"He's a hunchback," they informed me, "and he's horrid." Perhaps they thought we'd be a good match, for everybody kept telling me I was the most disagreeable looking teenager they'd ever seen. You see, my parents had never loved me.
Mary Lennox is my name and Mary Quite Contrary was what I was often called.
Perhaps if my mother had carried her pretty face and her pretty manners oftener into the tiny room that was my home, my prison, I might have learned some pretty ways too. As it was, she wanted to keep me as her secret child, dressing me in the frilliest, and I believed silliest, of costumes. She saw in me her passport to eternal youth, for my childish dress could make her pretend she was still young too.
Housekeeper at Misselthwaite Manor was Mrs Medlock. She met my ship.
I did not like her at all, but then, Mrs Medlock did not think much of me. She cast her suspicious eyes up and down my sailor's costume. Perhaps she guessed I had chosen it to wear as it was the least feminine item I could possibly wear, specially since I had surreptitiously removed the red bows. Perhaps she'd heard I'd given away the rest of my frilly wardrobe.
"My word! she's a plain little piece of goods!" I heard her declare to a fellow traveler on our journey on the train, "yet her mother was a beauty. She hasn't handed much of it down, has she? Not like her sister, either, the late Mrs Craven."
My ears pricked, for I had never thought of the hunchback being married. Mrs Medlock, seeing my interest, pursued her train of thought.
"She was a sweet, pretty thing and nobody thought she'd marry him, but she did, and when she died, that made him queerer than ever. If she'd lived, she'd made things cheerful in her frocks so full of lace. As it is, he cares about nobody. He won't see visitors. He shuts himself up in the West Wing and won't let any one but me see him."
So here I stood, at the entrance of a massive isolated house on the edge of a moor, with a hundred rooms, nearly all shut up and with their doors locked. Also, a man with a crooked back who shut himself up!
"Don't expect to see him, because you won't," Mrs Medlock told me.
That first night, I was led up the broad east staircase by young Martha the maid, and down a long corridor and up a short flight of steps and through another corridor and another, until a door opened in a wall and we found ourselves in a room with a fire in it, and a supper on a table.
It was in this way that I, Contrary Mary, arrived at Misselthwaite Manor and perhaps I had never felt quite so contrary in all my life. This exhausted, frustrated contrary sailor fell at once into a disturbed sleep.
I was awakened on my first morning by that same young housemaid, who was lighting the fire, kneeling on the hearth rug, raking out the cinders noisily.
"Morning Miss Mary," Martha exclaimed cheerily. "Why you've still got on that sailor's suit!"
"Dress me," I ordered, for I'd always had my own servant perform this task.
Martha looked up from her fireplace in surprise.
"Can't you put on your own clothes?"
It was my turn to look shocked. I was always dressed. I had my arms outstretched expecting her instant obedience.
"These are the ones tha' must put on," Martha said, indicating the wardrobe. "Mr Craven ordered Mrs Medlock to get 'em in London. He says your mother always made you dress like this."
Martha's face betrayed some lurking amusement as they stared at the rail of frills and bows. As for me, I stamped and screamed, the most fearful tantrum I could design, but Martha merely took my arm and coldly slapped my cheek.
It awoke me to the precariousness of my new situation. But Martha is a kindly soul, and immediately said she were sorry and that she'd be pleased to dress me today.
I hated all my new dresses for they brought back unhappy memories of my loneliness, and I nearly screamed again, but controlled myself sufficiently to tell Martha to find me the least "sissy" one, as she labeled them.
The dressing process was one which taught us both something.
Though she was beneath my station, I secretly warmed to this country girl.
I told her in no uncertain terms what I thought of her selection, that horrid silk ruffled dress, that delicate chiffon blouse, that frilly satin petticoat.
Yet she took my ill temper as though it were all in her day's work, and I was half ashamed of my outburst.
Breezily, she lifted off my well used uniform, then my petty and pantie, and I stood facing Martha, hands outstretched, to receive the nasty sissy object.
I couldn't help noticing she had stopped her work and was surveying my naked body with a look of some surprise.
"They said tha' ist nineteen?"
I would have reproved her for her unservantlike manner, but she was so genuinely puzzled that I merely confirmed the fact.
"I am, if it's any of your business. I had my nineteenth birthday on the ship. We had a magnificent-" I stopped myself short, for the truth was that no-one except me had even known.
"Ah'm sorry miss to stare so, but you sees, me is nineteen also!"
It was my turn to stare in utter shock.
This servant girl, in her black maid's uniform, was so much better developed than I!
She moved forward, pulled down my hands, and kissed me.
I burst into tears.
"Na, na," Martha soothed, as I threw my naked arms round her uniform, "Ah didn't mean to upset tha'."
I was sobbing as I felt my own tiny bosoms press against her firm ones.
