Chapter 5
Dickon
A few days later, DIckon was waiting for her as she crossed the grounds between the house and the walled gardens. He had glorious rust-coloured hair and blue eyes the colour of the sky. He was sitting beneath a tree, perfectly still. Around him, rabbits and pheasants and squirrels had gathered. As she approached, he put his fingers to his lips to warn her to be quiet. Once, if someone ordered her to do something she would have flown into a rage. But she wasn’t the old Mary from before and she obeyed.
Mary liked him at one. ‘I’ve brought these for you,’ he said. He held a large package, wrapped in brown paper. ‘Here’s a spade and fork and a hoe,’ he told her.
‘And seeds?’
‘Aye, and seeds.’
‘Thank you,’ she said. She hesitated and looked at DIckon.
‘Dickon,’ she began.
‘Aye?’
‘Do you know much about gardening?’
‘I guess.’
‘And can you keep a secret?’
‘Huh! Half the birds and foxes round here’d be dead if I couldn’t!’
Mary made up her mind to trust him.
‘Follow me,’ she said.
◆ ◆ ◆
Dickon stared at the secret garden in wonder, just as Mary had on her first visit. ‘We often talked about it at home,’ Dickon whispered, ‘but we never knew where it was.’
‘A robin showed me where the key was buried.’
Dickon nodded as if robins did that kind of thing every day.
‘It’s the roses I want to know most about,’ Mary said as she took him around. ‘Are they all dead?’
Dickon took a knife from his belt and cut deep into some of the branches. ‘A few are.’ he said, ‘but not all. See these green bits? They’ll shoot up if cut ‘em reet back and give ‘em some space.’
‘Will they? Really?’ Mary asked, staring at the faint green sap inside one of the branches.
‘Really.’
Mary felt her heart race. ‘Dickon, will you come back and help me? Help me make the garden beautiful again?’
‘If you want,’ Dickon agreed and gave her lopsided grin.
◆ ◆ ◆
Mary ran back to the manor, full of excitement. ‘I’ve met Dickon! He brought me things for the garden,’ she gasped, hurling herself into her chair at her dining table.
Martha smiled. ‘Aye, I knew he wouldn’t take long.’
‘I like him so much.’
‘There’s nowt not to like with our Dickon.’
‘I can’t wait to get started on the garden now,’ Mary said as she bolted her soup. ‘Right, I’m off!’
But Martha shook her head. ‘Sorry, Miss, you are needed in the house this afternoon. Mr. Craven’s asked to see you.’
‘Mr. Craven?’ Mary asked in astonishment.
‘He’s just back for the day. He’s setting off for his travels again tomorrow but he’s sent for you before he goes. You’d best get changed.’
Mary changed into her best dress. She felt nervous. Then Mrs. Medlock stormed in, the usual scowl nailed to her face. ‘Look at that hair! What a mess! Never mind! Come on, we can’t keep Mr. Craven waiting.’
Mary was hurried along all the corridors and passageways she had been told to keep away from. She didn’t have time to catch her breath before Mrs. Medlock was knocking on a door and being told to enter
‘This is Miss Mary, Sir,’ she said.
‘You may leave now, Mrs. Medlock,’ a voice from behind a high-backed chair replied
Mary waited. A head dipped round the side of the chair. ‘Come, child,’ Mr. Craven said, his voice more gentle than she had thought it would be.
In fact everything about her uncle was gentler than she thought it would be. Even his back was not as bad as people had said. His shoulder just seemed a little higher and a little more rounded than most; that was all.
As she stepped before him, she saw her uncle had a kind, almost handsome face, but it was full of sadness. He looked at her. ‘You are very thin,’ he said.
‘But I’m not so pale!’ she told him. ‘Martha says so.’
There was a pause and then her uncle said, ‘Do you have everything you need, Mary? Toys? Books?’
‘Yes, thank you.’
‘Are you sure? You only have to ask. Perhaps a doll?’
‘I’m not keen on dolls,’ she said, ‘but I would like one thing.’
‘Yes?’
Mary took a deep breath. ‘A little bit of earth.’
Mr. Craven looked puzzled. ‘What do you mean?’
‘A little bit of earth… to grow things in.’
He smiled a sad smile. ‘You remind me of…’ he began, then stopped. ‘Well, there is plenty of earth at Misselthwaite. Take as much as you like!’
‘From…from anywhere? As long as no one’s using it?’
‘From anywhere,’ her uncle agreed.
‘Oh, thank you!’ she beamed.
Mr. Craven sighed then and rang for Mrs. Medlock. ‘I must ask you to leave now, Mary. I am going away for a long time and have much to do.’
Mary almost galloped out of the room. She had her uncle’s permission! She could go in the secret garden! As she brushed past Mrs. Medlock, she shot her a meaningful look.
Mr. Craven was a kind man. If anyone in this house was as sour as a crab apple it was her!
