over to his bed. “Now shall I help you in?”

  “No,” he said, his cheeks flushing. “I do not want you to see my back where the hump is growing. Turn away. I can manage on my own.”

  Mary went over to stand by the door and waited with her back turned to him. She heard him grunting with effort and cursing under his breath, but at long last, he cleared his throat. “You may turn around.”

  He was sitting in his chair with his dressing gown on over his pajamas. His face was pale.

  She hurried behind him, pushing him out into the corridor.

  “So I have trusted you tonight,” he said, glancing back at her. “I believe you should trust me in return. Tell me why you believe you are a murderess?”

  Mary hesitated. She knew how hard it had been for him to agree to leave his bed, and she felt she owed him something in return. “I wished my mother’s death,” she said in a small voice. “I was angry because she didn’t love me, so I wished her dead and then it happened. The cholera came and she and Daddy both died. I am absolutely a murderess, Colin.”

  “But, Mary, that’s—”

  “I made it happen,” she insisted, glaring at him. She didn’t want him trying to make her feel better. She knew it was her fault and that she had to live with the guilt of what she’d done.

  He looked alarmed. “Very well,” he said hastily. “If you say it is so, then . . . then I believe you.” He started to look panicked. “But if you take me to the garden, you will murder me too!”

  Mary frowned. “I’m not taking you to the garden. I’m taking you into that room.” She pointed to the room with the murals. “There’s something you need to see.”

  She wheeled him inside. He stared at the murals as she found the hidden catch and the door opened into the secret room.

  “What is this place?” he said in astonishment as she pushed him into the sparkling room. The radiant moonlight fell on the silvery cobwebs, and the gems on the gowns glittered brightly.

  As Colin looked around, his shoulders tensed and his voice rose. “Was this my mother’s room? I don’t like it here, Mary. Take me back.”

  “Wait!” said Mary, hurrying over to the pile of photographs. “You need to see these. I was three when your mother died and you and I are about the same age. What do you remember of that time?”

  “I don’t know and I don’t care. Take me back to my room,” Colin insisted.

  “Colin!” Mary took the box of loose photographs over to him. “Just look at these. Don’t be scared,” she said as he glanced away. “You’ll like them. It’s your mother and my mother together. Look.”

  She showed him the top few photographs and stopped at the one with the two children in it. The boy was slim and dark; the girl was smaller with a chestnut-brown bob. They were holding hands with their mothers.

  “It’s us,” Mary said softly. “It didn’t make sense at first because I thought I hadn’t been to England before, but now I think my mother must have brought me here when your mother was ill. Martha told me they were very close, so I think she came to see her twin—your mother—one last time before she died. Then afterward she couldn’t bear to talk about it and so no one ever mentioned it to me. Isn’t it incredible, Colin, that we met when we were young although neither of us can remember it? And look. I think we were inside the secret garden!”

  Colin’s hand had started to shake. He pushed the picture away. “I don’t want to see,” he said, his voice trembling with emotion.

  “But isn’t it extraordinary?” said Mary, her eyes shining as she rushed on. “And do you know what’s even more extraordinary? You’re walking in the picture, Colin. You don’t have a wheelchair or a hump and you don’t look ill. Colin, look . . .”

  “No!” Colin exclaimed, shoving at her with both hands as she tried to put the photo back in his lap. “No. No. No! I said I don’t want to see. You’re just doing this to hurt me. You’re just jealous because my mother loved me and yours didn’t love you!”

  Anger rushed through Mary, and she moved to slap him. She stopped herself at the last moment, but he had started to scream. Desperately scared they would be overheard, she clapped her hand over his mouth to silence him. As they grappled with each other, Colin lost his balance and toppled forward out of his chair, pulling Mary down with him and knocking over one of the dummies on the way. It crashed into the one next to it, and they both fell over, spilling clothes everywhere.

  Mary sat up in a daze, and for a moment thought she saw the hazy figures of her mother and Grace bending over Colin in concern. Mary gasped, and the ghosts vanished.

  “Colin?” Mary’s voice was little more than a squeak. Colin was lying on the floor, very still, his face white, his eyes shut. She crawled over to him. “Colin, are you all right? Colin?”

  His eyes opened. Relief overwhelmed her. For a second, she’d thought she had killed him! She knelt beside him and helped him sit up. “Where does it hurt? Where—” She broke off as she realized something. “Your back, Colin!” She looked closely. “You haven’t got a hump. Your back is just the same as mine.”

  “Of course it’s not,” said Colin angrily.

  “It is,” Mary insisted. She pulled his pajama top up and ran her hand over his back. “I swear on your mother’s life that I can’t see a hump there at all. There’s absolutely nothing wrong with your spine.”

  He stared at her, his eyes disbelieving. “But my father said . . .” His voice trailed off. “No. My back is the reason why he makes me have my medicine, the medicine that burns and hurts,” he said. “It doesn’t make sense if I don’t have a hump.”

