Chapter 12

Misselthwaite, June 1908

'I want you to do something for me, Dickon.'

She sat on his bed, and stared at him coldly. She spoke slowly and firmly, while holding his gaze, not willing to let him go. He nodded slighly in answer, but did not speak.

'Good. Now, here's what tha will do. I want tha' t' write t' tha' precious Mistress Mary.'

Dickon felt his heart slowly sink in his chest.

'I want tha' t' say that you've moved on, found someone else – an' that she should, too.'

Dickon felt the blood drain from his face. Time seemed to slow down, the world shrinking until all that remained was him and Susie, in his tiny bedroom.

'I won't.' He said, without thinking.

'Tha will.' she replied passionately, her voice rising and her eyes narrowing. 'Tha knows what will happen if tha' doesn't.'

He shook his head. 'I can't. I won't do it t' her. T'would break her heart.' and mine, he thought.

She sighed impatiently. 'I'm getting tired Dickon. How many times now have I asked thee, and tha still hesitates? Perhaps this will help you change your mind.' She withdrew a folded piece of paper from the front of her dress. 'Wouldn't th' master find this interesting, if I was say... t' leave it in his library.'

He looked at the letter she held in her hands, for he had memorised the look of it off by heart. It was one of Mary's. He felt sick at the knowledge that she knew what it contained.

'How could tha' think of doing such a thing?' Dickon whispered, moving forward. His only hope now was to snatch the letter out of his hands, but she was too quick.

'If you make one move towards this here letter, Dickon Sowerby, I'll yell so loud that even Ben Weatherstaff will be able to hear. An' when he comes runnin' I'll tell him how tha' forced me t' come here, and that tha -' she smiled 'Well, I'm sure you get my meaning.' She placed the letter carefully back in the front of her dress. 'Now, be a good lad an' start tha' letter, eh?'

'Tha' has no way of knowin', he continued, 'If I post it or not.'

She laughed. 'Oh Dickon! Tha' can be so naïve! I'll know it's posted as I'll post it myself, after tha' finishes writin' it.' She smiled – a smile which would have usually been lovely, but which Dickon could now see was driven only by malice.

'Tha would do that – destroy her happiness.'

She nodded. 'But Dickon, tha' must understand. I'm not destroyin' her happiness, I'm savin' it! Can't tha' see, thee and Mistress Mary can never be together – at least not for long. Tha is a mere moor boy – she is th' niece of Lord Craven. The two of you would be th' ridicule of the town! Tha' needs t' be wi' someone of tha' own folk – an so does she.'

A desperate fear welled up inside Dickon, thoughts that had long remained dormant, rising to the surface. He closed his eyes briefly, struggling to remain calm.

'Tha has three days t' do it. An perhaps once it is over an' done with, tha' will finally come t' th' senses, an' realise I'm the one tha' should be with.'

'That will never happen.' Dickon replied softly, through clenched teeth, feeling anger well up inside him, threatening to overflow.

She laughed quietly. 'Don't be too sure about that, Dickon. If there's one thing I've learnt in this world, it's not t' be too sure of anything.' She gave him one last meaningful stare, as if reminding him once again to keep to his word, then left, clicking the door silently behind her, leaving Dickon alone with his thoughts.


The next three days were torturous to Dickon. He just couldn't bring himself to commit the words to paper. At work, things were barely any better. He grew absent-minded, half-heartedly completing his duties, and no longer socialising in the servant's kitchen – preferring to eat in silence and then withdraw to his room to be alone. More than anything, he couldn't bear to see Susie Birdwood laugh and smile, and wink at him, as though they shared some tremendous secret. Dickon was coming to realise more and more that he was under her power, and that there was nothing he could do about it. Nothing at all.

He spent many hours re-reading all the letters that Mary had sent him – and through them hearing her voice. He remembered all the time they had spent together – as children, and then growing up together. Sharing in the joy that was the garden – and then later, the joy of being together. He recalled the soft feel of her skin, as he brushed his fingers lightly down her face. He remembered kissing her, her mouth firm and tasting of honey. He thought about all the times they had laughed together, and planned their future. How upset she had been on that final night before she left for London and how he had woke up early that morning, saddled his horse, and ridden out to the moors in order to watch her leave – that one last time. How bitter sweet that memory seemed now... for if he was to send the letter as Susie commanded he do, she really would be lost to him.

