Debbie and Nick's wedding

Friends of ours, Debbie and Nick, got married today.

I of course, raced home and played around with some of the photos on 'the gimp'. I liked the fact you could add an 'old photo' effect, and I think it worked pretty well here.

Man, trust me to be straight on the computer when I get home. *sigh* when did I become this nerdy?

Beyond the Secret Garden: Mary and Dickon

This is an 'extended version' of chapter 9. Beware Lemons ahead, and characters acting a little OOC! you have been warned! :D


He bent down and softly kissed the tears from her cheeks, and then his lips found her mouth. She responded to him in a way that he had never felt before – wild and passionate, and he surprised himself with the intensity in which he reciprocated her embrace.

The early spring sunshine shone down on them as he pulled her towards him on the grass, and she went willingly. He embraced her again, wondering if he could ever get enough of her, of her soft lips, her firm kisses. Slowly, he pushed her back onto the lush grass of the garden, until they were laying side by side. He heard her sigh, and then felt her hands pushing up into the back of his shirt, and then they were stroking his skin.

‘I love thee.’ He whispered to her then. ‘I’ve always loved thee.’

She was crying again, and he heard her say through her tears ‘I’ve always loved you, Dickon.’

‘Oh Dickon, what will become of us?’ she asked, giving voice to the fear that he felt inside. He looked at her, wondering how he would be able to live without her, without waking up knowing that he would see her. He wondered how he was going to face each day knowing that she was far away in London. He remembered something his Mother had said to him once, and he said it to her now.

‘Just remember, we may be far apart – but we are together under the same sky. I will wait for thee, Mary.’

Their kisses became more urgent then. She kissed and touched him as though she wanted every part of him. In return, he kissed the soft flesh around her neck. He felt her shudder in pleasure.

Her touch was almost too much. At first he hands were upon his back, then they moved around to his side, and to the sensitive area of his stomach. He wished them to slip lower, yet at the same time he didn’t, worried about his ability to stay in control. Without knowing what he was doing, he ran a hand up the length of her leg, and up her thigh. The softness of her skin felt wonderful and he heard her moan as he pushed his hand up further.

All of a sudden he wanted her, as he had never wanted her before. He was shocked by the intensity of his feeling for her. All thoughts of them being interrupted fled from his mind as he kissed her again and again, feeling her reciprocate his embraces with a hunger he had never felt.

‘I want to see thee.’ He said, breathlessly. ‘Will tha’ let me…..?’ his voice trailed off, but she gleaned his meaning. Wordlessly she nodded, and then began unbuttoning the front of her dress.

‘I want to see you too, Dickon.’ She said, and he shrugged off his shirt, leaving his bare skin exposed to the spring sunlight. He heard her intake of breath, but there was no fear in her eyes.

‘I hope I don’t catch a sunburn on account o’ thee.’ He said in mock seriousness, and they both laughed. He leant down to help her with the buttons, but his fingers were shaking. She pushed her dress back, and he stared in wonder at the way her corset pushed her breasts up, wondering if he had ever seen anything as wonderful in his life. He ached to touch her, but he held back. Would she let him?

His thoughts were answered when she took his hand and guided it towards her cleavage. He looked at her as if to ask for her permission – did he dare? She nodded slightly, holding his hand in place. He pushed his fingers under the stiff corset, slowly and gently, holding his breath. He felt the hardness of a nipple and felt himself grow harder at her gasp of pleasure. Wordlessly, he caressed it with his fingertips.

Her hands reached up and stroked his chest. Her touch was light, as though she was unsure of how to proceed, and he held still when she moved her hands lower, flitting her fingers down under the waistband of his trousers. He jerked back.

‘Did I …. Did I do something wrong?’ she asked, concern in her voice.

‘No, no’ at all.’ He reassured her. ‘It just feels too good, is all.’

‘Oh.’ She said, a small secret smile playing on her face. She evidently liked being able to please him, Dickon thought and he would have been amused at her expression if the situation had been different.

He returned to where he had left off, wanting more of her. Slowly he moved his hand to the front of her corset, unclasping the hooks that held it in place. He wanted to feel the softness of her skin next to his. He wanted to lay down next to her and take her in his arms. He wanted all of her.

‘Would tha’ let me….’ His voice trailed off, and he indicated towards the front of her corset.