"No-one's ever kissed me afore," I explained pathetically.
"Let's get tha' dressed," she almost ordered, and she comforted me by whispering that I need only wear the "sissy" dresses when I had to.
She meant when I was in company.
Thus when Mrs Medlock brought in my breakfast, she found a seemingly happy scene.
I'd been arrayed in the large bulging frilly pink dress that I absolutely despised, but for Martha's sake, I was silent.
Before the housekeeper left us, she handed me a glass of water and popped in two tablets. I didn't tell her that I had stopped taking the horrid things since my parents had died. But to keep the peace I took them today, resolved to spit them out on her departure. I had a sixth sense that what my mother had prescribed me for so many years did me no good.
But she stood there, until she was certain they had both gone down. I tried pretending they had been swallowed, but she jerked me backwards and shook me until she knew I had definitely got them down. She took her leave with a satisfied smirk that annoyed me intensely.
No sooner had she left, suddenly we both jumped to our feet, for a crying sound swept down the far corridor.
"'Tis only the wind," explained Martha confidently and chattered on about her brother Dickon, whom the simple girl evidently greatly admired.
I spent the morning undressed in my room, I had asked Martha if she'd find me an "ordinary" dress.
At lunch, she asked if I'd like her best olive green dress. She said I could borrow that. I asked her to bring it me, but Martha insisted she must put me in the awful frilly dress, since Mrs Medlock was bringing up my luncheon.
As I ate, Martha was telling me more about her brother, so I suppose it was really this further mention of him which made me decide to go exploring. Sadly, I had to remain so horridly dressed, as I would be sure to be seen.
I inspected the large grounds, a contrast of green against the bleak moors in the background. I was sure eyes were upon me. I found a lad tending the roses, and he introduced himself,
"I'm Dickon, and I know tha'rt Miss Mary, for I have seen tha photo, and tha' ist the only one who wears such frilly dresses."
He had a wide, red, curving mouth and his smile spread all over his face, but I don't think he was laughing at my dress.
At once, I knew that I wanted to be like him, but then I stamped my foot. Mrs Medlock would never allow me to dress like a boy.
He pointed out to me all the beautiful flowers and the tiny creatures, and I enjoyed the happiest afternoon I had ever known.
I wished he could have shown me more, but he had to go. As he was leaving, he showed me a key he had found. I persuaded him to give it me.
I was alone.
One little gust of wind rushed down the rose walk. It was strong enough to wave the branches of the trees, exposing a round knob which had been covered by the leaves hanging over it.
Thick as the ivy hung, a loose and swinging curtain, I espied a doorway! My heart beating, I put my hand to the handle. But just then a voice called, and I hastily hid my discovery as Martha came up to tell me it were tea.
After tea, with another kiss that was much appreciated, I was undressed out of that frilly nonsense, and, left alone, before the roaring fire, I perused a lengthy book on the history of the manor house. I could find nothing about any walled garden inside the extensive grounds.
As Martha returned to prepare me for bed, I questioned her about the door in the garden.
"Mr Craven had it shut when his wife died so sudden. He won't let no one go inside. It was her garden. He locked the door an' dug a hole and buried the key."
"I've found the key," I told her excitedly. "But why did he hate it so?"
I intended to know if Martha did.
Then Martha gave up her store of knowledge.
"Mind," she said, "Mrs Medlock said it's not to be talked about. It was Mrs Craven's garden that she had made when first they were married an' she just loved it, an' they used to sit there and take their afternoon tea in the summerhouse."
She stopped, for another crying wailed down the corridor.
"There!" I scolded Martha. "I told you so! That's some person crying."
"It was the wind," insisted Martha stubbornly. "Show me the key."
A sixth sense told me Martha was to be trusted. As I held my arms high, I promised I'd tell her what I found.
"Promise, mind," she asked.
I smiled, for I was free of the frilly monstrosities for the nonce. "I promise."
Then on came that same frilly dress, a sympathizing kiss was my only consolation. 'Twere all for the behoof of the housekeeper, who looked in briefly to wish me goodnight. I knew she didn't mean it.
"She's gone," I whispered. On the instant my arms were out so the offending dress could be removed. I sighed deeply, so thankful to be rid of those frilly frills.
As I stood before Martha in front of the fire, she fetched her best olive green dress, of which she was immensely proud, though I thought it very plain indeed, but it suited my purpose. It seemed a trifle unappreciative that I was to wear it in bed, but Martha didn't complain.
Coming close, she whispered, "ah asked my mam about them pills."
"That Dr Something's elixir?"
"Yes miss. She says, Mrs Medlock says they're to keep you young!" She finished by giving my warm cheek a sweet kiss. I blushed.
