A/N: I know this is a small fandom, so I don't expect much traffic on my stories, but please take a second to leave a review if you like what you're reading – thanks!
Misselthwaite Manor was an esteemed estate in Yorkshire; it had stood a couple miles outside of Thwaite Village for the last six centuries.
Over time, some of its kitchen gardens fell out of use, and slowly, the walls came down with them. However, one still stood enclosed, but abandoned, as it was known there was another door beside the one through the other kitchen gardens. Unfortunately, none of the gardeners could say where it was.
When Lilias accepted Archibald's proposal of courtship, he had ordered this last garden's connecting door sealed. He already had the key to the other door in his possession and, with a newfound vigour that came with his love for Lilias, he searched for this door until he found it hidden amongst the ivy which covered the wall along the outer paths.
He had considered having the ivy cut away, but instead had a loyal gardener plant a rose bush across the path from where the entrance was – let it remain a secret. Ben Weatherstaff was a trusted man, having worked on the estate since Archibald was a child, and the master knew he'd be able to keep quiet; he didn't gossip like the majority of staff.
In the decades of disuse, the garden had grown perfectly wild. Lilias would always say that gardens that are too maintained – too touched by man – weren't gardens at all; they certainly were works of art, but they weren't "true" gardens. To her, a "true" garden was an oasis built by nature, simply assisted by human help.
The prime example was how Lilias trained her roses: they grew wild, of their own accord, on bushes, up trees, along the ground, wherever they wanted. Lilias had guided them up the massive oak which stood sentinel at the centre of the garden, and continued ushering the blossoms over the low-hanging bough she would sit upon.
It was winter, under this tree, when Archibald proposed to Lilias, and she got to work right away on readying her gift for the spring.
It was the following winter, under this tree, husband and wife had been out in their garden, the night Lilias told Archibald she was pregnant with Colin.
It was the following winter that Archibald stood outside the garden door for the first time in months, since the day he turned at the sound of her cry to see her lying – weak and afraid – under this tree, where the boy was born.
Archibald fondled the key in his hand, thinking about its twin, the new copy given to Lilias with the ring on it when he proposed; the one now lying with her. After the wedding, that one was engraved with her new name – Lady Lilias Craven – and their anniversary – 1 May, 1900.
Dans le premier de mai, on vend des muguets
The French saying ran through Archibald's head as he remembered Lilias's soft, angelic voice saying it.
"We should marry on Lily-of-the-Valley day – after all, it is my namesake!" she much preferred the poetic translation of Lilias, rather than the typical Lily; she didn't have anything against the other flowers, she just didn't like the connotations behind society comparing her to a Lily.
Archibald had done so once – out in the valley where they first met. She flinched and he retracted his statement, having meant it as a compliment, but now fearing he'd upset her.
"I'm sorry," she'd said, "usually men mean that in a vulgar way. As in, I'm purer than they want me to be.
"Why should you have to do whatever they want?" he'd observed, "I would never ask such a thing of you."
Lilias blushed, embarrassed by the topic of conversation, but flattered by the declaration, "and that is why I love you so much, Archie!"
Despite all her words, Archibald had been so afraid that she wouldn't want to be his wife. Even as she walked down the aisle at their wedding, the fear was there. But she melted it away when they joined hands, unable to stop beaming at him, her eyes shining in delight.
The boy had her eyes; would he smile like that one day? Would he even live long enough to do so?
Archibald put the key into the door, but froze before he turned it. He feared that day was not far enough off for him to reenter – he was afraid that memories of Colin's birth would come flooding back, and he wouldn't be able to handle it.
He was worried that good memories would overwhelm him as well, a melancholic reminder of what he'll never have again. He would make no more of these memories with Lilias, they would have no memories as a true family. She'd talked of their child learning to walk in the garden. Now, Archibald wasn't sure the boy would ever be strong enough to stand, let alone to leave the house.
Suddenly, an even more frightening idea came to Archibald. He retracted the key and stumbled back onto the path, letting the loose ivy swing and cover the old door again.
"What if they boy does get strong enough to come outside, and he wants to spend all his time in the garden like his mother?" he thought aloud, "and what if he wants to climb up the tree?" The branch Lilias used to sit on may have broken off, but there were others like it, except higher, which made the terror even worse.
Archibald was a young boy once, albeit a sick and crippled one, but he still knew how curious and defiant Colin would be. Even if he forbade him from climb, Archibald knew he'd find a way up.
He couldn't let that happen – he couldn't lose the boy the same way he lost his wife.
Archibald looked back down at the key in his hand and held it tight.
"One is already buried with her," he resolved, "I will bury this one as well."
He turned and knelt down. With his bare hands, he began digging a hole under the rose bush that he used to look out for every day, which marked the door to his Eden. He wouldn't tell anyone, not even Ben – and who would find it? It was winter now no one was working here. Come spring, the Lilies-of-the-Valley his wife had planted would be in bloom of their own accord – the one's she had clipped for her bouquet the day they were wed.
Archibald's back began to ache from the strain – Lilias did most of the work in their garden – but he kept going; Colin must never know of the garden.
A spasm of pain shot through his spine, and the man took it as a sign to stop. The hole wasn't very deep, but no one would be looking for it, no one would be digging here. He placed the key in the ground and tried to quickly bury it. When he stood, he hurt all over, having to put much more of his weight on his walking stick while going back to the manor.
His hands and trousers were covered in soil, but he hardly cared, his mind racing with preparations.
He knew he must restrict mention of the garden in the household. It should be too hard – most of the staff had already quit discussion of Lilias for fear of upsetting the master.
Colin would never learn about the garden, or the full story of his mother's death, and maybe Archibald would forget all about it too.
Deep down, he secretly hoped that, if he could forget about the tragedy in the garden, perhaps even the garden itself, it may just bring Lilias back to him.