A/N: Remembrance Day reminded me of this story. Lest we forget :(

~ Growing Up ~

Chapter Twelve

"Have you given any thought to Mary's future?"

His father looked surprised at the question, but Colin held his gaze and after a moment he sighed. "Of course I have," he said wearily. "I am her guardian, after all."

Colin waited, but his father did not continue. "And?" he pressed.

"And… Mary is very happy here. Her governess is doing a good job. She has her garden, and she is – "

"She must go to London," he interrupted. His father frowned at him but he ploughed on regardless. "When she turns sixteen in a few weeks, she must go to London for a proper introduction to society. It is only right."

His father looked troubled. "She is very happy here," he repeated slowly. "I had begun to think, perhaps a governess would be sufficient."

"Up until now, I'm sure it has been," said Colin, feeling a cold fist clench around his heart at the thought of Mary being allowed to stay at Misselthwaite, to stay with Dickon. If that were to happen, then he, Colin, would lose her forever. "But sixteen is too old for Mary to be – to be cavorting around with…" he trailed off.

"With?"

Colin cleared his throat. "You know perfectly well of whom I speak, father. Mary and Dickon aren't children anymore. He is eighteen now and a member of staff and, well, it simply isn't appropriate!"

His father gave him a piercing look, and he worried he may have given himself away.

"People will talk," he went on hurriedly. "People will gossip about why she hasn't been introduced to society. Her reputation will be damaged."

"I should hardly think people in London would gossip about a girl they've never heard of," his father answered wearily, rubbing his temples. "And Mary shows no inclination for high society."

"That's because she is too young to know anything about it!" he said agitatedly. "She doesn't know what's in her best interests."

"And you do?"

Colin flushed. "I – I have some idea, yes. I've spent the last two years in London, I've seen the opportunities that are available there, whole worlds that Mary has no idea of. The war is changing things, Father. Women are getting educations, travelling, making names for themselves in the world. I want Mary to be a part of that. I don't want her to waste her life out here, on the moor, with – " he broke off, breathing heavily.

Archibald Craven stared into the fire for a long time. His brow was knitted and he seemed to be thinking hard. Colin watched him intently, trying not to fidget. "Perhaps you are right," he said after a long time. "Perhaps I have been too soft. She just seems so happy here…reminds me of your mother…" he trailed off, looking forlorn, and Colin knew there was no point in pushing any further today.

"I shall leave you to think on it, sir," he said. "I urge you to consider Mary's future, not just her immediate happiness." And with that, he bowed and left the room.

His next port of call was old Ben Weatherstaff. He found the elderly gardener pottering about the roses, moving stiffly and muttering under his breath.

"Hello there," said Colin, striding up to him purposefully. Ben cast him an appraising glance.

"Good morn', Mester Colin," he mumbled respectfully. "Th'art home for th' summer?"

"Only a fortnight, I'm afraid. I could not leave my studies any longer than that."

Ben grunted. "Eh, th'art too grand for us now, sir. Th'art's grown up and moved on from Misselthwaite."

Colin shifted restlessly. "Never mind that. I'm here to talk to you about Dickon."

"Eh, he's a good lad," said Ben with uncharacteristic warmth. "Works hard, no doubt, an' never complains. He can make things grow jus' by lookin' at 'em, Dickon can."

"Yes, well, I've got a job for him," said Colin, running his finger along a newly blooming rose as he spoke. "There's a cottage, on High Abbotside, that I'm thinking of purchasing. I'd like Dickon to go there and survey the place for me, let me know whether he thinks the investment is a wise one."

Ben's thick eyebrows had furrowed into a frown. "High Abbotside?" he repeated blankly. "Tha's more'n a day's walk from Thwaite."

"He can leave in the morning, stay the night in the cottage, then return the following day, stopping at Thwaite if need be," said Colin, not meeting the gardener's eyes. "He should be back by Wednesday eve."

"Ehh," Ben took his cap off and ran a hand over his head. "Two full days? We canna really spare th' lad."

"Well, I'm afraid that you'll have to," said Colin briskly. "He shall leave first thing tomorrow morning."

Ben shrugged. "As tha' wishes. Tha' doesna wan' t' tell him thysel'?"

No, thought Colin bitterly, he didn't want to tell Dickon himself, because he didn't want to face those wide blue eyes that seemed to know everything, to see things even if Colin tried his darndest to keep them hidden. He didn't want to have to face Dickon's slightly wounded stare, the look that would tell him he knew exactly what Colin was up to. He didn't have the stomach for it.

"I don't have time to run around after the under gardeners all day," he said instead, looking at a patch of freshly turned earth rather than meet the older man's stare. "That's your job Ben. Good day to you."

And he turned and fled.

Mary must have heard the news, because when she arrived at breakfast the next morning she was looking sour and contrary. She plonked herself down across from him and shot him an annoyed look.

"A cottage in High Abbotside?" she said scathingly. "Really, Colin?"