‘Yes.’ She whispered, nodding her head, her eyes meeting his. For the first time, he thought, she appeared nervous, but was trying hard not to show it. She was not alone in her fear. He too, felt scared. Should they really be doing this? He knew they were casting away all societal expectations and this frightened him somewhat. Yet he felt powerless to stop what he had begun.

He bent down and finished unclasping her, then pushed the corset away, exposing her pale skin to the sunlight. He sat back, admiring her for a few seconds. She was so beautiful. Soft milky white skin, her breasts small and perfectly formed. He reached out, bringing his hand lightly down her body, watching small Goosebumps form under his touch. He watched as she sighed and closed her eyes, and he continued to run his fingertips lightly over her body, savouring each perfect moment. This was all he had ever wanted, and it was more than he could ever have imagined. He listened to the rising and falling of her breath, the small murmurs of pleasure she made when his fingers strayed over a particularly sensitive spot. He felt as though he ought to get up, clear his head, before he did something he would regret.

‘Can you feel the magic, Dickon? I can. I can feel it when you touch me, I can feel it when you are next to me. I feel so alive and so happy.’ She looked up at him and smiled.

‘Aye, I can feel it.’ He said softly, still stroking her skin.

‘I don’t want you to stop what you’re doing. It feels too good.’

‘I don’t know if I can.’ He said honestly, feeling his need rising with every second that passed. ‘What if I …. What if I can’t?’

She pulled him down to her, so their skin was touching. It felt amazing, she was so warm and so close. She whispered into his ear, sending shivers down his spine.

‘That’s just it. I don’t want you to stop. Don’t you understand, Dickon? I’ll be leaving tomorrow. We have to make the most of the moment we have now.’

‘I don’t want to hurt you…. Mary. What if I do?’ he said, with genuine concern.

‘I’m ready for this.’ Her voice was still shaking. ‘I need you.’

They kissed again, deeply and passionately and Dickon was startled when she slipped her tongue into his mouth, lightly tasting him. He felt as though he would die of pleasure, be overwhelmed by it. It was almost too much. He rolled on top of her, pushing her skirt up, desperate now to be fulfilled. He couldn’t think of anything else now except Mary, and what it would feel like to be inside her. With an unexpected jolt her felt her reach down to unbutton his trousers. He struggled to contain his excitement as her hand brushed over his member, which was straining to be free. She moaned and pulled him down towards her.

He was trembling now, too. He couldn’t help it. This was his first time for both of them and he was unsure about what would please her. In wonder he felt himself enter her, her warmth enveloping him and he moaned deeply, pushing himself in further.

The sensation was overwhelming and he didn’t want it to end, yet he felt it building towards a beautiful and dizzying climax. He looked down on her and saw her eyes shut in pleasure, her breathing rapid. ‘Oh Dickon!’ she cried.

He pulled out slowly, and then pushed into her again, faster this time, and he heard her cry out. He held onto her tightly as he thrust in and out, feeling the magic of her and of the garden surge through him.

‘Oh… oh Mary!’ he cried. ‘Oh my god!’

Her cries matched his, and for a moment they became one. The magic joining them together, as though forever.

What will be: Chapter 4

What will be

Part 4

Excerpts from the Journal of Colin Craven:

Saturday 27^th November, 1908 (around 8:30pm)

I have just got back from speaking with Father, about our sudden reappearance. I had hoped (how much in vain, I don't know), that he would be understanding, and forgiving of our predicament. I will briefly reiterate what happened, if only to put my thoughts in order.

I entered his study, with feelings of trepidation, pushing open the heavy oak doors, and entering at his command. He was seated in his usual position – next to the fire, at his large desk. As usual, it was covered in books and papers, my Father sitting behind them – almost seeming to be putting up a barrier between us. I entered the room, quickly went over and sat down, ready to explain the events that had lead up to our departure from London.

He did not say anything at first, not even to answer my 'Hello Father', as I took my seat. He merely looked me up and down, as if he was really seeing me for the first time. I had come, hoping for sympathy, but something in his cold gaze told me that I was not going to receive any.

At last he spoke.

'So you've decided to show yourself at last.' we sat uncomfortably, then he spoke again: 'What in heaven's name possessed you to do such a thing, Colin?'

'Father, if you will only listen to me, I will attempt an explanation.' I licked my lips, for they were dry. I felt somehow...... nervous..... powerless – emotions I had never felt before in the presence of my Father.

'Very well. Proceed.'