"I'm not going to take another of those nasty things ever again," I pronounced with some bravado. I knew I wanted to look more like Martha, but how I was to avoid the eagle eye of Mrs Medlock, I had yet to determine.
"Good on tha'," she smiled and held out her plain dress.
"I think you could have lent me two dresses, "I said in half complaining tones, "one for night and another for daytime." I only learned later that it was her only best dress.
"I'll bring another thee in the morn. I guess Mrs Medlock'd never know," she smiled.
"Can you sleep in my room?" I asked. The idea came from nowhere, but she would be a relief for my loneliness.
"'Tis more than my job be worth, if they found oot," she shook her head.
"You could ask." Then I shook my head. A servant sleeping in her mistress's room, what was I thinking of?
She slipped me into her best dress.
"Ah'll see if ah can coom later, if you really want?"
This was a question, and I assented fervently.
"Mind, ah may not be able tonight as ah'm behind already, what with having to prepare the master's room when he cooms on the morrow."
She kissed my cheek and I smiled as she walked out of my empty room.
She didn't come back.
Next morning, I acted cold towards her. As she undressed me out of that plain dress of hers, I knew she wanted to kiss me. I wanted that more than anything too, but I stepped backwards, I had to reprimand her in some way for that failure to return last night.
Her words came out how Mrs Medlock was giving her all these extra jobs, Martha reckoned she was secretly jealous of the pair of us, and I began to understand that Martha's life of toil was so very different from my own luxurious ease. But the servant girl made amends by producing a very plain white nightie, it was her mam's she confided. We hid it, and the olive dress, under the mattress.
She produced, for me to wear before Mrs Medlock, a royal purple cotton dress, with the obligatory frills and ruffles, and matching frilly pantie that splayed out lifting my dress to reveal these voluminous sissy horrors.
Mrs Medlock surveyed me with an approving nod, while I wished I could have the nerve to challenge her ferocious dominance.
I pretended to swallow my tablets in a resigned kind of fashion, and she fell for my trick and quit. The wet pills quickly spat out into the fire.
My heart began to thump in my delight and excitement, as I stood before the lock of the garden door, which had been closed these nineteen years. From my pocket, I drew out the key and was thrilled to find it fitted.
I took a long breath and looked behind me up the long walk. No one was around. I took another long breath, and held back the swinging curtain of ivy and pushed back the door which opened slowly, slowly.
Then thru it, shutting it behind, I stood looking around and breathing fast with excitement, and wonder, and delight.
I was standing inside the secret little garden.
"It isn't a quite dead garden," I cried out softly to myself. "Even if the roses look dead, there are other things alive."
Dickon! He's the one to help! I recalled Martha's ramblings, praising him, and telling me, "our Dickon can make a flower grow out of a brick walk. Mother says he just whispers things out o' th' ground."
I found him stripped to the waist digging among the roses that afternoon.
"I don't know anything about boys," I said slowly, "but could you keep a secret, if I told you one? It's a great secret."
I did not mean to put out my hand and clutch his bare arm but I wanted his attention.
"I've stolen a garden," I told him very fast. "It isn't mine. It isn't anybody's. Nobody wants it. Perhaps everything is dead in it already. I don't know. They're letting it die, all shut in by itself," I threw my arms over my face and burst out crying.
I had awakened his interest and I almost dragged him to the locked door.
"This is a secret garden, and I'm the only one in the world who wants it to be alive."
Dickon looked round and round about it, and round and round again.
"Eee!" he almost whispered, "it is a queer, pretty place! I'll make it pretty for thee, miss!"
"Dickon will help!" I sang to Martha that night.
"I knew he would," said Martha exultantly. "How does tha' like him?"
"I think, I think he's beautiful!" I replied in a determined voice.
Martha looked rather taken aback but she looked pleased, too.
"Well," she said, "he's the best lad as ever was born, but us never thought he was handsome."
We laughed. Then she answered the question I hardly dared put.
"Ah'll come back when them are all fast 'sleep," she whispered, with a little kiss pushing my reluctant body into the bed and tucking me in.
I lay awake, listening for Martha. But all I heard was that mysterious wailing. I was sure it was human.
As I waited long, I began drifting into a disappointed slumber. The creak of my door alerted me.
"Martha, you've come!"
"Sh!" she whispered urgently, "they're not all asleep even yet. We had a tough job putting master-" she broke off. "There, but ah'm here noo."
I could see her smiling in the light of the dying embers. She lifted the bedcover and slipped in beside me. It was so lovely having someone aside me to warm my body, and even more, to warm my heart.
From under the sheets she told me she was happiest when "the boys al stare at mees."
As we fell asleep in each other's arms, she put her mouth to my ear,
"Nex' times, tha' ought to pleasure me." I think it was a reprimand, and I thought myself to dismiss her away, but, no, instead I sleepily whispered back in imitation of her dialect, "if tha' shows me!"
