The secret garden.

Part 2. Mary in Yorkshire.

They arrived at a very large old house. It looked dark
and unfriendly from the outside. Inside, Mary looked
around the big shadowy hall, and felt very small and lost.
They went straight upstairs. Mary was shown to a room
where there was a warm fire and food on the table.
'This is your room,' said Mrs Medlock. 'Go to bed when
you've had some supper. And remember, you must stay in
your room! Mr Craven doesn't want you to wander all over
the house!'
When Mary woke up the next morning, she saw a young
servant girl cleaning the fireplace. The room seemed dark
and rather strange, with pictures of dogs and horses and
ladies on the walls. It was not a child's room at all. From the
window she could not see any trees or houses, only wild
land, which looked like a kind of purple sea.
'Who are you?' she asked the servant coldly.
'Martha, miss,' answered the girl with a smile.
'And what's that outside?' Mary continued.
'That's the moor,' smiled Martha. 'Do you like it?'
'No,' replied Mary immediately. 'I hate it.'
'That's because you don't know it. You will like it. I love
it. It's lovely in spring and summer when there are flowers.
It always smells so sweet. The air's so fresh, and the birds
sing so beautifully, I never want to leave the moor.'
Mary was feeling very bad-tempered. 'You're a strange
servant,' she said. 'In India we don't have conversations with
servants. We give orders, and they obey, and that's that.'
Martha did not seem to mind Mary's crossness.
'I know I talk too much!' she laughed.
'Are you going to be my servant?' asked Mary.
'Well, not really. I work for Mrs Medlock. I'm going to
clean your room and bring you your food, but you won't
need a servant except for those things.'
'But who's going to dress me?'
Martha stopped cleaning, and stared at Mary.
'Tha' canna' dress thysen?' she asked, shocked.
'What do you mean? I don't understand your language!'
'Oh, I forgot. We all speak the Yorkshire dialect here,
but of course you don't understand the... I meant to say,
can't you put on your own clothes?'
'Of course not! My servant always used to dress me.'
'Well! I think you should learn to dress yourself. My
mother always says people should be able to take care of themselves, even if they're rich and important.'
Little Miss Mary was furious with Martha. 'It's different
in India where I come from! You don't know anything
about India, or about servants, or about anything! You .. .
you... ' She could not explain what she meant. Suddenly
she felt very confused and lonely. She threw herself down
on the bed and started crying wildly.
'Now, now, don't cry like that,' Martha said gently. 'I'm
very sorry. You're right, I don't know anything about
anything. Please stop crying, miss.'
She sounded kind and friendly, and Mary began to feel
better and soon stopped crying. Martha went on talking as
she finished her cleaning, but Mary looked out of the
window in a bored way, and pretended not to listen.
'I've got eleven brothers and sisters, you know, miss.
There's not much money in our house. And they all eat so
much food! Mother says it's the good fresh air on the moor
that makes them so hungry. My brother Dickon, he's
always out on the moor. He's twelve, and he's got a horse
which he rides sometimes.'
'Where did he get it?' asked Mary. She had always
wanted an animal of her own, and so she began to feel a
little interest in Dickon.
'Oh, it's a wild horse, but he's a kind boy, and animals
like him, you see. Now you must have your breakfast, miss.
Here it is on the table.'
'I don't want it,' said Mary. 'I'm not hungry.'
'What!' cried Martha. 'My little brothers and sisters would
eat all this in five minutes!'
'Why?' asked Mary coldly.
'Because they don't get enough to eat, that's why, and
they're always hungry. You're very lucky to have the food,
miss.' Mary said nothing, but she drank some tea and ate a
little bread.
'Now put a coat on and run outside to play,' said Martha. 'It'll do you good to be in the fresh air.'
Mary looked out of the window at the cold grey sky.
'Why should I go out on a day like this?' she asked.
'Well, there's nothing to play with indoors, is there?'
Mary realized Martha was right. 'But who will go with
me?' she said.
Martha stared at her. 'Nobody. You'll have to learn to
play by yourself. Dickon plays by himself on the moors for
hours, with the wild birds, and the sheep, and the other
animals.' She looked away for a moment. 'Perhaps I
shouldn't tell you this, but - but one of the walled gardens
is locked up. Nobody's been in it for ten years. It was Mrs
Craven's garden, and when she died so suddenly, Mr
Craven locked it and buried the key - Oh, I must go, I can
hear Mrs Medlock's bell ringing for me.'
Mary went downstairs and wandered through the great
empty gardens. Many of the fruit and vegetable gardens
had walls round them, but there were no locked doors. She
saw an old man digging in one of the vegetable gardens, but
he looked cross and unfriendly, so she walked on.
'How ugly it all looks in winter!' she thought. 'But what
a mystery the locked garden is! Why did my uncle bury the
key? If he loved his wife, why did he hate her garden?
