Mary woke the next morning to the sound of the fire in her bedroom being stoked and coaxed into flames to warm the room. Martha was at work, kneeling in front of the fire, her back to Mary’s bed. Mary peeped out from under the thick quilt that kept her snug.

‘Good morning, Martha!’ she said, cheerily, for she was always happy to see her friend.

‘And good morning to you, Miss Mary!’ Martha replied as she gave the fire a final poke and stood up, brushing the smuts from her apron.

‘Have you heard?’ Mary sat up in bed and pulled the covers around herself. ‘We’re getting another governess!’

‘Another one! Dear me, that’ll be a brave woman to take on the two of you!’ Martha said, her eyes laughing, though her face was straight. Mary knew she was only teasing.

‘I don’t know what you mean!’ she said with a grin.

‘This’ll be your third governess in a year. Be nice to this one, Miss Mary, or your uncle’ll lose patience with you.’

‘We were nice to Miss Lightfoot!’ Mary protested.

‘Ay. Too nice. Can we go for a walk on the moors today, Miss Lightfoot? Can we go up past Hart Foss Farm? Knowing all the time that she had a fancy for John Carter the farmer at Hart Foss – and he had a fancy for her!’

‘We couldn’t help it if she fell in love and got married!’ said Mary watching Martha as she crossed to the window and pulled back the heavy velvet curtains to let the daylight in.

‘Well, the pair of you certainly didn’t stand in her way,’ said Martha.

‘Can you see my robe, Martha? I’d like to get out of bed.’

‘It’s on the chair, here, Miss.’ Martha handed her the warm woollen dressing gown.

‘I wish we didn’t have to have a governess at all,’ said Mary as she scrambled out of bed and put the dressing gown on over her long white cotton nightdress.

‘Well, I wish I could have one,’ said Martha, pulling out a chair for Mary to sit at the little breakfast table in the window alcove. ‘I’d love to have a governess and to sit reading books all day and learning all kinds of things. About places far away and times long ago. That’d be something!’ 

‘This one is going to teach us everything we need to know. Uncle said so.’ Mary sat down and picked up her spoon. Steam rose from the hot bowl of porridge that Martha had brought her, and it smelt delicious. ‘So maybe she’ll teach us all about gardens and plants.’ Mary looked out of the window to where the Secret Garden was hidden away behind a great stone wall, and beyond it to the moors on the horizon.

‘Th’art a strange child, Miss Mary. A strange one indeed! Gardens and plants for a young lady, whatever next!’

‘And if she won’t teach us about plants – I don’t suppose you know any more farmers who might be looking for a wife?’ Mary looked up at Martha with a grin.

‘Well, there’s Bob Strong over at Sunnybrow Farm. Strong by name and strong by nature.’ She gave a big sigh. ‘And handsome enough. Or, so I’ve heard …’

‘Why Martha, I do believe you’re blushing!’ said Mary.

‘Me, Miss Mary? Goodness me, no. Now eat your porridge, for I must be about my work and I’ve no time to stand here gossiping wi’ you!’

By Liz Taylorson

The door to Archibald Craven’s study stood open as the children approached. Once it had been forbidden and the door kept tightly shut, but now they were welcome to visit him whenever they wished to. Increasingly, Mary found huge enjoyment in visiting her uncle in his study. It was a cosy room, the walls lined with leather books, their gilded spines gleaming in the warm light from the oil lamp that stood on his desk. A fire blazed in the ornately carved fireplace. Mary had once found it overwhelmingly huge and frightening; she used to see grim faces in the shadows. Now the intricate carvings of plants interested her and she always found something new to look at; a wooden butterfly or a bee frozen in time by the woodcarver’s skill. At the centre of the room stood Mr Craven’s desk, covered in papers, and behind the desk sat Archibald Craven himself. 

‘Ah, Mary and Colin! There you are. Mrs. Medlock has been looking for you all afternoon.’

‘We were in the garden,’ said Mary.

‘And why doesn’t that surprise me?’ said her uncle, his tone indulgent. There would have been a time when their absence when required might have upset him, but he was kinder now than he had once been. 

‘I have some news for you. I shall be away for a few weeks – business that I cannot avoid takes me to London.’

‘Must you?’ said Colin, who liked to have his father safe at home.

‘It won’t be for long. I shall be back before Christmas, if all goes well.’

‘And if it doesn’t?’ Colin’s lip trembled slightly.

‘Then I shall be back before New Year,’ he said. 

‘You’re never at home for Christmas!’ Colin said. ‘Not since Mama died.’

‘I know. But this year … I shall try. I promise I shall try. And in the meanwhile, so that you won’t be left alone and up to your own devices, I have made arrangements for you to have a new governess.’

‘Another one?’ Colin’s voice shook.

‘We don’t like governesses,’ Mary added, her voice firmer.

‘I know. But you must learn, and you cannot do that alone.’

‘Why not?’ said Mary, her eyes sharp in her pointed face. ‘Dickon did. He learnt from the creatures on the moor and the land itself. He didn’t need a teacher, the moors taught him everything he needs to know.’

‘And for Dickon that’s not a bad thing. He will grow up to work on the moors, as a gamekeeper, or as a gardener or a shepherd. The land is all he needs to know. But you two – you must grow up to be a fine lady and gentleman, and you must learn more than the moors can teach you.’ Mr Craven sighed as he looked down at the two children. Some days he played with them, and was lighthearted, but today he looked older than his years and weighed down by his troubles. ‘I need you to understand that I want the best for you.’

‘A governess won’t be the best for us,’ Colin said.

‘Then you must both be sent away to school,’ Mr Craven said heavily, ‘and I fear you will like that even less.’

‘I don’t want to leave the Secret Garden,’ said Mary, ‘and I don’t want to leave Colin.’

‘We are cousins and we should not be separated,’ Colin added, sticking out his chin and setting his feet solidly apart.

‘Very well, then you must accept a new governess. I promise you that I’ll choose carefully. Someone clever who will be able to teach you everything you need to know.’

There was a slight pause as Mary and Colin looked at one another. It wasn’t ideal, but it was better than going away to school. How could they bear to be apart from each other – and from the moors and the garden?

‘Very well. We’ll have a governess, if that’s what you require,’ said Colin in a regal tone.

By Liz Taylorson