'You see,' I began, 'Some rather unfortunate events happened at the Sutherland's residence.'

'Unfortunate events? Haven't you always told me that the Sutherland's were the most generous, accommodating hosts?'

'Well yes, I have. However, this has nothing to do with me. Something happened to Mary - '

My Father shook his head and looked exasperated.

'And what trouble has she caused this time?'

I felt my cheeks redden, and wondered how I was going to tell him what had happened.

'It..... he – William, that is...... well..... oh Father, it is of a most delicate nature!'

I didn't know where to begin, and was concious of my Father's direct, penetrating gaze.

'Their son?'

'Yes, William. She said...... that on the night of her birthday, he..... he forced himself on her.' I blurted out, then looked away, ashamed.

'He what? I don't believe it?'

'Mary has been most upset about this, Father. She kept to her room for days, barely ate and hardly spoke to anybody. In the end Samantha came to me, and we devised a plan to remove her from the house for her own safety.'

'Her own safety?,' he laughed. 'My son, did it never occur to you that she concocted this very incident merely as a way of returning to Misselthwaite? That it was the only way she could think of of having a valid excuse to return prematurely?'

I swallowed, feeling shame pour over me. I had not thought of that possibility.

'Do you know how much this incident has shamed our family?' he continued. 'Not only have you and Mary run away, but Dr Sutherland's daughter, Samantha, is in your company, I believe.'

'Yes Father.' I whispered.

'And what do you think everyone will make of all this? And of me, Colin? A Father who lets his son and his Niece run wild and do whatever they choose? Who doesn't blink an eyelid when they turn up unannounced at his house, on the back of a Good's cart?' he yelled.

'I just thought it was the right thing to do.' I replied, wishing I could sink into the floor. I had never shamed my Father before, and it hurt, oh how it hurt!

'Well, she may have tricked you into thinking it was the right thing to do,' he replied, his tone softening. 'But Colin, you should have told somebody first. Somebody in authority, like Dr Sutherland, instead of trying to take matter's into your own hands. Now you've left me with no choice. I shall have to send the three of you back to London as soon as is possible.'

'But Mary will - '

'Quite frankly, I am tired of trying to accommodate the wishes of your Cousin. We had enough trouble trying to get her to London in the first place – for her to begin to grow up and act like the Lady she is supposed to be. She is sixteen years old, Colin – sixteen! And yet for all intents and purposes she might as well still be a child!'

'Father, I -' I tried to interrupt.

'Enough!' he shouted dismissively, cutting his hand through the air. 'You will go to your Cousin's rooms and send her up to see me, immediately! I shall tell her myself, that I will not tolerate any more of her lies and deceit. I shall also tell her, that she will be leaving – once again – and as soon as possible. You may go, Colin – and try to act like a man for once, and not a boy.'

I left his study with my head held low, and found myself in the dark passages of the manor. I made my way to Mary's room, my mind in turmoil. I was so sure that she had been in trouble at the hands of William. I had been so certain of it! When she opened the door and I looked into her face, I tried desperately to see the face of a liar – of someone who had manipulated the truth. But all I saw was my cousin's honest, earnest face. I watched her tremble when I told her that Father had insisted he see her, but then see her straighten up stoicly before making her way down the corridor, in the opposite direction. I felt like a coward for not warning her, leaving her to the fate that awaited her behind those heavy oak doors. It is now late, so I shall retire to bed – I fear the next few days are going to be hard to bear.

------------------------

Sunday 28^th November, 1908 (early)

I don't know what to make of it. My mind is reeling in disbelief. I arose early this morning and found the following note on the floor of my bedroom, addressed to myself and Samantha. I will transcribe it here:

I have to leave, as I cannot stay here any longer. To stay here would mean to be forced to return to London, and you both know I cannot do that. To do so for me would be worse than dying. Please do not come looking for me, and please delay telling Uncle Archie that I am gone, for as long as possible. Burn this letter once you have read it. Colin, I will send word via Martha when I am somewhere safe. Until then, remember that I Love both of you.

Mary

How could she do this to us? How could she do it to me? Doesn't she understand the sacrifices I've made to bring her here? I am so furious I want to scream!

Later – I have burnt the note – after first shredding it into pieces in a rage reminiscent of my days spent bedridden as an invalid. It is still early, and if I hurry, I may be able to find her and bring her home before all of this gets out of hand. It looks as though it has been snowing overnight, but the weather is now clear. If only she had spoken to me about it, instead of running away – like a thief in the middle of the night.