  Mary stared at him wordlessly. He was right: it didn’t make any sense at all.

  Turning it over in her mind, she began to silently help him back into his wheelchair. His back might appear normal, but his legs certainly didn’t seem able to take his weight. It was tricky to get him up.

  “Be careful,” he said as she struggled to lift him.

  “You’re telling me to be careful?” said Mary with a grin as she managed to maneuver him back into the seat.

  Slightly breathless, they looked around the room and then back at each other. They shared a smile.

  “I’m sorry,” Mary said, really meaning it. “I didn’t realize that bringing you here would upset you so much.”

  “It’s hard,” Colin admitted. “Seeing all my mother’s
belongings.”

  Mary gave her cousin a sideways look. “I . . . I saw your mother and mine,” she admitted. His eyes shot to hers. “Just now, when you fell. They were leaning over you as you lay on the floor. I think I’ve seen their ghosts before. I thought I was imagining it, but now I’m sure I’m not.” She shot him a warning look. “If you tell me I’m lying—”

  “I won’t,” he interrupted. “Because I don’t think you are. I’ve . . . I’ve never told anyone this, Mary, but when the soldiers were here, and I could hear them crying out, I used to see my mother’s ghost. She would appear and stand beside me. I always felt she came to comfort me because she knew I was scared.”

  “And now my mother has joined her,” said Mary wonderingly.

  Colin hesitated and took hold of her hand, and they glanced around the secret room together. A room full of memories. Memories of twins who had meant the world to each other and memories of a house that had once been very different.

  Filled with light, laughter, happiness, Mary thought, remembering Martha’s words. And now it’s just a prison filled with secrets.

  As she spoke, a cloud passed over the moon, and Mary saw the ghostly figures of her mother and aunt standing at the window together, gazing out in the direction of the garden. They turned and looked at her with a wordless appeal in their eyes. This time she felt no fear, just curiosity. “What do you want?” she whispered to them. “What do you want me to do?”

  And then the moon shone out again and the figures vanished, leaving just pale silver moonbeams tracing across the clothes on the floor.

  14

  The Robin’s Secret

  When Mary was heading outside the next day, she passed the library and saw her uncle in front of the paintings of his wife. His face was rigid.

  “No point keeping them,” she heard him mutter.

  Mary crept past, but as she slipped outside, she thought about her uncle. He was a very strange man. Why didn’t he want to keep the pictures of his wife, and why did he keep Colin locked away, not letting him outside, and why did he tell him he had a hunchback?

  Does he hate Colin? she wondered. After all, he didn’t go to him when he was sobbing with pain and he makes him take the medicine that he hates.

  But even as the thoughts crossed her mind, Mary remembered the expression on her uncle’s face as he had hesitated outside Colin’s door. He had looked tortured. She shook her head. Why would her uncle look like that, but not go in to try to comfort Colin? It just didn’t make sense. This house has too many secrets, she thought.

  Glancing back, she caught sight of Mrs. Medlock watching her from an open first-floor window.

  Mary carried on, and after a few minutes, she saw Mrs. Medlock come out of the house. Mary smiled to herself and skipped into some nearby trees. Hidden from sight, she ran to an old yew tree and climbed high into its branches. She waited. Sure enough, Mrs. Medlock came hurrying along the path, looking left and right.

  So it looks like you’re spying on me, Mary thought. Whatever for?

  She waited until the housekeeper had disappeared from view and then dropped down lightly and doubled back through the trees, heading straight for the wall. She was desperate to get to the garden. She wanted to know how the dog was. Would he be better—or worse?

  As she scrambled over the wall, Mary wondered whether there was a gate or door that led into the garden. Surely there must be a way in that didn’t involve climbing?

  I must try to find the real entrance, she thought.

  She climbed down, wondering if Dickon would be there. Hurrying across the carpet of dry leaves, she noticed new green ones unfurling on the branches in the sunshine, and her heart lifted. Spring was approaching, and the garden seemed to be coming back to life.

  I could do some weeding, she thought as the magic seemed to guide her feet into the garden of statues. I could tame some of the undergrowth. Make the flower beds look like they did in the photograph of when I was little.

  She skipped in happiness at the thought and then spotted Dickon in the temple. He had shrugged off his thick winter jacket and was clearing some brambles with his knife. Dickon had taught Mary to whistle the day before, and now she whistled to him. Dickon looked around and lifted his hand in greeting.

  “Have you seen him?” Mary asked anxiously, running over. “Is he healing? Is he . . . is he worse?”

  There was a rustle, and the dog ran out from the bushes behind Dickon. With a welcoming bark, the dog bounded toward Mary.

  “He’s better!” Mary cried, dropping to her knees. The dog jumped around her, wagging its tail. She stroked and patted him.

