What will be: Chapter 1

Chapter 1: Mary

Excerpt from Mary's diary, November, 1908

I am leaving tonight. I cannot stay here any longer. Uncle Archie just spoke to me and said that he had no choice but to send me back to London. How can I go back there after all that has happened?. I don't know what to do, I only know that I have to escape... and that I have to find Dickon. Being with him, at least, will bring me some peace.

On a bitterly cold evening, in early November 1908, I made my escape from my Uncle's house.

I had dressed warmly enough, knowing that the Yorkshire countryside could be cruel and unforgiving this time of year. Although it was still only late in Autumn, snowfalls had been known to happen – proving the downfall of many unfortunate travellers.

I was running away from everything I had held dear to my heart for the past six years, everything that was, except for one man.

Dickon Sowerby, the Moor Boy, the recently employed under-gardener of Misselthwaite Manor, my best friend, and now, my lover.

My Uncle's words were still ringing in my ears: 'you, child, have disgraced our family, and I have no choice but to send you back to London.' How his words had hurt me, more than he would ever know. Misselthwaite had been my home for six long years, ever since my parents had died in India, and I had been left an Orphan. Misselthwaite had been my place of salvation – where I had grown from a sickly young girl into a confident young woman. A place where I had helped bring a garden – and a young man – back to life. I had thought that Misselthwaite would provide a refuge for me forever, but now I knew I had been mistaken.

The trip to London, intended to 'educate me in the ways of being a lady' had failed dismally, leaving me broken and afraid.

I had ran to my rooms as soon as my Uncle had broke the news to me. Searching wildly around, I had at last found the old trunk where my old dresses were kept. My escape, I knew, depended on my ability to disguise my identity completely.

I had left the house dressed in an old but serviceable gown, heavy coat, worn boots, and with a hat pulled low over my head. I looked exactly how I wanted to appear – like one of the people which populated the Yorkshire moor. I knew I wouldn't attract any attention to myself this way, and thus avoid those that might be searching for me. For all appearances, I was one of the people. And that was exactly what I planned to be.

Nervously, I thought about how Dickon would react when he saw me. We had barely spoken since my return.

Now I was moving quickly through the still night, feeling my breath chill in the damp autumn air. It was silent and still, and I tried to move quietly, to become part of the environment around me. The path up ahead was shrouded in shadow, for it was a moonless night, but I knew my way. I had walked this path so many times that it had almost become ingrained within my consciousness. The path led around the kitchen gardens, and up to Dickon's cottage - and at the end of the path, lay the door to the secret garden.

Very slowly, the small cottage came into view, merging out of the blackness of the night. I moved more quickly, until I came to the front of the house. I paused, remembering what had happened the last time I came here to see Dickon. That time, Ben Weatherstaff had appeared on the porch, and I had almost been discovered. However, for all appearances this time, the cottage seemed still and devoid of activity. I exhaled slowly, feeling my heart pounding under the old gown I had thrown on in haste. Could I really do this? was there really any alternative?
No, there wasn't an alternative, I decided, and quickly walked towards the window of Dickon's room.

My fingers found the window pane, and I knocked softly against the glass. I paused, and waited, barely breathing. Waiting anxiously for Dickon's silhouette to appear against the glass.

The window remained dark, and hope died in my heart. Where was he? I drew in my breath, and once again put my fist to the window, knocking louder this time, as loud as I dared. Still nothing. 'Come on Dickon... where are you?' I thought as I waited, but no reply came. With a sinking heart I edged away from the window, and drew back into the almost liquid darkness of the night. What was I going to do now? I had no idea.

Where was he? as far as I knew, Dickon lived in the cottage full-time. I hadn't known him to ever be anywhere else. I felt panic rising in my chest. I was all alone, I had just ran away from my Uncle's house, and now I had nowhere to go.

All I knew was that I couldn't go back - not as long as my Uncle was intent on sending me away again.

A mixture of frustration and despair began to build inside me. I had counted on Dickon being there. I had not bargained for this - standing alone in the night, futilely tapping on his windowpane and receiving no answer.

'I'm here Dickon, and I need you.' I thought with rising desperation, willing him to hear me, wherever he was. 'Oh please don't leave me alone like this.'

The cold air stirred around me, sending shivers through my body. The air had become heavier, and I realised with a chill, that the smell of snow was in the breeze. What point was there, I thought, of standing beside his window? If it was going to snow, I had to find shelter, and quickly. The rest could wait.

With trembling hands, I picked up the bag that contained my meagre belongings and slung it over my shoulder. I began to walk, heading towards the direction of the moors, with only one intention – to put as much distance between myself and Misselthwaite as I could.