Return to the Secret Garden

by Holly Webb

  “I still can’t really believe I’ve got her,” Emmie admitted, in a halting whisper.

  Mrs Evans fetched a cracked saucer from the back of a shelf, and went into the larder to pour in the milk. She put it down next to the table, and Emmie ran her hand down Lucy’s fur again, and loosened her fingers. She waited for Lucy to spring away, but the cat darted her head sideways, and licked at the fur on her shoulder. It was as if she was pretending not to notice the milk – or at any rate, not straight away.

  After a few seconds of washing, she peered down at the milk, and jumped elegantly from Emmie’s knee to sniff at it, and then she began to lap furiously, forgetting all her dignity, and splashing her whiskers in the saucer.

  At last she licked at the china, her little tongue rasping over the glaze, and then stood up, arching her back high. She licked the drops of milk off her whiskers, and stalked across the kitchen. Emmie held her breath, but all Lucy did was jump on to the basket chair that Mrs Martin kept for the moments she could sit down. Lucy sat in the middle of the basket chair, staring around coolly.

  “Look at her!” Mrs Martin laughed “Cheeky little beggar! Rulin’ the roost, she’ll be, give her a day or so.”

  “You don’t think she’ll run away?” Emmie said hopefully.

  Mrs Evans gave a sniff. “Nonsense. She knows she’s fallen on her feet, look at her. Cat knows which side her bread’s buttered, Emmie.”

  Emmie giggled. “She does like bread and butter.”

  “She likes everything,” Mrs Evans muttered. “I remember. Mind, Emmie, she’s not to get into the larder.”

  Lieutenant Craven had only a week before he had to go back to his ship, the destroyer HMS Grafton, which was moored in Harwich, further down the north coast from Misselthwaite. From there they sailed out to patrol the water between Germany and Holland, hunting for merchant ships carrying materials that Germany could use for the war effort.

  Emmie met him, several times, tramping around the gardens in his Navy-issue oilskins and boots, almost always with Mrs Craven’s arm wrapped in his. Jack darted about beside them, dashing off and then back again, as if there was a string holding them all together, and he couldn’t be pulled too far away from his father.

  Lieutenant Craven smiled at her each time, and Emmie thought he would like to stroke Lucy, but the little cat laid her ears flat whenever she saw him. She felt like saying thank you again – or doing something to show how grateful she was. But it was hard, with Jack scowling at her. She always just smiled, and hurried past.

  A couple of days after Lieutenant Craven had arrived, Emmie slipped into the secret garden to look at the snowdrops again, Lucy padding after her and shivering. She pulled up short, finding him sitting on the bench under the rose arch, with Mr Sowerby beside him.

  “How is she?” he called, nodding at Lucy.

  “She doesn’t like the snow much. She keeps shaking it off her paws.” Emmie looked around the garden rather sadly. “Don’t you wish you could see it better? It’s mostly still under snow.”

  He snorted a little. “If I can see it in my tiny quarters on the ship, how much easier do you think it is when I’m actually here?” He closed his eyes, and pulled his hands out of the deep pockets of his coat to point. “Yellow climbing rose up that wall. Blue and white columbines in the bed underneath, and the pink oriental poppies round the statue of Atalanta. Pink roses around the sundial, white roses up the wall behind, and those little pink things I can’t remember the name of across the front.” He opened his eyes again, and looked at her. He was smiling, but he still looked sad. “I could go all around the garden. I see it all the time.”

  Emmie nodded, and reached down to pick up Lucy, who was prowling miserably around her feet. The cat followed her whenever she went outside, but the melting snow left her wet, and skinnier than ever. Emmie had even asked Miss Sowerby if she could clean something, so as to have a job indoors.

  “Poor little creature.” Lieutenant Craven leaned over to look at her. “She looks fatter though.”

  “Little minx,” Mr Sowerby said coaxingly, holding the back of his hand so Lucy could sniff at it.

  Lucy wriggled, and sprang out of Emmie’s arms to walk along the arm of the bench, and rub her face against Mr Sowerby’s damp sleeve.