Perhaps I'll never know. I don't suppose I'll like him if I ever
meet him. And he won't like me, so I won't be able to ask
him.'
Just then she noticed a robin singing to her from a tree on
the other side of a wall. 'I think that tree's in the secret
garden!' she told herself. 'There's an extra wall here, and
there's no way in.'
She went back to where the gardener was digging, and
spoke to him. At first he answered in a very bad-tempered
way, but suddenly the
robin flew down near
them, and the old man
began to smile. He
looked a different
person then, and Mary
thought how much
nicer people looked
when they smiled. The
gardener spoke gently
Just then she noticed a robin. to the robin, and the pretty little bird hopped on the ground near them.
'He's my friend, he is,' said the old man. 'There aren't any
other robins in the garden, so he's a bit lonely.' He spoke in
strong Yorkshire dialect, so Mary had to listen carefully to
understand him.
She looked very hard at the robin. 'I'm lonely too,' she
said. She had not realized this before.
'What's your name?' she asked the gardener.
'Ben Weatherstaff. I'm lonely myself. The robin's my
only friend, you see.'
'I haven't got any friends at all,' said Mary.
Yorkshire people always say what they are thinking, and
old Ben was a Yorkshire moor man. 'We're alike, you and
me,' he told Mary. 'We're not pretty to look at, and we're
both very disagreeable.'
Nobody had ever said this to Mary before. 'Am I really
as ugly and disagreeable as Ben?' she wondered.
Suddenly the robin flew to a tree near Mary and started
singing to her. Ben laughed loudly.
'Well!' he said. 'He wants to be your friend!'
'Oh! Would you please be my friend?' she whispered to
the robin. She spoke in a soft, quiet voice and old Ben
looked at her in surprise.
'You said that really nicely!' he said. 'You sound like
Dickon, when he talks to animals on the moor.'
'Do you know Dickon?' asked Mary. But just then the
robin flew away. 'Oh look, he's flown into the garden with
no door! Please, Ben, how can I get into it?'
Ben stopped smiling and picked up his spade. 'You can't,
and that's that. It's not your business. Nobody can find the
door. Run away and play, will you? I must get on with my
work.' And he walked away. He did not even say goodbye.
In the next few days Mary spent almost all her time in the
gardens. The fresh air from the moor made her hungry,-and
she was becoming stronger and healthier. One day she
noticed the robin again. He was on top of a wall, singing to
her. 'Good morning! Isn't this fun! Come this way!' he
seemed to say, as he hopped along the wall Mary began to
laugh as she danced along beside him. 'I know the secret
garden's on the other side of this wall!' she thought excitedly. 'And the robin lives there! But where's the door?'
That evening she asked Martha to stay and talk to her
beside the fire after supper. They could hear the wind
blowing round the old house, but the room was warm and
comfortable. Mary only had one idea in her head.
'Tell me about the secret garden,' she said.
'Well, all right then, miss, but we aren't supposed to talk
about it, you know. It was Mrs Craven's favourite garden,
and she and Mr Craven used to take care of it themselves.
They spent hours there, reading and talking. Very happy,
they were. They used the branch of an old tree as a seat. But
one day when she was sitting on the branch, it broke, and
she fell. She was very badly hurt and the next day she died.
That's why he hates the garden so much, and won't let
anyone go in there.'
'How sad!' said Mary. 'Poor Mr Craven!' It was the first
time that she had ever felt sorry for anyone.
Just then, as she was listening to the wind outside, she
heard another noise, in the house.
'Can you hear a child crying?' she asked Martha.
Martha looked confused. 'Er - no,' she replied. 'No, I
think .. . it must be the wind.'
But at that moment the wind blew open their door and
they heard the crying very clearly.
'I told you!' cried Mary.
At once Martha shut the door. 'It was the wind,' she
repeated. But she did not speak in her usual natural way,
and Mary did not believe her.
The next day it was very rainy, so Mary did not go out
Instead she decided to wander round the house, looking into
some of the hundred rooms that Mrs Medlock had told her
about. She spent all morning going in and out of dark, silent
rooms, which were full of heavy furniture and old pictures
She saw no servants at all, and was on her way back to her
room for lunch, when she heard a cry. 'It's a bit like the cry that
I heard last night!' she thought. Just then the housekeeper, Mrs
Medlock, appeared, with her keys in her hand.
'What are you doing here?' she asked crossly.
'I didn't know which way to go, and I heard someone
crying,' answered Mary.
'You didn't hear anything! Go back to your room now.
And if you don't stay there, I'll lock you in!'
Mary hated Mrs Medlock for this. There was someone
crying, I know there was!' she said to herself. 'But I'll
discover who it is soon!' She was almost beginning to enjoy
herself in Yorkshire.