We both laughed.
"Martha, where are you Martha?" Mrs Medlock's voice awoke us, it was calling along the corridor early next morning.
We were awake on the instant.
"Lawks," cried Martha, "Ah'm late for me work."
We exchanged worried glances, though there was one thing I did like- she kissed me before she leapt up.
Noises as of Mrs Medlock were heard outside my door.
"Quick, in my wardrobe," I suggested.
Hastily grabbing her discarded maid's uniform, she was into that refuge like lightning. Only just in time, for the door opened, and Mrs Medlock cast her suspicious eyes round the room.
"Why the girl's not even done the fire yet," she muttered. Then to me:
"Sorry to disturb you Miss Mary, but no-one has seen that girl Martha this morning."
I got up and made for the wardrobe, as if to select my dress for the day. But it was for the real purpose of hiding the noises of Martha valiantly struggling to dress herself in the confined space.
"She has been here," I asserted. "I think she, er, had an accident with the coal."
Mrs Medlock didn't swallow that, or maybe the noises from inside the wardrobe betrayed us. She marched determinedly to the source of the bumps, brushing me aside and opening on to a scene with Martha in semi decency.
A lesser mortal than Mrs Medlock would have been suspicious.
The upshot was that the game was well and truly up.
Martha was pulled from her refuge, the housekeeper taking it all in with one breath.
She pointed to the door and looked at Martha,
"Leave this house at once. You are dismissed." Then to me,
"the master has lately returned and shall be informed of your misbehavior."
With that, she closed the door. And locked it.
Twenty minutes later, she returned.
Firstly, and nearly savagely, she thrust the two pills in my mouth and forced them down before I even had time to resist. Then she fetched the frilliest, most awful dress in my whole possession, a green and white stripey silk pleated dress, with the most enormous frilly hem and frilly ruffles around my arms and neck.
Roughly, she brushed my hair, and muttered, "that won't do." From a drawer, she placed on my head a curly blonde wig.
White socks up to my ankles and some green sandals that matched the dress completed my sissyness.
"There, that'll please the master," she told herself, and pushed me towards the door.
I was taken to a different part of the house.
A man was sitting in a deep armchair before the fire. Mrs Medlock indicated I wait by the door, unable to see him, as she approached. I wondered what the hunchback would say. Would he send me away?
I could hear Mrs Medlock, despite her whispered voice, complaining about how uncontrollable I was, I didn't like my dresses, and then in quieter tones that I could barely overhear, about how she found us this morning. What she suspected was so near the truth that I trembled.
"Do whatever you think fit with the young girl, Mrs Medlock," a deep voice boomed, "I think locks to her dress and underwear should fit the bill."
"Would you like to see Miss Mary, now she is here, sir?"
"Oh don't bother me," he answered, but seeing Mrs Medlock's pleading look, he relented. "Very well, bid the girl come forward for one minute."
Mrs Medlock beckoned me to stand before the hunchback.
I was puzzling why she, whose only vocation in life was to see the back of me, was so patently anxious for him to meet me.
"This is Miss Mary, sir," she said.
"You can leave her here. I will ring for you when I want you to take her away," said Mr Craven.
After she went out and closed the door, I could only stand waiting, twisting my thin hands together. Yet I could see that the man in the chair was not so much a hunchback as a man with high, rather crooked shoulders. What an unhappy face he had! His black eyes seemed as if they scarcely saw me.
"Miss Mary Quite Contrary. I forgot you," he said at long last.
I shivered.
"Don't be frightened," he said at last. As he looked me up and down, he fell into a happy reverie, my appearance pleased him no end. "So like her," he was near to tears.
"Don't be frightened," he repeated more kindly. "You could not do any harm. How like her you are! You may do what you like."
"May I?" I asked tremulously, unable to believe my good fortune. "Might I ask a favor, sir?"
Mr Craven looked quite startled. He was a man not used to anything but giving commands. He didn't reply directly, but rang for Mrs Medlock, and how happy I was when he asked me what favor I required.
It was that Martha should not be sacked.
Mrs Medlock was frowning, but I must have turned this stern man to jelly, for I could see he was ready to grant me anything I requested.
Mrs Medlock controlled her anger very well, when Mr Craven told her not to send Martha away.
But she did get her way in one respect, Martha must not longer come to my room. Ever. I tried cajoling my uncle, but to no avail.
"Who will dress me?" I protested.
I would have to do that myself, he answered. No amount of persuasion could change him on that, so I decided to resort to a tantrum.
But before I could begin my tirade, I received yet another surprise. Mrs Medlock offered to do it. It wouldn't be the same as Martha, and I was still on the verge of stamping. But I had one more request to make.
The garden.