  Emmie watched, trying not to feel jealous. Mrs Craven had told her that Mr Sowerby was an animal charmer, but until now she had only seen him with the robin. Her face set, and she took a step back, not even realizing that she was doing it.

  Lucy whisked back along the arm, and padded quickly after her, laying her ears back as the cold of the snow hit her paws. She rubbed the edge of her chin along the top of Emmie’s wellington boot, and purred, a deep, thrumming sound that was almost too loud for such a thin body. It was the first time Emmie had heard her purr. Not even back in London had she done it. Emmie stared at her, and then at Mr Sowerby, her mouth open in surprise. Then she crouched down in the snow, and ran her mittens over Lucy’s back, again and again, while the little cat went on purring.

  Mr Sowerby chuckled. “Don’t tha’ fear, little lass. She belongs to thee.”

  2nd June 1910

  Colin is making a scientific experiment. He says there must be magic in the garden – I am sure he is right, I felt it, even from the first time that I opened the door. Perhaps it was because Colin’s mother loved the garden so much, or because it was left on its own for so long. But the magic of growing things is in the garden, our Secret Garden. It does make something out of nothing, as Colin says. The garden is full of great silken poppies that Dickon and I planted, but they were the tiniest little black grains before. I remember tipping them out of the paper packet into my hand, and thinking I would lose them all.

  If the magic can do that, then it must be able to help Colin grow strong. Already he can stand up. He was sure he would never be able to walk, but now he can manage a few steps. If we believe, then perhaps the magic will make it come true. He will live to grow up.

  I felt the magic, I know I did. It was in the green light shimmering through the leaves, and the humming sound of the bees. Already the garden has made me stronger, and happier. It must heal Colin too.

  “It’s doing it again.” Emmie sat up cautiously – Lucy was curled behind her knees, and she didn’t want to push her off the bed by accident. “That noise.”

  Lucy stood up, and stretched, and marched up Emmie’s legs to nuzzle at her face.

  “You’re so heavy. Greedy puss,” Emmie murmured lovingly. Lucy probably wouldn’t ever be a big cat, but after a month of proper meals, there was a covering over her bones, and her fur was almost glossy. She looked loved.

  A thin, sobbing cry made Lucy lay back her ears, and Emmie gasped. “You heard that too! It is real, then… I haven’t heard it for weeks, and the last time I almost decided I’d just made it up, or it was half a dream.” She glanced over at Ruby, but the little girl was fast asleep. Emmie picked Lucy up, snuggling the cat against her shoulder, and wrapped a blanket round them both like a shawl. “I can’t manage you and a blanket and a candle,” she muttered, looking at the night light doubtfully. “But I think it’s starting to get light. A little bit.”

  Even so, the passageway was almost entirely dark, and Emmie shuffled along with one hand to the wooden panelling, feeling for doors, and the gap where the stairs were. “It is real,” she muttered every so often, as she heard another stifled whimper, and Lucy twitched. “It’s real. It’s not a ghost, and I’m not making it up. This isn’t a dream.” She turned slowly, as the crying came again – she had thought it was coming from the passage that led off sideways from theirs, but now she was almost sure the noise was above them, although she didn’t quite see how. For one horrible moment, she looked up to the white ceiling, expecting to see a hunched, dark shape crouched above her, and howling. But there wasn’t, and Emmie shook her head crossly. That was a stupid idea out of a night
mare, or a ghost story, like the ones Arthur and Joey tried to scare the little ones with.

  “The stairs…” Emmie looked around, confused. She was sure this was the passage where Jack had pulled faces at her, so where was the staircase?

  “Oh!” Emmie jumped as another gasping cry came almost next to her, and Lucy sprang out of her arms and padded away, nosing at a door up ahead, one that was drawn nearly shut. The noise was so sad. Emmie guessed that the child was trying desperately hard not to make a noise, but every so often, they had to gasp for breath, and couldn’t help it.

  Behind the door were the stairs she had noticed before, only a few steps leading up in a twist to a child’s bedroom, lit by a night light just like her own.

  Emmie blinked as she came up into the soft light of the candle. She saw Lucy spring on to the bed, and nose forward curiously. And then the crying child sat up and stared.