An image comes to mind just now. Mary's expression when Samantha and I opened the door of our room at the Inn and saw her and Dickon together...... I have no doubt that it is him she has turned to now, For it was always Dickon, and never me! Well, if I hurry, I may be able to find her in time.... and her bring her back to Misselthwaite, where she belongs.

What will be: Chapter 3

Chapter 3: Mary

It was so cold. I had never felt such bone chilling cold.

The wind whispered softly over the dark moor, carrying with it the promise of snow. The chill was everywhere – in the bramble that stuck to my clothes as I walked, in my boots which squelched uncomfortably, to my dress that clung to my shins. My ears felt pink and raw, even under my shawl, and seemed to feel the cold no matter how tightly I wrapped it about my face.
But more troubling than the cold was the thought that I was thoroughly lost. I had no idea how long I had been wandering the moors, or where I was going.

What was I going to do? I couldn't go back to Misselthwaite. And Dickon hadn't been there for me when I had needed him.

I still didn't know how he felt over what Colin had told him. My heart feared the worst – that he now considered me disgraced and dirty, and wanted nothing more to do with me. I was convinced that I was the one he was angry at – and that gave me more despair than anything. Whether he knew it or not, Dickon meant everything to me.

Where was I going? I had no idea. Although I knew that I needed to find some form of shelter, before it began to snow.

--------------------------

Sometime later, I paused to rest.

The moor was a wave of blackness, like a dark, swirling sea. Darkness encompassed everything. Vague, wild ideas flashed through my mind. I could walk until morning, I could eventually make my way to Thwaite village, I could turn back? Who knew what lay out here on the moors, crouching in the darkness... watching... and waiting.

The noise of something coming through the bracken, jolted me back to my senses. My mind filled with fear, something was coming, and I had no where to hide.

I crouched down in the damp heather, my heart pounding incessantly. Trying my best to hide, to become part of the moor, and let whoever (or whatever) was out there pass me by.

Straining my ears, I heard the soft snorting of... it couldn't be... a horse! Stepping slowly, and coming closer. I stood up, and heard it whinny and then the sound of scraping branches as it shied away from me. I moved towards it, slowly.

It carried a rider, a man with broad shoulders. I strained my eyes against the darkness. It couldn't possibly be, could it?

'Dickon?... is that you?'

'Mary?' a very familiar voice said. 'Wha' is tha doing out here?'

I had never felt such a range of emotions in all my life – I was nervous, excited, and apprehensive. I stood still in the swaying heather, watching, as he strode towards me. My heart thumped in my chest, so hard I felt as though it would drown out everything else. I didn't breathe, I couldn't. I simply stood – and waited. I couldn't speak.

He dismounted, and was moving towards me, sure footed and quick through the heather. I moved towards him, trembling.

Warm arms enclosed me, and drew me close. I buried my face in his coat, inhaling his warm scent, shaking.

'Come now. We mun get thee t' shelter. Canst tha' ride?'

I nodded, barely daring to speak, lest this apparition of Dickon should disappear into the darkness of the moor in which he came.

But he was real, and it was the sure-footed Yorkshire lad that was now helping me up onto his horse.

'Are you a dream, Dickon?' I murmured, as I felt him slide up behind me. 'Oh please say you're not... I couldn't bear it.'

'No Miss Mary', he breathed warmly against my neck. 'I'm not a dream. Now hold on tight. She can be a wee bit skittish on such a night.'

I gripped hold of the horses mane, feeling the warmth of the horse and Dickon spread through me. One arm he had wrapped protectively about my waist, the other held the reins. He rode as though he was born to it, as though he and the horse were part of the same being.

'Where are we going, Dickon?' I asked, as soon as the horse began to move. 'I can't go back to Misselthwaite. I haven't told you but my Uncle -'

'We're not going to Misselthwaite, Miss Mary. I know a place... tis not far. Trust me. Tha' is cold and must be warmed. Will snow soon.'

'Thank you, Dickon.' I whispered, still feeling apprehensive. Surely, I thought, he was just doing the gentlemanly thing by rescuing me, and then in the morning would alert my Uncle... and I would be taken away once again. I swallowed grimly, feeling panic rise within me at the thought of having to go back to London. But what other choice did he have? He was in no position to challenge my Uncle's authority. I wanted to tell him how pleased I was to see him, how scared I was for the future – our future. But I said nothing. His silence stilled my tongue.