My uncle looked amazed I had found it. Anger turned to tenderness and he pulled out the biggest surprise of all:
"You may tend it, my child. Love it like I once did."
I flew jubilantly out of his presence to seek out my friend.
Martha was dolefully sitting in the hallway, her bag packed.
"I can have my garden! He is sure I could not do any harm and I may do what I like... anywhere!"
"Eee!" said Martha without any emotion, "that were nice of him wasn't it?"
"He has agreed you can stay on," I continued, as her face lit up, "unpack that silly bag at once. Only," I hesitated, "only you aren't allowed in my room." Her face resumed its despondent look. "But we can go to the garden together, they didn't forbid that!"
Looking round to see no-one was watching, she gave me a delighted kiss, and then laughed.
"What's that daft wig?"
"I'm afraid it's the price I'll have to pay. From now on, Mrs Medlock is to dress me and I fear she'll array me in the most awful sissy creations she can find."
Martha went to tell her good news to her mam.
The remainder of this day was far less pleasant. Mrs Medlock took great delight in taking me in a trap across the bleak moor, to the nearest town, eight miles away.
Six of my dresses were fitted that afternoon with locks, and while we waited, she purchased more locks to ensure every one of my dresses could not be removed. A lock on the belt saw to that. A padlock to my pantie ended hopes I had of freedom- this was worse than even my mother had devised for me. It goes without saying that though the housekeeper was more than satisfied, I was not.
However in a rare moment in town to myself, I purchased some pills that looked very similar to that horrid elixir, and when she administered those tablets, I vowed I would make every indication to her that I accepted I must swallow them, but I hope to exchange them if her back was turned. If the worst happened, I'd swallow them as well, to counter Mrs Medlock's!
Tossing and turning that night in bed, having been unwillingly dressed in the frilliest white nightie by Mrs Medlock, I debated whether I could try and put on Martha's mam's plain nightie. But how could I dress myself? I was struggling with the lock on the frilly thing, that was proving too strong for me, when suddenly something made me sit up in bed and turn my head toward the door listening.
"It isn't the wind," I told myself. "That isn't wind. It is different. It is that crying I heard before."
The sound came down the corridor, a far-off faint sound of fretful crying.
"I am going to find out what it is," she said. "Everybody is in bed and I don't care about Mrs Medlock, I don't care!"
Creeping along corridor after corridor in my lockable nightie, I pinpointed the eerie moaning. I saw a night light burning by the side of a carved four-posted bed hung with brocade, and on the bed was lying a lad, crying fretfully.
I wondered if I was in a real place or if I had fallen asleep and was dreaming without knowing it.
Though smaller, he looked about my own age, a sharp, delicate face the color of ivory and a lot of hair which tumbled over his forehead in heavy locks and made his thin face seem smaller. He looked ill, but he was crying more as if he were tired and cross than as if he were in pain.
I stood near the door holding my breath. Then I crept across the room, and he turned his head on his pillow and stared.
"Who are you?" he said in a half-frightened whisper. "Are you a ghost?"
"No, I am not. Are you one?"
He stared and stared and stared.
"No," he replied after waiting a moment or so. "I am Colin."
"Who is Colin?"
"I am Colin Craven. Who are you?"
"I am Mary Lennox. Mr Craven is my uncle."
"My mother died when I was born and it makes him wretched as I remind him of her. He wanted a boy you see, but I am really a girl, I was christened Coleen."
"But why do you cry so? I'm sure I've heard you most every night?"
"My father insists they dress me as a boy, I hate it, I want to be free to be the girl I am."
I marveled at the irony. How Colin would love to wear those very costumes I so despised!
"He thinks I don't know I'm a girl, but I've heard people talking. He almost hates me."
"He hates the garden, because she died there," I told myself.
"What garden?" the boy asked.
"Oh! just, just a garden she used to like," I stammered. "Have you been here always?"
"Nearly always in this room. I'm not allowed fresh air, and I can't go out. No one believes I shall live beyond twenty. I'm nearly that now. How old are you?"
"Nineteen," I told him.
"What's the garden like?" inquired Colin.
As I told him all the exciting things I had planned for the garden, he interrupted eagerly.
"They have to please me," he said. "They won't let me go out, but you can take me secretly, so no-one will know."
He put out his hand a little toward me, and I was softened, and met him half way with my hand.
"I shall go out with you, Mary," he said. "I shall try not to hate fresh air and I shall like to go out with you, if Martha will come and push my chair."
I had been an obedient good little girlie for Mrs Medlock. My tablet switch had worked, so I was elated. Mrs Medlock coldly told me Martha had to work all day but had tomorrow afternoon off, so I could see her in the grounds then, so this day I resolved to spend in the little garden, to make it pretty for Colin's visit.
"Eee, tha' looks reet pretty, miss," Dickon smiled at me. My velvet ruffled dress and absurd matching velvet pantie was horrid, and I brushed aside his compliment.