  “What are you doing here?” Jack said, but his voice was shaken and full of tears, and he didn’t sound angry, only desperately sad.

  “I heard you.”

  He slumped back on to his pillow, with his back to her. “Go away then. Go and tell everyone you heard me crying, so you can all laugh.”

  Emmie stood hesitating at the foot of his bed. She had solved the mystery, but she didn’t feel proud of herself. It wasn’t enough. She sighed. “Can I sit down? Please? This floor’s cold.”

  “S’pose.” He glanced at her over his shoulder, but he didn’t sit up. Lucy sat down on his feet, and started to wash her ears. Jack looked at them both uncertainly, as if he thought maybe he should kick them off. “You should go back to your own room, if you’re cold,” he growled.

  “What’s the matter?”

  “Nothing.”

  “I heard you before, you know. I thought you were a ghost.”

  He snorted. “There isn’t any such thing.” It seemed to cheer him up a bit, thinking that she was wrong, and he sat up again, moving his feet very carefully so as not to disturb the cat.

  “If there was, it would be here.” Emmie shrugged. “This place ought to be full of ghosts, it’s so old.”

  “There is sort of a ghost, in the garden.”

  Emmie’s eyes widened. “Which garden?”

  “The one where you were – well. You know.” He looked at her shiftily, and gave a damp sniff.

  “Where I was crying like you were just now, you mean?”

  He nodded, and looked away.

  “What sort of ghost?”

  “My grandmother.” He sounded rather proud of it.

  “Have you seen your grandmother’s ghost?” Emmie squeaked.

  “Not really seen… It’s more of a feeling.” He reached out cautiously to pat Lucy and then looked up at Emmie. “Do you think I’m making it up?”

  “I don’t know. What do you mean, a feeling?”

  “She died in that garden. A branch broke off the tree while she was sitting on it – just a low one, like a seat. But she was going to have a baby, which was my father. He came early, and she died.”

  “Oh…” Emmie bit her lip. She’d never felt anything – but then, it wasn’t her grandmother.

  “She came back to the garden.”

  Emmie watched his face – the clear grey eyes, shining in the candlelight. He didn’t look as though he was trying to make fun of her.

  “Is she still there?” she asked, whispering.

  “My father thinks so. He took my brother and me there when we were only just born, to show us to her.” His voice was shaking again, and Emmie saw him rub his eyes. They were shining with tears.

  She chewed her bottom lip for a moment, and then edged a little closer, putting her hand close to his on Lucy’s back. “When will your brother come on leave?”

  “No one knows,” Jack said, his voice choked. “He doesn’t know either. He sends letters, but they never say very much. He’s almost finished his training now. He’ll start flying sorties soon – that means attacks against the enemy.”

  “You must be proud of him then,” Emmie suggested cautiously.

  Jack only sniffed again. “I have to be, don’t I? Everyone says that.” He glared at her. “I’d rather he was here. I don’t care. Right now in the middle of the night, I don’t want to have a brother who’s a hero. I just want him to be here. It’s easier to be proud of him in the daytime. Now I just keep thinking of his plane getting shot down.”

  “That won’t happen!” Emmie assured him, putting her hand on top of his, but he snatched it away furiously.

  “How do you know? You don’t know anything about it! Thousands and thousands of things could go wrong. What if he has to bail out?”

  Emmie shrugged. She didn’t know what that meant either.

  He shook his head in frustration. “Uuurrgh! Jump! With his parachute. Do you know what that is?”

  “Yes!” Thanks to Arthur and Joey going on and on about flying, she did. “I’m not stupid.” She looked at him thoughtfully. “You know, if you told the boys your brother was a pilot, they’d like you more.”

  He stared at her contemptuously. “Think I care?”

  She shrugged again. “It was just a thought. Anyway, I suppose it doesn’t matter; aren’t you going back to your posh school soon?”

  “Not allowed,” he growled. “Doctor said I’ve still got to get better. More.”

  “You look well enough.” Emmie smiled to herself. “Maybe you should spend more time in the garden.”