We rode for what felt like forever. How Dickon managed to navigate through that cold night, I shall never know. I was barely conscious of anything, save his arms around me, which warmed my back, but did little to keep the cold at bay. Presently, as Dickon had predicted, it began to snow – the wind blowing snowflakes up around us - reminding me of the snow globes I had shaken tempestuously as a child. I had begun to shiver more, my face being blown raw by the wind, my hands like blocks of ice. I longed to be warm and hoped that shelter would not be too far away.

As if he had read my thoughts, Dickon murmured into my hair 'Nearly there'.

The moor cleared, and out of the darkness the dim shape of a cottage. Dickon slid off the horse, guiding her towards it as I sat astride. When he stopped I somehow managed to slide off, my teeth clattering. Weakly, I followed Dickon.

Dickon opened the door to the cottage, and took my hand to guide me through the darkness. The inky blackness of the night was soon replaced by an amber glow, as Dickon lit a candle. I stopped to to take in the shelter, as he wordlessly set to work building a fire.

The interior of the cottage was rather tumbledown, and smelt strongly of earth, but in a pleasant way. It was devoid of furniture save for a chair or two, and a pile of straw, and some bedding. I walked around the room, trying to keep warm, then went and picked up one of the woollen blankets to lay around my shoulders. I could hear the fire crackling, and soon the flames cast their glow upon the room. Dickon stood up to admire his handiwork, then rather nervously, looked at me.

'I've got t' say, Miss Mary – tha was the last person I expected t' see tonight.'

His words were casual, but there was an undertone of sadness to them that I had not heard in Dickon's voice before.

With my voice shaking, I spoke: 'My Uncle, Dickon... he has told me that I am to return to London. He... he said that it does not matter what has happened.'

He looked away quickly, a blush gathering on his cheeks. He knows, I thought, he knows everything. I shivered violently and gathered the blanket protectively around myself – both to ward off the cold and my feelings of vulnerability.

'Lass, I'm sorry.' he said quietly.

'Oh Dickon,' I whispered. 'So am I.'

All around the small cottage, the wind whistled. The sound of snow, the sound of the cold. The only sound from within was the crackling of flames and our uneasy breathing. I wondered to myself if Dickon felt as awkward as I did?

'Miss Mary, tha is cold.' he said simply. Getting up, he pulled a chair in front of the fireplace. 'Please, warm thyself.'

I sat down without saying another word. Dickon had gone over to the far corner of the Cottage. When he returned, he carried a small bottle full of a dark, amber liquid.

'What is it?' I asked.

'This will help with th' cold.' he said, passing it to me, with the stopper open. I smelt it, shaking my head involuntarily as the strong smell of alcohol assaulted my senses.

'Whiskey.' he said softly. 'Th' Scots swear by it.'

'Will you drink with me, Dickon?' I asked him.

'Aye.' he said.

I took a long swig from the bottle, almost choking on the strong taste. I coughed and passed it to Dickon, who took a longer drink before replacing the stopper.

'Ah... I feel better already.' I said. I did feel better. The alcohol was burning a fiery path down into my stomach, warming me up from the inside.

'More?' Dickon queried.

'Yes.'

I drank again, feeling the warmth from the fire more intensely than before. I looked over at Dickon, who had a strange, soft expression on his face. He turned his glance quickly towards the fire when he noticed me looking at him. I passed him the bottle once again, and he took another long drink.

'Who owns this place, Dickon – and how did you know to come here?

'This belongs t' my family.' he began. 'It is a hut used for those of us that were out on th' moor in bad weather – and I suspect' – he said with a wry grin 'those husbands that annoyed their wives too much wi' their drinkin.'

I smiled at his explanation.

'Thank you for taking me here.'

'Tis' no problem.'

We sat in silence for a moment, listening to the crackling of the fire, then Dickon pulled his chair closer to mine.

'You've been here before, haven't you Dickon?'

The alcohol was loosening my tongue, and I was becoming more candid with my questions.

'Aye. I have. Often if I'm out on th' Moor at night and canna get back in time. Sometimes I've come here when I've wanted t' be alone – t' think.'

'I can understand that.' I said. 'Somewhere you can be where no one can disturb you, where you can just be - '

'Yourself.' finished Dickon. 'Aye. That is how it is.'