"You're not properly dressed," I scolded him, more in envy than anything else. He was stripped to his waist, so he could dig the easier, he told me.
Together we went to the little garden. At the door, Dickon covered my eyes. I liked his rough warm hands, as it were protecting me, and I felt strangely elated.
"Close thee eyes, Miss Mary."
He felt me close them, and I was sorry when he took away his hands. But a tremor ran thru me anew, when he took me by the hand, and led this blind girl inside the garden.
"Tha can'st open them na," he cried in delight.
It was a revelation. He had worked all yesterday and cleared the brambles and weeded and scythed the grassed area, and pulled away a heap of ivy that revealed in the sunniest corner the summerhouse that had been hidden these long years. 'Twas a garden fit for any sissy loving sweetie, and proved to me that its reviver, Dickon, was not simply a robust country lad.
In my delight, I kissed the lad and ran to the summerhouse.
"O' course, the plants have yet to grow prop'ly," he mumbled, but I brushed aside such minor considerations as I danced around the verandah of the summerhouse.
"I'll prune the roses today, and-"
"And I will tidy the summerhouse," I interrupted. "Is it open?"
"No miss, but it's the same lock- the key will open it."
"Have you looked inside?"
"Oh no Miss Mary, I wanted you to do that. The windows need a good clean, cos when I tried looking in, they was all cobwebby."
I danced around the verandah with the lad in my joy.
"It's wonderful," I shouted happily, "Colin will love it."
I told Dickon how I had met the ailing heir, and it was his turn to be amazed. He knew of Colin, but that he was confined to the house.
"Everything will be wonderful," I repeated, then sighed. "If only uncle didn't insist I wear these sissy dresses."
"Dost tha not like 'em?" asked Dickon incredulously. "Tha looks so sweet an' innocent, me mam said you look jus' like Mrs Craven."
I told Dickon about how I'd been forced to put on such dresses all my life, and I think he understood my frustration, for he nodded as I explained.
"And yesterday," I concluded, "Mrs Medlock put locks on all my garments, so I cannot even take them off when no-one's there."
Dickon examined my new chastity devices.
"Why that's no worry, miss, I can get these off, easy!"
"You can?" I asked incredulously, for they had defeated my best attentions. "Well, take them off," I challenged him in my most imperious manner. I immediately thought I ought to have added 'please,' but was this not a servant boy?
Ignoring my ill manners, Dickon gave a push here, a press there and my dress was unchained. I lifted my arms so he could take the sissy dress off.
He looked puzzled. He was not used to such maid's work.
"Pull it off," I urged him, then remembering, "please. And close your eyes!"
It was done and I turned my back to him.
I was more than a little nonplussed. I could not rest in the garden without any dress. An idea flashed into my mind.
"You can open them now," I declared, like some queen addressing a humble subject. "Fetch me your shirt."
"Yes miss."
He was back with it from the main garden, finding me with my arms covering my embarrassment.
"I doubt it'll fit thee," he suggested.
"It will," I replied with a confidence not borne out by my scrutiny of the cotton shirt. "It must fit!"
"Close your eyes Dickon," I said.
"Yes miss."
"Now hold up the shirt." I wriggled my arms into the holes and told him to pull the shirt down.
There was a ripping noise as it was forced tightly on my body. I was so pleased, I hardly thought about him never being able to wear it again. I expect his mam will sew it up again, I decided.
"You can open now," I declared imperiously. "You had better don my outfit!"
He gave me a long look. But I knew he secretly liked the idea, even if it would be hot work toiling in the garden wearing such a voluminous costume.
I didn't laugh when he stood fully dressed before me.
"Thank you miss," he said unexpectedly.
"You may get to your work now," I declared, "we want the garden beautiful for Colin's visit tomorrow.
As he set to, I reclined gracefully on an ancient bench on the verandah. I would tidy the summerhouse soon, but for the nonce, I wanted to bask in my new found freedom, as well as admiring my sissy gardener hard at work. How lovely my My Secret Garden Sissy looked in all his frilly velveteen glory!
The warm sun beat pleasantly on my satisfied body, as my eyes feasted on the beauty that Dickon's magic had already worked. But most of all my looks were on the gardener, whom I could see was sweating in his hot sissy dress. He looked up once as if to ask to remove it, but I feigned sleep and continued to admire him thru my slightly opened eyes.
His back to me, I saw him sweating profusely, then of a sudden with a sharp cry, I saw spurting something over the base of the rose tree. Then he sighed and covered over the deep brown earth.
"What are you doing?" I cried, knowing this must be his secret recipe for making plants grow.
"Sorry miss, it's ma own special way of making them plants grow. You'll see miss tomorrow, how much better this plant will look."