He shook his head wearily, wondering if he really was doing the right thing. Perhaps Susie was right. He was a mere moor boy, she was the niece of Lord Craven. They were at complete opposite ends of the social spectrum. How could he ever provide her with the life that she required, that she deserved? And then what of the ridicle that she would be subjected to, by everyone they knew. But I love her, Dickon thought, I love her so much.

There must be a way...... he thought to himself. If I was to send the letter, then perhaps I could explain it all to her when she returns? Surely she will understand?

He finsihed the letter that night, and had folded it up, unable to bear the thought of re-reading it, of seeing the words 'I cannot be with you anymore. We must end this.' An unbearable sadness began to well up in him. Could he really do it? Could he really send that letter to her? Could he be the cause of so much pain? And what if Susie was right – what if she really would be better off without him?


Sleep did not come easy to Dickon that night.

He was walking down the long, shadowy path that lead to the Secret Garden. The balmy night air clung to him, heavy with the scent of mown grass, peaty soil, and jasmine. He could her the crickets, chirping quietly. The sounds of the night, of a world that was still and resting. He stepped lightly, feeling like an intruder, but there was determination in his step. He had to find her.

The moon was full and it helped him find his way through the darkness, yet he had walked these paths so many times before and knew every turn and every part as though off by heart. Let me find her, he prayed, oh please. I can't bear the thought of losing her.

A small, pale figure sat on the sundial in the middle of the garden, illuminated in the moonlight. Her head was bent, and she was tracing one finger slowly over the old symbols. Her hair shrouded her face, falling in waves down over her shoulders. His heart gave a start and he surged forward.

'Mary!' he cried.

She looked up, and he saw a sad smile form on her face. Her eyes were dark and expressionless. She appeared small, vulnerable. He drew to a halt.

'You came. I've been waiting for you for so long.'

'I don't know what you mean. I've been looking for you!'

'I'm afraid it's too late for us, Dickon.'

He shook his head, and came forward so that he was kneeling at her feet, and took her hands in his 'No, I'm here now. We're together.'

She shook her head slowly, and it was then that he noticed the small band of gold that encircled her ring finger, and suddenly he understood. 'Oh Dickon!' she cried. 'It's too late.'

She let go of his hands, and reached down to a red rose that lay on top of the sundial. 'This is for you. To remember me by. Don't forget me, Dickon.'

He took the rose in his hands, barely noticing that they were shaking. Then, without thinking, drew her into his arms and kissed her passionately. He felt her respond to him, her mouth sweet and firm.

She lay backwards, her hair spilling down over the edge of the sundial. She turned towards him one last time, her smile full of sorrow and sadness. 'I'm so happy you found me. If only you'd come sooner.'


He awoke with a start, and flung his hands out of the bed covers, feeling the reassuring warmth of the wool blanket beneath his fingers. He was breathing hard. 'Calm down man,' he said to himself 'T'was only a dream.' His forehead was drenched in sweat, and he was shaking.

Even though Dickon knew that it was only a dream, he couldn't shake the feeling of losing her. He spent the day on edge, seeing darkness in every shadow, feeling as though all the light and happiness he had felt was being slowly sucked out of him. That night, he sat alone in his room, staring at the feeble glow of the candle that sat beside his bed. Presently, he heard a low knock at his window.

He sighed, feeling the overwhelming powers of fate take hold, as if he were trapped in some pivotal moment where his actions now, would determine what became of the rest of his life. But what choice did he have? He took the letter, from under his pillow, and opened his window.

'Verra good, Dickon.' Susie said, her eyes lighting up as she took the letter from his outstretched hand. 'I see tha' finally came t' th' senses.'

He didn't speak, couldn't speak, withdrew his hand and closed the window. Finally allowing himself to give in to the despair that overwhelmed him. He burrowed into his narrow bed and cried, his body racked with sobs, with one thought playing over and over in his mind.

She's gone from me forever, and it's all my fault.


A/N: Thank you for all the reviews and suggestions - I really appreciate them! You guys are the best! xx Elyzia