He returned her stare without blinking. "I'm thinking about buying it."

"Oh are you?" her voice was laced with scorn.

"Don't be like that Mary," he tried gently, but she tossed her head and scowled off to the side.

"There's a storm coming," she pointed out.

He looked and saw that there was indeed a heavy wind blowing outside, the sky grey and threatening.

"Dickon grew up on the moor, Mary," he said in a patient voice. "I'm sure he's used to a bit of rain."

The glare she sent his way was withering.

"I thought perhaps we could spend some time together today," he suggested tentatively, after a long stretch of silence had passed. "Just the two of us, like old times."

She stabbed at her eggs and didn't look up.

"Mary?"

"I don't very much feel like it."

"Sure you do," he began coaxingly, but she met his eyes furiously.

"No, I really don't," she snapped. "You sent Dickon away on purpose, and I'm quite vexed at you about it!"

"That's – that's preposterous," he spluttered, feeling his cheeks heat under her accusing stare. "I had work for him to do, and he is myservant, after all!"

Mary stood up abruptly, her eyes flashing. "Is that so, Mr Rajah?"

He winced at her use of his old nickname. "I – "

"You know, I was so excited when I heard that you were coming back home," she cut him off in a trembling voice. "But I see now that London has not improved you at all. It has only made you more spoilt and disagreeable than ever!" She turned on her heel, leaving her breakfast practically untouched.

"Mary!" he called after her, but she didn't turn back. He threw down his fork in annoyance, then caught the serving girl watching him with wide, shocked eyes. "What are you looking at?" he snarled. "Get back to work!"

She jumped as though he had struck her, and ran off at once. Colin looked down at his plate miserably. Nothing was working out as planned, and he had no idea how to make things right.

"Please, Uncle, you cannot – "

"I'm afraid the decision has been made, Mary," her uncle wasn't looking at her. Instead he gazed into the fire, as though entranced by its crackling heat. "Colin is right. At sixteen it is time you were sent to receive a proper education."

"Colin!" she spat out hatefully, tears coming unbidden to her eyes. "This was his idea, wasn't it?"

Her uncle sighed. "He only wants what's best for you."

"That's not true," she said. "He wants what's best for himself. He's jealous of Dickon and he wants to send me away from him."

"There's more to it than that," he replied softly. "You are growing into a beautiful young woman, Mary. It's not proper for you and Dickon to be – "

"I don't care!" she shouted. She had never shouted at her uncle before and he looked a little taken aback, but she was too hysterical to control herself. "I don't care about any of that! I love Dickon and he loves me and – " she broke off as a wave of anguish coursed through her, and covered her face with her hands. "Please don't send me away," she whispered hoarsely.

"It's only for two years," said her uncle, and his voice was strained, pleading. "If Dickon does indeed love you, then he will still be here waiting when you return. And if he is, and you have not met anyone in London during your time there, then I will give you my blessing child. But first you must give London a chance and see if it is to your liking. You've hardly travelled outside of Yorkshire, my dear, you don't know…" he trailed off as she raised her head to look at him.

Mary knew she must look pathetic, with tears streaming down her face, her nose running and her eyes blotchy and red. But she was not too proud to beg, not right now, not with her future at stake. "Please," she said, putting all the effort she could into that one simple world. "Please, Uncle Archie, don't send me to London. I beg you."

For a moment he looked torn, as though he was on the edge of giving in to her. Then he shook himself and took a deep breath. "I'm sorry Mary," he said in a hard, distant voice, a voice that told her it was no good, no good at all. "But you shall be leaving for London after your sixteenth birthday. There is to be no more discussion."

Feeling like her heart was breaking into a million pieces, Mary covered her face again and gave a desperate sob, before turning and running out of the room at full speed. She ran headlong through the corridors, not even caring where she was going. It struck her that she could not even run to see Dickon, because Colin had sent him on some pointless trek across the moors. And then, as if on cue, she rounded a corner and crashed head first into Colin himself.

"Mary!" he grabbed at her arms to stop her from falling, and she wrenched herself out of his grasp. "What's wrong?"

She ripped her hands from her face and turned to give him the best glare she could muster. He took a step back as though actually afraid of her.

"Wh-what's happened?" he croaked.

"Are you happy now?" she demanded, her voice sounding strange and hoarse from the sobs she was holding back. "You've sent Dickon away and now you're having me sent away."

Understanding swept across Colin's features. "I..." he coughed and swallowed, a myriad of emotions passing across his face, from shock to excitement to a kind of anguished guilt. "You're coming to London?"

She didn't think she could hate him any more than she did at that moment. "My body is to be sent to London," she hissed.

He looked confused. "Wha – "

"But my spirit will always remain here, with Dickon, and with the garden!" There were fresh tears building within her; with an effort, she forced them back. "And you can never take that from me, Colin!"

And she pushed past him before he could say anything else, desperate to be alone so that she could weep freely.

A/N: Thanks for reading!