Dreams and Memories

ary read on until Colin’s eyes closed and then she got up and tiptoed out of his room.

As she pushed his door shut, she froze as she heard the sound of merry laughter behind her. Swinging round, she saw two ghostly figures running up the corridor – two young women in long white ballgowns – her mother and Aunt Grace. They smiled at her and vanished into thin air.

Mary blinked, icy fingers running up and down her spine. Had she really just seen two ghosts? I must have imagined it, she thought, staring at the empty corridor. Mustn’t I?

Just then, a different noise made her jump – it was the sound of Mrs Medlock coming upstairs again. No! She was going to be caught! Mary dashed to a nearby door on the opposite side of the corridor to Colin’s and turned the handle. To her relief, it opened and she slipped inside the large room.

Moonlight was shining in through the windows, bright enough for her to see that the walls were covered with detailed murals – painted scenes. The room was neat and tidy. Objects were set out around it as if they were on display – an ornate oriental screen, a wooden chest painted with flowers, display cabinets filled with carved ivory and little elephants made from black wood.

Walking curiously round the room, Mary noticed a line of pale light on one of the walls. Going over, she realised that it was the outline of a hidden door. Excitement bubbled up inside her. Where did it lead? She carefully traced her fingers in the groove around the door until they snagged on a slightly raised piece of wood. She pressed it and, with a faint click, the door swung open.

Mary caught her breath as she gazed inside. The room on the other side seemed to shine and glow with light. The moonbeams streaming in through the large window were reflecting off swathes of thick white cobwebs hanging from the ceiling. There were dressmaker’s dummies arranged around the room, clothed in beautiful, old-fashioned gowns, all decorated with gems that glittered brightly. Other dummies were piled with elegant cloaks and fur stoles. Mary stepped inside the room, her eyes widening in awe as she walked between the gowns, gently touching the soft, silky fabric.

There was a pile of photographs and pictures stacked against each other in the centre of the room along with boxes of photographs. Mary looked through them curiously. They were all of her mother and her aunt from when they were children through to when they were adults – her mother sitting with her twin sister’s arms around her, the two sisters running through woodland and dancing in a field. In every picture, her mother and her aunt looked wonderfully happy. Mary paused at one of them walking away along a path lined with beautiful flowerbeds and statues. They were with two very young children and were all walking hand in hand, their backs to the camera. There was another picture of them all sitting under a big oak tree that had a swing attached to one of its branches.

Mary drifted away from the photographs and opened a wardrobe. It was filled with even more beautiful dresses. As she rifled through them, a few fell from the hangers and spilled on to the floor. Picking up a silver one, Mary couldn’t resist trying it on. She slipped it over her nightclothes. It was much too big for her, but she spun round in it.

Once there was a girl called Mary Lennox, she thought dreamily. She was invited to a grand ball and, when she was there, she danced and danced and everyone thought she was beautiful. She whisked a feather boa from one of the dummies, sending the rest of the scarves and stoles tumbling to the floor, and then danced over to the chest of drawers and pulled open the heavy drawers one by one, finding folded lace, the softest leather gloves, tortoiseshell hair combs and finally a drawer of jewellery boxes. Opening one, she took out a string of pearls and put them on. She smiled at herself in the looking glass.

But then a familiar cry of pain made her remember exactly where she was. Colin! Mrs Medlock must be in his room, forcing him to have more of the medicine he hated.

Mary shrugged off the dress and boa and, leaving them on the floor with the rest of the clothes, she hurried back into the first room and listened at the door. As she did so, she put her hand to her neck. She still had the pearls! She pulled them off and dropped them into the pocket of her dressing gown. She’d put them back later. Colin’s screams had turned to sobs now and she could hear Mrs Medlock leaving. As her footsteps echoed away down the stairs, Mary pushed the door open, intending to go to Colin, but, just then, a sound on the landing made her hesitate.

She peeped out. Her uncle was walking quickly towards Colin’s room from the other end of the corridor. He reached Colin’s door and stopped. His hand reached for the door but then he pulled it back, his face a mass of conflicting emotions.

Why isn’t he going in? thought Mary in astonishment. She knew that if she had been in pain, and her father still alive, he would have rushed to her side.

Taking a deep breath, her uncle ran his hand through his hair, then turned and walked slowly back the way he had come.

At that moment, Mary hated her uncle with a passion. Why hadn’t he gone in and comforted Colin? Colin’s mother might have loved him, but his father obviously didn’t.

