The Secret Garden remained unvisited, and the robin wondered what had become of the children he used to see so often. The rain poured down. Mary looked sadly out of the stone mullioned window in her bedroom. Through the thick, watery diamonds of glass, the gardens lay spread out before her, the rainfall soaking the lawns and the paths so that puddles lay everywhere. Dickon reckoned there was magic in winter, but Mary couldn’t see it today.
She talked to her reflection in the window. There was no-one else to speak to – Martha was being kept hard at work and Colin was still getting dressed in his own room, for today was Sunday and they had to look their best for church.
‘I don’t believe,’ Mary said to herself, ‘that things will ever be bright again. Even though it will be Christmas soon, Colin thinks his father will not come home. If only we could tell him about Miss Crichton he would come home and save us, I know he would.’ Her reflection was mute and answered never a word. ‘Or perhaps we shouldn’t wait to be saved. Perhaps we should save ourselves,’ she whispered to Mary-in-the-Window, and she thought she saw a spark of enthusiasm in the eyes of her reflection.
Later that morning they were bustled into the coach for the drive over the moors to Thwaite church. They didn’t much want to go to church, but it did at least mean they were able to talk to each other without anyone overhearing. Colin had a plan.
‘I’ll pretend to be the ghost. I’ll hide in an empty bedroom, and I’ll cry. You knock on her door and tell her that you’ve heard something. She’ll be petrified! Women are easily scared by things like that. She’ll want to leave straight away.’ Colin grinned and rubbed his hands together like old Ben Weatherstaff did when he was pleased with himself.
‘I’m not so sure she’ll fall for it. Women aren’t as fragile as you seem to think, and she’s clever – and determined. What if she catches you?’ Mary said.
‘Then I’ll say I was sleepwalking.’
‘I don’t think it’s a good idea.’ Mary said. They were nearly at the church now, there wasn’t much time if she wanted to make him change his mind.
‘Then have you got a better one?’ He challenged her.
‘No.’ She shook her head. She didn’t yet, but she would have one if she thought hard.
‘Miss Crichton!’ Mary knocked on her governess’s door late that night. Miss Crichton didn’t sleep in the servants’ wing, she had a room to herself, one of the best bedrooms, no less. ‘Please wake up!’ Mary was small and pale in her billowing cotton nightgown. When she answered the door, Miss Crichton was wrapped in a grey woollen blanket, gaunt and stretched, her eyes blinking in the light from the guttering candle that Mary carried.
‘Whatever is the matter!’ said the governess.
‘I heard something,’ said Mary. ‘Or someone. Someone crying.’
‘Don’t be ridiculous. Unless it’s your cousin, nobody is crying at this time of night. The servants are all in bed. It’s a cat, or an owl, perhaps, in the garden.’
‘It isn’t an owl or a cat,’ Mary protested. ‘I know what owls and cats sound like, and it can’t be Colin, for the sound is coming from entirely the other direction. It might be the ghost!’ She knew from the look on her face Miss Crichton wasn’t about to be fooled.
‘Don’t be ridiculous, child. There’s no such thing as a ghost. It’s your overactive imagination.’
‘It isn’t. Really, it isn’t!’ Mary protested. ‘Listen!’ She raised her candle, and in the silence that followed her words, sure enough, the sound of crying could be heard on the still night air. Mary saw several emotions flit across the face of her governess. Disbelief, followed by fear, followed by determination.
‘Well, if there is a ghost, there’s only one thing to do. We must track it down!’ She spoke resolutely and pulled the blanket tightly around herself. She closed her bedroom door behind her, and set off down the corridor towards the sound. This wasn’t what they’d expected her to do. They’d hoped she’d lock herself in her room in fear.
Mary followed her down the corridor to the empty bedroom where Colin was hidden. Miss Crichton flung open the door. Inside, the only furniture was the frame of an old four-poster bed and there was nowhere for Colin to hide. Mary shot him a look which said I told you she wouldn’t be fooled, but she couldn’t speak to him.
‘There. You see? No ghosts. Just your naughty cousin. Now, Master Craven, pray tell me, what are you doing in an empty bedroom at midnight?’ Her voice was harsh.
Colin, who had been so bullish about the whole plan, trembled.
‘I … I don’t know. I think I must have been … sleepwalking,’ he said.
She sniffed. ‘I see. Well, little boys who sleepwalk need to have their rooms secured at night. You’ve frightened your cousin and you’ve disturbed me. I think, from now on, we shall have to keep you locked in to stop something like this happening again. In fact, perhaps it would be for the best if both your bedroom doors were locked at night from now on. I shall speak to Medlock. Now back to bed, both of you!’
Liz Taylorson 