Hi all,

It's been a while since the previous instalment - almost a month! how time flies. I don't have much time to write at the moment, so this chapter - short as it is - will have to suffice. As always, PLEASE PLEASE let me know what you think via a review - how I could improve it, or where the story should be going in terms of plot. Having said that, I do have the basic plot mapped out, it'll probably be a rather long story, but all things should be resolved by the end. Of course, things are not going to go smoothly for Mary and Dickon - they will have their fair share of conflict to work through.

Reviews always make my day, so please leave one. It is the only reward I get for doing this.

xx Elyzia

Beyond the Secret Garden

Chapter 10

The moors flew by in a blur of green, purple, and brown as Dickon urged his horse on ever faster. He rode hard, his dark hair streaming out behind him. Inside his pocket, his latest letter from Mary lay hidden, and safe.

He had to wait until later that night before opening the precious correspondence. As soon as he was alone in his room, he removed the envelope carefully from his pocket, pausing to bring it to his nose. Closing his eyes, he breathed in, imagining that the paper still carried some faint scent of her – a trace of her existence, to prove to him that she was real, not just some enchanting dream. He inspected the envelope carefully. As usual, she had inscribed Martha's name on the front – they both knew that if she were to write directly to him it would arouse suspicion. He paused for a moment, admiring her elegant script, inwardly comparing it to his own messy scrawl. She was all things dainty and precise – he was rough cast and of the earth.

He always savoured this moment before opening her letter and greedily devouring the contents. It was these few moments that Dickon loved best – the anticipation of what was to come.

The feeble glow from his bedside candle provided just enough light to read by, but Dickon was determined. He read slowly, not wanting the letter to come to an end.

My darling Dickon, the letter began.

This morning I am imagining you walking across the moor and that I am with you. Together we would listen to the dawn chorus and you would be able to identify every different bird-call and you would teach them to me. I would be happy then, much happier than I am now, in this cold, grey and indifferent place. There are no gardens here in London – at least none that I can see.

Allow me to acquaint you with the family I am staying with. As you know, Dr Sutherland is a friend of Colin's Uncle, Dr Craven. He has two daughters – Patricia, and Samantha. Patricia being the older daughter, and Samantha is around my own age. Living with them also, is Mrs Sutherland's Mother, Mrs Harrop.

The days are fairly monotonous. We have our lessons in the morning, followed by a lengthy morning tea and then resume our lessons. The afternoons are spent paying calls to various friends of Mrs Sutherland and Mrs Harrop and Samantha and I dread these visits as they are frightfully dreary.

Dickon paused, laughing out loud. 'Eh lass, how I miss thee!' he said, imagining how she would sit there, with the sour look on her face that he knew so well. He resumed reading.

I have approached Dr Sutherland about the possibility of creating a small garden at the back of the house, and so far he has voiced no objections. I am hoping to teach Samantha a little bit about gardening – a topic in which she is far from knowledgable. But Dickon, what is gardening without you next to me to help me dig up a particularly stubborn weed, or to say something to make me laugh? I miss you dreadfully, so much sometimes that it feels like a dull ache that just won't go away. I am only left dreaming of the time that I can return to Misselthwiate... and to you.

Dickon put down the letter, and lay back on his bed. He would have to bear the loss of her companionship for the time being. What other choice did he have?

Dickon had often wondered as to the nature of the feelings Susie Birdwood supposedly had towards him, (from what he had been told from Robert, among others), but nothing could have prepared him for the moment that he walked into his room and found her there waiting for him.

He stopped in the doorway and stared. There was a girl – a young woman – sitting on his bed. She turned around as she heard him enter, and she smiled at him.

'Hello, Dickon.' she said, dipping her head coyley. 'I was wondering when tha' would come in.' she continued as he stood, astonished. 'Didn't tha' Mother ever tell thee that tis bad manners t' keep a lady waitin?'

'Susie? Wha-' he said unable to finish. Instead he stood, staring in bewilderment at the young red haired woman that sat on his single bed. He wondered if he ought to rub his eyes. Surely this was some sort of dream? Perhaps it was a hallucination brought on by over-exerting himself in the garden? The thought of running back outside into the cool night air and away from this apparition was almost overwhelming.

'Dickon', she said, getting up lazily, and coming towards him. 'I had to see you. I just can't seem t' get you alone.'

'Susie.' he began unsteadily, wondering how to proceed, how he could make her leave. An unpleasant thought crossed his mind -What if Ben Weatherstaff was to hear them talking?

'Please, keep tha' voice quiet, he implored in a loud whisper. Wha is tha' doing here?'

'Why, t' see you of course, Dickon!' she exclaimed. 'Why else?'

He flung up his hands, entirely confused, wishing only that she would leave.

'I've seen the way you look me, out there.' she began, moving closer towards him. She placed her hands on him, trying to pull him towards her. 'I know thee, Dickon Sowerby. I know what you want.'

'What I want,' he hissed, pushing her away roughly, 'is for thee to get out, now.'

Inwardly, Dickon prayed that she had now got the message – that she wasn't wanted.

'Surely you can't mean that.' she pouted. 'You danced with me at the village dance. You,' she paused, and looked up at him with angry and hurt eyes before repeating, 'you offered to dance with me. Now all you can say is that you want me t' get out?'

'Yes.' he said, softening his tone a little. He knew he wouldn't frighten her, but he didn't want her to see how desperately he wanted her to leave. 'Please Susie. Just leave me be.'

'I bet tha' wouldn't say that if I were Miss Mary Lennox.' she bit back angrily, her blue eyes flashing in defiance, and her accent becoming broader in her anger. 'Tha' would welcome me then, wi' open arms I've no doubt!'

He felt his blood go cold in his veins, and met her fiery glance. How could she have known? Did she mean...?

'I don't know what thee is talkin' about.' he began, deciding to hold onto hope that she was just speculating. 'Miss Mary is my friend – same as Master Colin – we've all known each other since we were but Bairns.'

'Don't lie to me, Dickon.' she hissed. 'I know thee is more than 'just friends' wi' her. I've seen thee wi' her. An' if you don't do what I say, I may have t' tell Master Craven. I'm sure he'd be horrified to think wha' his Niece has been getting' up to.'

'Tha' wouldn't ...' he began, before trailling off. He could tell that she meant exactly what she said.

'I need you to do something for me, Dickon. Now listen carefully.'