I surveyed the rose that had not been tended these nineteen years and wondered if he could possibly be speaking the truth.
"Miss Mary, time for tea!"
Next moment Martha had found us in the garden. It was the most inopportune moment for me. She gazed round at the wonder of Dickon's handiwork. Then she laughed at her brother in my frilly dress. He blushed yet more.
"We'd better get that off you and back on Miss Mary double quick," said Martha, "Mrs Medlock's waiting already, and we don't want her here!"
At least Martha had solved my dilemma of how on earth I could get Dickon to dress me without peeping and with a quick kiss, Martha soon had this frustrated miss locked back into her frills.
"Please come tomorrow when we bring Colin," I begged Dickon.
I spent the evening trying to replicate Dickon's unlocking skill, but it was fruitless. Mrs Medlock ushered my frills away and sharply pulled my frilly nighty over my head. Locked in again!
I tried to look accepting of my lot and lay peacefully down on my pillow.
"Goodnight, Mrs Medlock."
"Goodnight." Her voice was suspicious, unable to believe I was not being the Contrary Mary she had always encountered.
As soon as the business of the house was silent, I crept along to Colin's room.
I wasn't ready for his ill temper.
He was reprimanding me for not taking him to the garden.
With a start, I realized Martha hadn't told him she wasn't free until tomorrow. I begged his forgiveness, sorry he had been waiting in vain. To be truthful, I had been so wrapped in my own pleasures in the secret sissy garden, I hadn't thought of any disappointment he had been caused. His tantrum was fiercer than any of my own, and I resorted to what Martha had done to me, and slapped his face. Shocked, he began crying, and I comforted him. As he sobbed, his tear stained face brushed my nighty. My little bosom heaved as I whispered,
"Tomorrow at two, Martha will be here, I promise."
"Here is the handle, and here is the door. Martha push him in quickly!"
Colin gasped with delight at the walls and trees and swinging sprays and tendrils. In wonder, we stared at his own new found pink glow of color.
Beaming, Dickon showed us his special pride and joy, the rose tree. I had to admit that even since yesterday, there had appeared the makings of a new tender bud, and I marveled.
One joyful surprise remained for Colin. Dickon lifted him out of his chair and gently led the faltering steps of the invalid to the summerhouse.
There I hushed his questions as Martha removed his boyish clothes, and for a second his frail form took in the warm sunshine. I wasn't too sure if Colin were a girl, and Martha, more conscious perhaps of the decency of things, disappointingly left his pantie on, as she lifted on him the frilly pink dress that I had brought for him.
In sheer delight, he stretched himself on the verandah seat, admiring the sensuous feel of the silk, the gorgeous femininity of the ruffles, the bright color as opposed to the drab grays he had always had to wear.
"I shall get well!" he cried out. "You must call me Coleen!"
My next urgent task was to remove the nasty yellow frilly outfit, decorated with innumerable pink roses, that Mrs Medlock had forced on me that morning. I got Dickon who was in wonder that I should want rid of such a beautiful dress, to show me the trick of how to release the lock, but I couldn't manage it even after his instructions. But I liked his close attention.
"Coleen, you can watch Master Dickon while he tends our garden," I ordered. "Martha, you come with me and dress me."
Protests from Coleen, who insisted she wanted to help Dickon.
Myself, I thought it far below his station to work with the servant lad, but she was anxious to help in any way she could, so who was I to refuse her?
Martha and I made our way to the verandah. I fitted the key to the cobwebby door, and lo, it opened!
Inside was a mass of cobwebs, the accumulation of nineteen years of neglect.
"You can tidy it when you have dressed me," I told the servant girl, then adding condescendingly, "and I will help you later."
I held up my arms so she could remove the unlocked dress, and then my pantie. Unceremoniously I chucked them away, landing somewhere on the verandah.
In the dim light, I stood expectantly before me as she took the olive dress I had brought and slipped it over my head. I felt a sense of release, the heavy sissy dress was discarded, and before my servant girl stood just a plain simple young lady.
Dancing around the wooden floor in my delight, I swept aside the spiders' offerings, and Martha joined in, happily twirling around, frightening hundreds of creepy crawlies from their years of slumber.
We collapsed at last on two solid wooden chairs by a dusty table. Looking round in the gloom we saw there was little else in the summerhouse, only a huge wooden box, at least six foot square, in one corner, while on the back wall was a large cupboard.
Martha rushed over to this cupboard, it creaked open and to our view came a host of stunning frilly dresses, all sadly, full of holes, victims of moths and others of nature's enemies. I can't say I was sorry for such dresses are anathema to me. However there were two ordinary velvet dresses that were not of the sissy variety, though these too were sadly beyond the repair of even the most expert seamstress.
