The only sound to be heard in the soft, still air of a late November morning was the regular swish, swish, swish of Ben Weatherstaff’s broom as he brushed the last of the leaves into a pile. They had gathered in the doorway to the Secret Garden, and he liked to keep it clear for the children so that they could visit their garden whenever they wished. Even though the door was still kept locked with a great iron key Mary and Colin knew where to find it whenever they needed to.
‘That’s the last of ‘em,’ he said, straightening up and holding his back. ‘And I’m glad on’t. My poor owd back’s not what it once was.’
‘We’ll help you,’ said Mary, taking a shovelful of the wet, brown leaves and placing it in the wheelbarrow for the old man. Colin moved the wheelbarrow closer to the pile and picked up the brush.
‘Here’s an old friend!’ Ben said, lowering himself carefully onto a stone bench and pointing to the ivy on the wall. Mary and Colin looked up from their work, to see the little robin watching them with his beady eye. He chirped, as if to tell them that they were doing a good job – and if they happened to have any beetles or worms to spare for his breakfast he wouldn’t say no.
‘I don’t think we’ll be able to come and help you tomorrow,’ said Colin to Ben as they started picking up the leaves again. ‘We’ve got a new governess arriving on the express train from London.’
‘Another one?’ the old man said, scratching his head. ‘Eh, they come and go like moles in a lawn, just as you get rid of one, up pops another ‘un. I hope she’s got more sense than that daft Frenchwoman had.’
‘Poor Mademoiselle Blanche – she didn’t really like Yorkshire, did she?’ Mary said with a giggle. ‘She hated the weather – and the wildlife.’
‘Well, from what I heard, you didn’t exactly help her, the pair of you.’ He pulled his cap firmly back down to keep his head warm.
‘I don’t know what you mean!’ Colin said, though Mary could tell from the glint in his eyes that he knew exactly what Old Ben meant.
‘Well, I heard from the gamekeeper, who had it from the cook, who was told by Mrs. Medlock herself, that you two ran rings around her. Collecting moths and setting them free in her bedroom. Spiders in the schoolroom. I even heard tell of a mouse let loose in the breakfast room one morning.’ He wagged his finger at them, but his eyes were merry.
‘That’s not exactly true. We didn’t let it loose, it was there all the time,’ said Mary.
‘We just made sure she saw it, that’s all,’ Colin added with a conspiratorial glance at his cousin.
‘We didn’t learn much French from Mademoiselle Blanche, but I did learn one thing,’ Mary said. ‘I do know how to say Regarder! Une souris!’
‘And what’s that when it’s at home? Rigadoon Serris? Is that French?’ asked Ben, looking puzzled.
‘It means look! There’s a mouse,’ Colin translated. ‘We only had to mention it three, maybe four times, and Mademoiselle was straight back on the train to Paris. If we don’t like the new governess, then we’ll give her the same treatment. Maybe Robin’ll help us find some worms for her!’
The robin chirped in agreement and they all laughed.
‘Well, I hope she’s more to your taste than that Maddy-Mosel woman,’ said Ben, getting to his feet again, now the wheelbarrow was full. ‘I’ll take this round to the compost heap.’
‘I wonder what she will be like?’ said Mary, as she turned the old key in the lock of the Secret Garden.
‘Never mind that now. We’ll find out tomorrow!’ Colin replied. ‘Come on, I’ll race you to the fountain pool!’
And away they ran, the cold wind from the moors blowing all thoughts of governesses clean out of their heads.
Liz Taylorson 