  He frowned at her. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

  Emmie had forgotten for a moment that she wasn’t supposed to have read the diaries. She leaned forward to stroke Lucy again while she thought what to say, but Jack flung himself back against the pillows. Lucy glared at him, and dug her claws into the quilt.

  “Did my mother tell you all those stupid stories?” Jack growled. “About the magic? It’s all nonsense. Magic is just silly. How could a garden make someone better? It’s just a bedtime story she used to tell me, that’s all.”

  “She hasn’t told me anything! I only meant that fresh air’s good for you. Miss Dearlove always says so. But actually, I don’t think it is nonsense.” Emmie looked up at him, and folded her arms stubbornly. “I believe in the magic. The garden brought me Lucy back.”

  He laughed scornfully. “No, that was my father.”

  “I wished for her. Over and over. I dreamed of her in the garden with me, and now it’s real. I imagined her sleeping there in the sun, and she does. She did today, while I was weeding around the bulbs coming up. She sat on the ledge round the bottom of the statue, and she had her eyes closed, and the sun shone on her whiskers. It came true.”

  “David used to play hide and seek with me in that garden,” Jack muttered reluctantly. Emmie could see he didn’t really want to tell her, but he had to say it to somebody. She just happened to be there. He’d turned his face away from her and it was hard to hear.

  “It would be so good for hide and seek,” Emmie said, pretending not to notice that there were tears on his face again. “There are so many places to hide. The birds are all in there, in the bushes, even though there’s hardly any leaves yet. When it’s summer, it’ll be the safest place in England. Mr Sowerby said that.” She eyed him sideways, and saw that he was still struggling not to cry. She kept on talking. “The robin’s looking for a place to build a nest already, did you know? I saw him darting in and out of the ivy, and another robin was with him. I’m sure they were looking for a place for her to lay her eggs. But I’m worried about Lucy. I don’t think she really knows how to hunt birds yet, there weren’t that many around in our street, but she’ll learn. She’s watching them already.” Emmie looked down at Lucy, stretched smugly on Jack’s patchwork quilt. “She loves it here. I don’t think she’ll ever want to be a London cat again.”

  Then she stared very hard at Lucy’
s flicking tail. It wasn’t only Lucy. The newspapers in the servants’ hall were already full of stories about evacuees being collected by their parents and taken home, because there were no bombs falling on London after all. What if Miss Dearlove and Miss Rose decided that they should go back too? After five months away, Emmie found it hard to imagine being shut up in city streets again.

  She bit her lips together, her face twisting as she struggled to hold her own tears in.

  “What are you crying for?”

  “Because I like it here too!” Emmie wailed. “I never meant to.” Lucy sat up and nudged against her arm, nibbling at Emmie’s wrist with her teeth. She hated it when anyone cried – it made her jumpy and vicious.

  “What a stupid thing to cry about.” Jack sneered at her, his mouth curling. “Even the cat thinks you should shut up. How can you cry because you’re happy?”

  “You don’t know anything. You don’t know how lucky you are,” she hissed. “You’ve got a family, even if you are worried about them. I don’t have anyone but Lucy, and I don’t belong. You’ve got everything!”

  He looked so surprised that it was almost funny. Emmie eyed him with her head on one side. “Didn’t you know we were all orphans? Or just not wanted, anyway. We don’t know. None of us knows where we came from.”

  “It doesn’t mean no one wanted you – maybe there was an accident or something,” he said uncomfortably.

  Emmie shrugged. “Maybe. But to be honest, it’s more likely my mother got in the family way when she shouldn’t have.”

  He went red, slowly, all the way to the tips of his ears, and Emmie giggled. She couldn’t help it; he was so funny and horrified, and his pale skin went red in waves, like sloshing paint about. “I suppose I shouldn’t have said that. It’s true, though.”

  “Aren’t you embarrassed about it?” he whispered.

  Emmie shrugged. “No. I’m cross with her. Or them – whatever happened. They shouldn’t have given me up, even if I wasn’t a pretty baby. I wish I had a place that was mine. That’s why…” She trailed off, and then sighed. “I pretended the garden was mine. No one ever seemed to go in it. It was a place just for me.”