With her uncle and Mrs Medlock out and about in the corridors, Mary didn’t dare risk going into Colin’s room again. Instead, she hurried back to her own bedroom. So much had happened that day – Jemima being caught in the trap, finding the garden and the hidden room with all those clothes and photographs, Colin telling her he was going to die. Mary thought about the photograph of her mother and aunt holding hands with two young children. Could it possibly have been her and Colin in the photo? But no. Colin had said he’d never been able to walk and the girl couldn’t have been her because she’d never been to England. So who were those children?

When Mary fell asleep, images filled her head – flashes of the secret garden, the dog, the robin … She was running through the flowerbeds. The weeds had gone and they were now filled with enormous bright flowers … and, as she burst through them, she was suddenly in India again. Daddy was chasing her, pretending to be a monster, and she was giggling with delight … Now she was sitting on the veranda. She had an exercise book on her knee and it was filled with writing. The door opened and through it she could see her mother lying on a day bed. Their eyes met and Mary felt a surge of hope. Maybe this time Mother would see her?

‘I have written a story, Mother!’ she called, going to the door. ‘Can I read it to you?’

‘No, Mary. Not now. Please go away,’ her mother said wearily. ‘I need peace and quiet.’

‘But, Mother, I wrote it for you …’

Her mother motioned to a servant in the room and the door was shut in Mary’s face.

She hates me, Mary thought, two tears escaping and spilling down her cheeks.

‘Mary?’ It was her father. He jumped up on to the veranda and saw her tears. ‘Oh, monkey,’ he said, wiping them away with his thumb. ‘Did you want to see Mother?’ Mary nodded and he sighed. ‘She … she can’t see you at the moment. She’s sad.’

‘But I could try and make her happy, Daddy,’ said Mary.

He gave her a rueful smile. ‘I’m afraid that’s not going to work, monkey. Seeing you makes her feel worse. Try not to take it to heart.’

Mary didn’t understand. Why would the sight of her make her mother feel worse?

‘Your mother is sick,’ her father went on sadly. ‘So sick.’

Mary scowled. ‘I wish she’d just get on and die and leave us all alone!’

‘Mary, you mustn’t speak like that!’ her father said sharply. ‘Now be a good girl and run along. I need to go to work.’

Mary had held in her tears. She would be a good girl like her father asked because, if she wasn’t, well, maybe Daddy would start shutting doors on her and stop loving her too.

Mary woke to the sound of Martha cleaning out the grate in the fireplace. ‘Morning, miss,’ she said, giving Mary a friendly smile as Mary sat up in bed.

‘Good morning, Martha,’ said Mary. She watched the maid work for a moment. ‘Martha? Have you worked here long?’

‘Ever since I were twelve, miss. I started here as a scullery maid. Things were very different back in them days. There were scullery maids and parlourmaids, footmen, a butler, stableboys.’ She shook her head. ‘They were different times, miss.’

‘Before the war,’ said Mary.

‘And before the mistress died,’ said Martha quietly. ‘It’s hard to believe now, but this house was once filled with light, laughter, happiness.’

‘What was my Aunt Grace like?’ Mary asked curiously.

Martha looked surprised. ‘Didn’t your mother talk of her at all?’

‘No. She never talked about England. Not that I can remember anyway,’ said Mary.

‘Maybe it pained her too much,’ said Martha with a sigh. ‘She and the mistress, thick as thieves they were. The crying that happened when it was announced that your father was going to be sent to India …’ She shook her head. ‘I’ll never forget it. I don’t know how your mother coped to lose the mistress when she died. It must have half killed her.’ She stood up. ‘Do you need anything else, miss?’

‘No,’ said Mary, seeing that her porridge was on the table. She smiled. ‘I can manage now, Martha. Thank you.’

Looking surprised but pleased, Martha left. Mary got herself dressed, choosing a dress that had no buttons at the back, then she sat down to eat her porridge. She thought about everything that Martha had said. She’d never realised her mother and Aunt Grace had been so close. It must have been terribly hard for her mother to leave England. Even more terrible must have been the news that Aunt Grace had died.

The dream she’d had the night before came back into Mary’s head. She knew it wasn’t just a dream – it was a memory too. She could remember waiting on the veranda and the unhappiness that had surged through her when the door had been shut in her face. But, for the first time, she wondered if maybe her mother had been unhappy too – grieving for her sister who had died. Thinking that made Mary feel a little differently about her mother.

Mary was still pondering it when she went outside. She’d managed to get some more spam sandwiches from Cook and she headed into the gardens. As she walked down a path, she heard a crack behind her on the path. Her heart thumped. Was someone following her?

She slipped behind a huge oak tree and found a space underneath a cavernous rhododendron bush. Hiding under its branches, she watched as Mrs Medlock came past, looking suspiciously left and right.

Oh, thought Mary with a slight smile, so Mrs Medlock is on my trail and thinks she is clever enough to spy on me, does she? Well, we shall see about that!