  “He’s still got a limp,” Dickon said, walking over to them. “But the leg is taking his weight now.”

  “The garden cured him.” Mary’s eyes shone.

  Dickon grinned. “Aye, well, the garden had some help.”

  “No, Dickon,” Mary said earnestly. “This is a magic garden! It can heal people—and dogs.” She gazed around with new wonder at the overgrown garden, the temple, and the statues. The dog barked at her again, and she barked back.

  “What are you doing?” said Dickon, looking amused.

  “I’m a Yorkshire terrier!” giggled Mary.

  Dickon chuckled and then barked himself. “Then I’m a Yorkshire terrier too!”

  Mary ran around in a circle, barking, and the dog ran and woofed with her. “Come on!” she cried, grabbing Dickon’s hand.

  “What? Where are we going?”

  Mary grinned at him. “Just run!”

  She sprinted off, happiness bubbling through her as she ran for the sheer joy of it. The dog raced beside her, and she could hear Dickon’s boots thudding on the grass behind them. As they charged through the garden, new stems seemed to rise up from the ground, twisting up around the temple columns, buds bursting open into bright red and yellow flowers as the garden responded to their joy.

  Sunlight fell on Mary’s face, and she opened her arms wide, touching the plants as she ran. Spring had quickly come to her garden, and all around her, the plants were suddenly beginning to bloom. Blue forget-me-nots, tall orange lupins, and red azaleas burst into life. Deep pink and purple flowers appeared on the dark green rhododendron bushes, and white flowers exploded on the twisted branches of a magnolia tree. The buds seemed to open as the children touched them.

  “This garden is magic, Dickon! I know it is!” Mary cried.

  They raced through the giant ferns and reached the stream. They splashed through the temple and ran on. When they could run no longer, they threw themselves down in the long grass near the broken statue where Mary had found the key. The dog lay panting between them. Mary gazed at the cornflower-blue sky. Her blood felt like it was buzzing. Hearing a merry twittering, she saw the robin circling over her. As she propped herself up on her arms, it landed on her knee and then hopped onto her hand. Mary lifted it up carefully. “Hello.”

  It chirruped as if trying to tell her something important.

  Dickon smiled. “You’ve got a friend there.”

  “I’ve met him before,” said Mary. She looked at the robin intently. “You showed me where the key was. Are you trying to tell me something else now?”

  The robin sang louder.

  Mary frowned. What could the robin want her to do? An answer came into her head, and she reached into her pocket with her other hand and pulled out the key. The robin twittered and hopped up and down. “I think he’s telling me to find the gate to the garden—the gate this key unlocks.”

  A sudden wind blew around the garden. “See!” Mary said in delight. “Even the garden agrees with me!”

  The robin flew up into the air and circled around before flying to a different statue and perching on it. “We need to follow him!” Mary declared.

  Dickon gave a shrug but let her lead the way.

  The robin flew back to the wall where Mary had first climbed over.

  “Maybe we have to look for the door from the other side,” said Mary.
“Yes,” she decided. “I think that’s what he’s saying.”

  Dickon shrugged but seemed happy to follow. They climbed the wall and began to explore it from the other side. As they walked together, with the robin flying ahead of them and the dog at their feet, Mary decided to tell Dickon the story of Rama and Sita and the monkey god, Hanuman. Dickon listened, nodding occasionally.

  “Well?” Mary said eagerly when she reached the end. “Did you like the story, Dickon?”

  “I liked the idea of a flying monkey,” said Dickon.

  Mary grinned. Just then, the robin flew to the wall and clung to the curtain of creepers, singing loudly. A gust of wind rushed by, lifting up the ivy and revealing a metal gate underneath.

  “Dickon!” gasped Mary, starting to push through the bracken that blocked the way. “It’s a gate! A gate to the garden!”

  Mary began to pull the creepers away. Dickon joined her, tugging them to one side until they could see the gate beneath. Taking out the key, Mary pushed it into the lock. It stuck for a moment but then moved with a click. Mary turned the handle, and the gate opened. She looked at Dickon in delight. “This is the proper way in. It’s what the robin wanted us to find.”

  The robin circled around her head, tweeting happily.

  Mary felt excitement buzzing through her. Already an exciting plan was forming in her mind. The gateway was wide enough for a wheelchair to fit through. Yes, she knew Colin said he hated the outdoors and it was dangerous to him, but she was sure that wasn’t true. If she could just bring him to the garden, maybe he would start to feel better. Maybe . . . just maybe . . . its magic would help heal him like it had helped the dog.

  “Oh, Dickon,” she breathed, her eyes shining. “Finding this gate could be the thing that really makes all the difference!”

  15

  Taking Risks

  Mary told Dickon her plan, and they hurried to the house. Sneaking in through the back door, they crept up the staircases and along the corridors. Mary knew her plan was dangerous, and she had no idea if Colin would even agree to it, but she also knew she had to try.