Forever and Ever and Ever

Chapter Two: Misselthwaite Manor

The three companions spent most of their journey in silence: Mary and Colin were both embarrassed about their display of emotion, and Polly proved to be either very astute or simply deeply engrossed in her book. They drove until it was quite dark, then stopped at the nearest inn. Polly shared a room with Mary, but the maid either wanted to flirt with the driver or sensed that Mary wanted to be alone, and Mary was asleep by the time Polly returned to the room.

They woke early and continued on their journey, with Mary again sitting across from Colin. She did this not out of embarrassment or even propriety, but because she wanted to sit next to the window. It was not yet spring, so the heather would not be in bloom, but it had been years since she had been to Misselthwaite and she wanted to see the moor.

Sure enough, in the late afternoon the hedges and trees grew scarcer and scarcer until finally there were none; the horses began to move slowly uphill; and soon Mary saw the purplish growths of heather and gorse and broom. They were on the moor.

Mary opened the small carriage window and leaned in close, breathing in the cold air and listening to the wind rustle through the brush.

"What's that, Miss Lennox?" asked Polly, looking up from her book at last.

"That's Missel Moor," said Mary, closing her eyes and breathing in the air. "It doesn't look like much now, but in the spring and summer, when the heather's in bloom, it's beautiful."

"Nobody likes it much the first time they see it," Colin said kindly. Polly blushed and turned back to her book.

Colin leaned close to the window and inhaled. "I remember the first time I breathed moor air," he said quietly. "You made me do it."

Mary laughed aloud. "You told me to open the window because you wanted to hear golden trumpets! I had forgotten about that."

"I had forgotten how beautiful it is," Colin said, staring out the window. "It has been years since I was here."

"It will be good to see Misselthwaite again," Mary agreed quietly. "I only wish we were here for another reason."

Colin nodded once, still looking out the window, and reached across the aisle to take Mary's hands. They sat in silence, holding hands and looking at the moor, until they reached the manor.

Misselthwaite Manor was just like Mary remembered it, huge and gloomy and utterly loveable. Mrs. Medlock and Mr. Pitcher met them at the doorway, looking considerably older and wearing mourning clothes, but through their condolences Mary could hear the same ornery servants who had been so rude her first night at Misselthwaite. Dr. Craven, they told the cousins, was in the village speaking with the vicar, but would return soon. Mary went to "freshen up" before dinner as Colin fed and paid Polly and the carriage driver and sent them back to London. Mrs. Medlock had prepared several rooms, but Mary decided to stay in her old bedroom.

"Right, now, keep to your rooms and don't both Mr. Craven, and don't you forget that," Mary whispered to herself in remembrance as Mrs. Medlock and Pitcher deposited her trunk in the room and left without a word.

"Beg pardon, Miss Lennox?"

Mary spun around to see a young girl kneeling in front of the fireplace, a blacking brush in her hand. The girl was about her own age, maybe slightly younger, with blue eyes, a ruddy face, and curly brown hair. She looked somehow familiar.

"Oh, it was nothing," Mary said. "What is your name?"

"I'm 'Lizabeth Ellen," the girl said, standing up, "'Lizabeth Ellen Sowerby."

So that was why the girl looked familiar! Mary had never seen her before, but she had Dickon's eyes and Martha's hair and the same ruddy complexion as both of them.

"I remember you; Martha would always talk about you," Mary said.

The girl grinned, and smiling, her mouth looked like Dickon's. "Martha'd tell us all stories about tha as well, miss, if tha doesn't mind me sayin'."

"Of course I don't," Mary said, going to the mirror to survey herself. "How is Martha? I haven't been here in years."

"Martha married near four year' ago, an' she's got two babies now, an' another on th' way," 'Lizabeth Ellen informed her.

"Gracious!" said Mary, sticking herself with a hairpin. "I had no idea! Is Dickon married as well?"

"No miss, he still lives with us, but he's head gardener now here at Misselthwaite."

"Gracious!" said Mary again, feeling inexplicably nervous at the prospect of seeing Dickon again. "You know, I think I'll change my dress."

She went to her trunk, opened it, and was immediately confronted with a problem: she was wearing the only black dress she had, and technically it wasn't even hers. She considered several dresses before finally settling on a navy one: it was obviously blue, but it was hopefully dark enough not to seem disrespectful.