'There was nowhere like that for me in London.' I said, without thinking. 'There were people everywhere. There was no where to be alone, no where I could think. I thought I should go mad.'

Dickon nodded as I spoke.

I stared into the fire, hypnotised by the dancing flames, and lost in my memories.

'But the worst part, was the emptiness I felt inside. It was the part of me that only feels whole when I am at Misselthwaite, when I am free to do as I choose. Nobody understood – not even Samantha. It was as if a part of my soul was missing.'

He nodded, and drank.

'Dickon... I may be gone from my Uncle's house, but I don't feel that way any more. I feel...' I paused. '... I feel whole once again'

'Why is that, Miss Mary?' he said slowly, meeting my gaze.

'Because you are here with me.'

The absence of his reply scared me. Perhaps I had said too much. Then I noticed that his eyes were shining brightly. He was trying to look away, as if he could not bear to set his eyes upon me. I felt an ache in my throat, and a sadness that went deep down inside. Hesitantly, I reached over and wrapped my arm around his shoulders, leaning on him gently. His shoulders were shaking, and with a shock I realised that he was crying.

'Oh Dickon.' I said softly, feeling my own eyes brimming with tears.

I leaned over, wrapping both of my arms around him as I did so, then felt his arms slide around me and pull me tightly towards him. I hugged him as tight as I could, wishing that their was some way of changing what had happened over the last two months.

'I thought I had lost thee.' he was saying.

I pulled back from him and looked at his face. His beautiful blue eyes were bright with tears, his skin pale. His lips were open, slightly parted. Wordlessly, I leaned closer, closing my eyes, and kissed him.

He kissed me back with such a passion and a need that it left me breathless. His lips felt warm on my own, his mouth inviting. I felt his hands move up my back, pulling me towards him, as though he was begging me to continue, as though he never wanted to let me go.

I let him kiss me, over and over. Together, we had found each other again, and I never wanted to let him go.

What will be: Chapter 2

Chapter 2: Dickon

'Dickon, I have to speak to you. Alone.'

Colin's pointed voice and serious expression caught my attention. I looked carefully at the lad just then, noticing the worried look that graced his delicate features.

'Aye, of course, Colin.' I replied, trying to keep my tone casual. 'Shall we walk then?'

We made our way downstairs, to the busy hub of the Inn. Like most Yorkshire Inns, the downstairs held a public house and eatery, and it was here that Colin stopped.

'So, ah, how about a drink then, eh Dickon?'

His tone, although casual, was tinged with tension. I nodded in reply, wondering what it was the lad would have to say. Surely something to do with their return, I thought.

'Barman, two pints thank you.' Colin indicated towards the stout man behind the bar. We pulled up a chair beside the fireplace, Colin stiffly sitting down beside me. Although we had spent a good portion of our childhood together, Colin still believed in the distinctions of class. I was but a mere gardening boy, and he was the son of the Lord of Misselthwaite manor.

'So wha' is it then, Colin?' I asked. 'Wha' is it that tha' wishes t' discuss?'

He groaned deeply, and placed his head in his hands.

'It's about why we're here, Dickon.'

'Well, I was wonderin' about that. I'll take it tha' Father does not know?'

'No, he doesn't know. Dickon, we've... Samantha, Mary and I have... run away.'

'Run away?' I was not expecting this. 'But why?'

'Dickon... it's about Mary. She has had a little... shall we say 'trouble' recently, in London.'

My heart sank in my chest. Surely this couldn't be?

'Wha' kind of trouble does tha' mean?' I asked.

Colin's eyes widened as I spoke, as if he were afraid to speak.

'It's of a very delicate nature, Dickon.' he said presently, stopping to take a hearty swig from his ale mug.

If Mary had been in any kind of trouble I intended to find out as quickly as possible, and felt my ire rise at Colin's hesitation.

'Look, whatever it is, I need to know, Colin. We've known each other for six years. We munna keep secrets from each other. Especially when it's concernin' Mary.'

'You're right Dickon, of course. Well, it all started on the night of her birthday party – she had a, erm, encounter with William Sutherland.'

'Their son?' my eyes narrowed. 'Wha' did he do t' her, Colin.'

My voice rose as I spoke, I couldn't help it. I thought of Mary, how she had left and I had been forced to stay behind while she went far away. And now something had happened to her, and I hadn't been there to protect her. I felt sick to my stomach.

