Chapter 4:

Resolutions

The weeks flew by for Mary Lennox, in a series of dress fittings, outings to the village, and general preparations for her immenant departure. The end of March was fast approaching, and with it, Mary thought, the end of her days of freedom in the garden.

The young woman felt confused whenever she turned her thoughts towards the garden, as they inevitably drew towards Dickon. The two of them hadn't really spoken since that awkward moment they had shared. Their conversation mainly consisted of greetings, and a few spoken sentences. Dickon had kept his distance, and Mary hers – yet she couldn't help feeling confused over what had happened between them.

The way I feel about Dickon has changed, she realised one morning, soon after it had happened. She recalled how he had looked in the garden that day. His clothes rumpled, his forehead smudged with dirt. She recalled one of her first impressions of him, and smiled. 'Like an angel', she had thought back then. He is still like an angel, she pondered, or perhaps it is just that he is so free and happy? There was just something so appealing about his smile. 'Oh!' she cried, banging her fist on her pillow in frustration. 'I don't understand how I feel about him!'

Whenever Mary was alone, she would replay that moment over and over in her mind, savouring it like a guilty pleasure. She would recall how his arm had felt around her shoulders, the nearness of him, the warmth of his body... and the look in his eyes. More than anything, she remembered those eyes, and the feeling of magic that had passed through her when he had leant his face closer to hers. Almost as if ... he had wanted to kiss me, she thought, then quickly tried to push the idea from her mind. Of course, it was the thought that she always came back to, again and again as she lay alone in her bed at night. In her imaginings, she thought of him not pulling away, but instead leaning closer towards her, flushing at the unexpected feelings this caused within her body.

As the weeks passed, she began to experience an intense longing to see him. Just to be able to watch him. The awkward silences were too much to bear. She wanted to see Dickon, but didn't want to deal with the awkwardness it entailed. The young woman knew that something had happened on that day in the garden, but she didn't understand what, or how she could bring things back to the way they had been before. More than that – she didn't know if she wanted to. Things were changing between her and Dickon, and it left her feeling both scared and excited.

She found herself using an excuse possible to sneak out of the house and watch him work. She would watch as he chatted amicably to Ben Weatherstaff, noting the tilt of his cap upon his head and the casual and relaxed way he laughed as he leant on his spade. She would watch him as he went about his duties in the garden, smiling inwardly as she listened to him sing to himself when he thought no one was watching. She longed to speak to him, but didn't know where to begin and worried about how he felt. Did he feel embarrassed over what had happened? Was he too busy to talk to her? she wasn't sure. So she continued to watch Dickon from the shadows, unsure of how to proceed.

When she wasn't watching Dickon, she was engaged in more mundane duties within the house. Mrs Medlock had taken it upon herself to instruct the young lady how to 'behave like a lady' in all respects. Almost overnight, the young woman found her freedom curtailed and her days filled with endless monologues and instruction on the 'proper' way to do things. Mary wondered if her head would burst open in frustration, after the amount of times she had been told 'Ladies do not run through corridors', or 'Ladies do not grip a teacup as though it were an ale mug!' She longed to escape to the solitude that the garden provided, but was afraid to do so, for fear of meeting Dickon there alone.

Worse than the criticism, the young woman thought, is having to be laced into a corset each day and feel as though your breath is cut off.

Mrs Medlock had jumped at the opportunity to 'finally' attire her young charge in correct clothing. The result was lengthened skirts and tight-lacing, and Mary also discovered that her gardening boots were not considered 'lady-like' either.

'Mrs Medlock! my scalp aches. Why do I have to wear my hair in this manner?' she complained one morning.

'I had no choice but to pin it back severely, child. Especially after you took it upon yourself to untie your hair yesterday. These pins,' she said, inserting another into the hair of the wincing girl, 'will ensure that it stays tidy.'

'And I can barely breathe in a corset.'

'Tight lacing, my girl, is something all women must endure.' was the housekeepers sardonic reply.

She looked miserably at herself in the mirror on her dresser, watching the entourage behind her as her hair was 'fixed' for the day. Mrs Medlock was busy giving orders to Sarah, her personal maid, and the young servant looked scared out of her wits. Sarah Clare, had taken Martha's place when Martha had left to be married.

I would rather be a servant than a lady, she thought with sadness. I feel like a caged bird.

'Time to stand up, my dear.' The housekeeper said briskly.

She watched as Sarah fetched the corset and held her breath in frustration. She dreaded the daily tight lacing.

She groaned as she felt the bones of the corset tighten around her tender flesh. Really, it was just like being caged in, she thought. Mrs Medlock always jerked the strings so hard, almost as though she enjoyed it.

After the corset came the new gown – a day gown of plain blue cotton. She had been fitted at the local dressmakers in the village, and a whole new wardrobe had been ordered for London. Girls in London, she had been told, had many gowns. She felt silly in her new clothes, and not at all comfortable, and wondered bitterly if Dickon would even recognise her when she next saw him in the garden. The exact fitting of the gown meant that it was impossible for her to loosen the corset she wore underneath. She felt her ire rising at the thought of another long and boring day spent in pain and discomfort.

She looked wistfully out the window at the new day that was dawning. The sky was impossibly light, and she could see swallows swooping on the breeze, almost as though they were dancing on the wind. A pang of sadness swept through her, as she remembered that she was going to be leaving the beauty of the moors behind. 'I wonder if this is how Colin felt when he was kept inside all those years?' the young woman thought. 'Did he ever spend his days by his window – as I am doing now, wishing that he could be outside dancing through the heather like the birds of the moor?'

Mrs Medlock and Sarah had departed the room, leaving Mary alone with her thoughts. 'To think that in two weeks time I shall be in London. How horrid!' she shuddered and walked over to her wardrobe.

Carefully, the young woman took out her old gardening boots, which she had pushed to the back of the wardrobe, away from the disapproving eyes of Mrs Medlock. They shan't stop me this time, she thought. I must find Dickon and make things right between us.