"Do you think they'll mind if I wear blue?" she asked 'Lizabeth Ellen, to make sure.

"Dr. Craven might, but he'll be the only one," 'Lizabeth Ellen said. "Tha should wear it, Miss Lennox."

"I will," Mary decided. "Uncle Archie didn't like black, anyway – he threw away all my mourning clothes when I came to live here and made me wear white." She smiled slightly, and 'Lizabeth Ellen laughed.

"Eh! He was a good man, was Mr. Craven. I don' think they'd hold with tha wearin' white, though, miss."

"No, I don't think they would," Mary agreed, already unbuttoning Cecelia's black dress. As she changed clothes, she couldn't help but think of her ten-year-old self, newly arrived from India and not knowing even how to put on a shoe. She had certainly come a long way!

When she was sufficiently "freshened up," Mary went to join Colin in the dining room. He was surprisingly not there, so Mary sat down to wait for him. He appeared a few minutes later with Dr. Craven, and the two of them joined Mary as 'Lizabeth Ellen and another girl brought out their dinner.

"Let me offer my condolences to both of you," Dr. Craven said as they began to eat. "Your father was a good man, Colin…and your Uncle, Mary."

"And your brother," Colin added.

"Yes; such a pity I was not here when it happened," Dr. Craven said. "By the time I arrived it was too late. Still, the servants assure me it was quick."

Mary set down her fork. She felt faintly sick.

"He was in the library, reading – the Bible, I believe – when it happened."

Colin was very white. "Uncle – "

"That's where he's laid out now, the library," Dr. Craven said. "You should see him – " he half-rose.

"Perhaps – perhaps after dinner, Uncle," Colin said.

But neither Colin nor Mary ate another bite. Dr. Craven, however, ate a good deal, so it was nearly half an hour later that he led the cousins to the library.

Mary took Colin's hand as Dr. Craven opened the door. A coffin was open on a table in front of a large window. Sunlight shone through, enveloping the coffin in an almost holy glow.

As they approached the coffin, Colin gripped Mary's hand so tightly it hurt, but she was squeezing his nearly as much and didn't notice.

The body in the coffin was undeniably Archibald Craven: it had the same dark hair streaked with white, the same thin frame, the same crooked shoulders. But the expression on the face was nothing like Archibald Craven had worn in life. Uncle Archie's face was usually arranged in a thoughtful expression, which occasionally lit up with a smile. Mary had even seen him miserable, before the garden. But the face in the coffin was perfectly blank, devoid of any expression at all. It was at once both better and worse than it would have been if it had looked like Uncle Archie.

Mary heard a strangled noise next to her and realized that Colin was trying hard not to cry. Dr. Craven was watching them both closely, so Mary made sure he saw her burst into tears before she turned to Colin. Better he think Colin was the one giving comfort.

Dr. Craven left the cousins after a minute or so of Mary crying, finally showing a smidgen of tact.

"He's gone," Mary whispered as she heard the door close. "He's gone, Colin."

Colin held Mary tighter. She could feel his body shaking against her, wracked with sobs.

"Sh," she murmured through her own tears, stroking Colin's back. "Sh. He's not there; that's not Uncle Archie. He's in Heaven now. He's with your mother. He's happy."

When Colin finally quieted, he turned away from Mary, not letting her see his face. How he expected her to think he hadn't been crying, she didn't know, but she thoughtfully wiped her own eyes instead of watching Colin wipe his.

When he turned back to face her he looked quite composed again, if paler and redder-eyed than usual.

"I've gotten your jacket all wet," Mary said.

Colin looked down. "It's all right."

They looked once more into the coffin, then Colin took Mary's hand and led her out of the room. Dr. Craven was waiting for them in the hall.

"Colin, if you could come with me, there are some things we need to discuss about the funeral," he said. "Some family matters," he added pointedly when Mary made to join them.

Hurt, Mary returned to her room. She knew that she was not related to Uncle Archie by blood – his wife had been her father's sister – but he was her uncle, and for seven years, her guardian.

'Lizabeth Ellen was missing, so Mary did what seemed only natural: she put on her coat and headed for the gardens.