'He...he...' Colin looked furtively around the bar before lowering his voice until it was barely a whisper. 'He forced himself on her, Dickon.'

I felt myself freeze at Colin's words.

'He wha'?' I whispered, leaning towards him.

'He forced himself on her.' Colin looked uncomfortable. 'For gods sake Dickon, don't you understand?'

'Aye. I understand alright. I understand tha' she was helpless and obviously,' I emphasised the word 'not around those who could protect her.' At this I looked pointedly at Colin. 'How could tha' let this happen to her?'

My anger was building and I could feel my heartbeat becoming more rapid. Suddenly, the room felt too warm, too narrow, Colin's bewildered gaze too much to bear. I pushed myself up from the table.

'I'll tell tha' somethin' Colin. When I find him, he may well wish he had nev'r been born.'

'Dickon!' Colin hissed. 'Calm down, man! she is safe now, we got her out of London, and away from him. Dickon, you don't understand -'

'Don't tell me t' calm down. Because of him she will be -'

I didn't finish. I could barely hear Colin's voice as my fury rose. I looked at my childhood companion, seated opposite from me at the table. His face was white and his features pinched. His agate gray eyes glistening with – what was it? passion, fear? I couldn't take it any longer. I closed my eyes before bringing my fist down on the tabletop.

Colin gasped and jumped up, almost out of his seat. The look on his face might have been comical if it hadn't been such a serious situation.

'Enough!' I shouted. His frightened look brought me back to my senses.

'Dickon?', gasped Colin, reaching his hand towards me. 'Are you -'

'Just leave me be, Colin.' I pushed his hand away. 'Please, just leave me alone.'

I turned and moved quickly out of the Inn, leaving Colin's dazed expression behind, watching me as I left. I pushed past the patrons who were giving us queer looks, and made my way outside. I didn't look back, but ran blindly to the stables, where my horse was tethered. I needed to think, I needed to get away, and most of all, I needed the solace that the moor provided.

-----------------------

I forced Jenny to a gallop once we reached the edge of the moor, barely noticing the bitter tears of frustration and pain that were blurring my vision. I rode her hard, then drew her to a walk. Jumping off, and holding her reins in my hand, I leant hard against her warm body and let myself cry, for the first time since Mary had left for London.

-------------------------

I spent the rest of the day feeling as though I wasn't there, but just going through the motions. My mind was in turmoil. I made sure I went and spoke to Andrew, and he agreed to drive the party up to Misselthwaite in his good's cart the following morning. If my eyes were red, he didn't say anything about it, in the way that Yorkshire men do. It wasn't considered manly to talk about your feelings. But I did notice he seemed kinder and more considerate towards me than usual.

-----------------------------

'You're late.' Ben grunted at me when I returned. 'Wha' took thee so long?'

The old man was frowning at me darkly. I decided to try and side step the issue.

'I'm sorry Ben, but I got held up.'

'Learn to be more careful, boy.' was the old gardener's reply. 'tha' will never make head gardener if tha' cannot keep th' time.'

'I said I was sorry, Ben.' I replied, rather shortly, turning away from him and walking towards the kitchen gardens. I was in no mood to argue with the old man about something so trifling. My head was in turmoil.

'And mind yer manners!' he shouted after me. I didn't reply.

------------------------------

I didn't sleep that night. As I lay in my narrow bed in the small room of the cottage, images cascaded through my mind. I couldn't stop thinking about Mary, and what had happened to her. I imagined what I would do if I ever found William Sutherland, and clenched me teeth together tightly as I imagined smashing my fist into his grinning face. Of course, I had never hit anyone in my life, but I figured now I had a reason to start.

In the morning I performed my duties, but my heart was not in it. I kept listening vainly for the sound of the carriage making it's way up the drive. I wanted to see Mary, yet I didn't. I didn't want her to see how the news of her attack had affected me.

Around midday, one of the kitchen hands pelted out into the kitchen gardens. It was Susie, who worked under the cook, Mrs Crabtree. We had a casual acquaintance and often exchanged a few words when she came to collect herbs and vegetables for cook. Her face was bright and flushed, and her words came tumbling out of her mouth before she even stopped.

'Dickon! you'll never guess who has just turned up. Miss Mary and Master Craven! and they've a young lady with 'em!'

I stopped digging, placing my fork down slowly. My heart quickened. I steadied myself and gripped the handle tightly.

'Wha's tha' y' say?' Old Ben interjected, thankfully saving me from having to talk to her. 'The master's son is back? but tis too soon.'

'I know, they just arrived now. And on the back of Andrew Ramsay's goods cart.' she emphasised the last two words, then giggled.

'On the back o' a Good's cart?' Ben repeated, his eyes widening in disbelief. He shook his head. 'Oh dear, the master is not going t' be happy about that.'

'Everyone is talking about it.' she whispered, conspiratorily. 'Something must have happened.'
'Hmmph. Something no good most like.' the old gardener said.

She turned towards me. 'Can you believe it, Dickon?'

'Wha' I can't believe,' I said harshly 'is that tha' would come here and waste our time with your idle gossip.'

'Dickon!' Ben exclaimed. 'Wha' has got into tha', lad?'

Susie sniffed disdainfully. 'You've never before complained about chattin' t' me, Dickon. What's got up your nose?'

Her shocked look brought me back to my senses.

'Nothin', I'm just tired is all.' I mumbled.

'Well, if tha' doesn't want t' know what is happenin' in the house, then I won't tell thee.' Susie replied, before turning and stalking off back to the manor.

'Tha's no way to treat a lass.' Ben grumbled to me, as soon as she was far enough away. 'Wha' is tha' problem, boy?'

The problem, Ben, I thought, is that the woman I love has been through hell and back... and I wasn't there to help her. And I don't know what to do about it.

-------------------------------

As soon as the sun set, and we had eaten our dinner, I once again found myself saddling Jenny. I needed to distance myself from the house and to think.

It was a chilly autumn night, and the wind was whistling through the heather in the moor. The lack of moonlight gave the feeling of being swallowed up by the blackness. I welcomed it. More than anything right now, I wanted to be able to stop feeling. My thoughts always came back to Mary, and what had happened to her at the hands of the Sutherlands. I felt confused about how to approach her about it, and I felt confused about Colin. He should have been there to protect her, I reasoned. But he had let it happen.

We rode on through the night, Jenny walking at a leisurely pace. The world just wasn't just, I thought. In the world we inhabited, I was a mere commoner – Mary, the niece of a Lord. The boundaries surrounding us hadn't seemed so rigid at childhood – back then it didn't seem to matter where you lived, or what your family did. Now things were so different. I loved Mary, but sometimes felt as though being with her was violating the natural order of things. - as if we were breaking some unspoken law.

But I did love her, and I cared about her so much. I wondered if that was what was making my heart ache so much.

'Oh Jenny', I whispered, running my hand down her dark neck. 'What am I going t' do?'

I was so deep in thought that I was almost thrown off Jenny's back as she shied violently.
'Easy girl, easy.' I said quickly, gathering her reins in my hand, trying to see what had startled her. Whatever it was, it had to be still out there. She was snorting in fear, and hadn't settled.
'Shhhh Lass.' I said softly, jumping down. I was intent on discovering what it was that had unnerved her so.

A voice came out of the darkness just then, borne by the cold wind, a voice which I knew so well and had haunted my dreams for the past few months. My heart stopped for a moment and I gasped, straining my ears to hear.

'Dickon? Dickon... is that you?'

A figure emerged out of the darkness, and I barely noticed Jenny shying away, the reins taut in my hands. She was small, her head shrouded in a shawl, but I recognised her at once. It was Mary.

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.

Author's note:

Hi there,

I originally posted this story (titled 'My Secret), on the fanfiction.net website.

I decided that the story needed to be re-written, and not only re-written for consistency, but also re-written in the second person, rather than the first person! so I withdrew the original story.

Quite a few people expressed annoyance that the original was gone, so I created this site to allow them access to the original. The new story can be found here:

http://www.fanfiction.net/s/4134137/1/Beyond_the_Secret_Garden

So I am using this blog as a means of posting fanfiction that I have decided to withdraw from fanfiction.net. I will also use it (at times) to post new stories, concerning characters from the Secret Garden - or characters and stories from other books or sources of inspiration!

By the way, I am not making any money from this venture - These are Frances Hodgson Burnett's characters (mostly). I am merely playing with them for a while.

Let me know what you think of the stories by leaving a comment for me to read! I really appreciate getting feedback, and if something in the stories just doesn't sit right with you, or you think I could do better, then let me know!

xxx Elyzia