Then Martha noticed that at each end of the wardrobe was standing a rectangular box. The one on the far right had a label attached, that was still legible, Her Favorite.
Martha looked at me, and I nodded for her to open it. Inside, protected from harm was a green and white stripey silk pleated dress. It was the double of the sissy one I had been made to wear when I had been introduced to the hunchback.
"'Tis beautiful," sighed Martha.
"Then you shall put it on," I declared, for I was much too concerned that I should not have to ever wear it myself.
"Really miss," Martha replied, hardly comprehending my apparent generosity.
While she danced anew round the room, holding the dress to her body, before putting it on, I went to open the other box. This was next to the plain velvet dresses, and I was trembling with expectation as to what it contained. There was no label, I excitedly opened it to reveal a perfectly preserved dress, in pure sumptuous silk that must have cost a fortune. Bright green, delicately smooth to the touch, not a mark on it. I knew it was for me.
I caressed it.
"What have you found?" Martha inquired as she proudly stepped towards me in her new creation. She wasn't dressed to my taste, but her evident delight was infectious, and I smiled and took her hand.
"Ooooo miss, that's beautiful," she said, stroking the silk dress.
I was too lost for words to answer.
"Oooo look miss, there's a little photo inside the box!"
I recognised, even in the faded black and white image, that it was Mrs Craven, posing with utter charm in this very dress. The background showed she was in the room where I had met Mr Craven.
"Shall ah put it on thee, miss?" Martha whispered. I couldn't answer, I simply stood, handed her the silky dress and stood with arms outstretched.
Off came the plain dress that was Martha's best. I think my expression showed I was begging Martha's forgiveness for discarding her prized possession so quickly. But she understood, she must have understood, that this silky dress was made for me.
I was in heaven when the silk brushed my face, as Martha pulled it down on my shoulder. It was a little tight, was it going to fit? It had to fit!
With some careful tugging, Martha eased the dress over my shoulders. Then down over my waist, the slightly pleated lower half dropped softly as far as my thighs. I hugged sweet Martha.
We danced in our new dresses all round the dusky room until, exhausted we collapsed on to the huge box in the corner. Then, noticing a catch, Martha asked if she should open it. I assented, we stood and she lifted the lid with difficulty, revealing.... We gasped.
I helped Martha rest the heavy upraised hinged lid against the wall. What we saw was a beautiful bed, with satin sheets and pillows, that somehow the ravages of nature had been unable to sully.
I bounced on it, dragging Martha with me.
"Our own little home inside our secret garden!"
Yet, in my heart of hearts I knew it would never do for a lady of my station, in such a fine dress, to consort like this with a humble servant girl.
I did love Martha, but she was beneath me. I think she may have guessed my thoughts as we lay aside each other.
"Please call Coleen here."
"Yes miss." She stood and curtsied, mockingly I thought. "Tha certainly lives up to tha name Contrary Mary!"
She'd gone before I had the chance of scolding her severely.
I lay back wallowing in the rich splendor of this royal bed, such a contrast with the drab surroundings. Never mind, Martha will soon have it as spick and span as the day it was last used, those many years ago.
Dickon entered. He'd clothed himself in the sissy dress I had chucked on to the verandah and was proudly wearing it. Colin certainly looked pleased Dickon was so sissy looking. Dickon gently led in the frail Coleen.
"Thank you Dickon, you may rest Coleen aside my bed," I said in my most lofty manner, the queen of my little kingdom. That done I told him he could continue with his duties in the garden, which he said were coming on "grand."
As he took his leave, Martha returned with a mop and pail she had found from somewhere. It gave me a naughty thrill to think she was cleaning in here while I lay regally in bed, with Coleen tucked in beside me!
Placing my mouth close to Coleen's ear, so that the servant girl could not overhear, I whispered the question that had long bothered me,
"Are you sure you are really a girl?"
"Of course, you silly girl," he cried impatiently.
I begged him to speak more quietly.
"I was christened Coleen wasn't I?" he added angrily.
"But is that true?" I queried. "Some folks say you are Colin."
"That's what my dad wants... I think. I am a girl, and I remind him of Her, that's why he doesn't dress me in the frilly clothes she used to love. And which I," he added, staring down at his sissy dress, "love to wear."
In an excited whisper I said, "Colin, I'm sure you really are Colin."
He looked at me. At that moment I was aware that Martha's sweeping had brought her perilously near our bed, probably by design. Whether the girl had been busy at her duties or listening, I did not know.
"Martha," I shouted, but then more quietly, "those windows are much improved. You may take my place in the bed."
I had come to realize that this weak Colin wasn't for me.
That had not been my thought until now. But needs must, and besides didn't I like the ordinary unsophisticated Dickon? Besides, unlike Colin, he was strong and powerful! But looking so precious in his frilly clothing.
He was tending the rose tree.
"I order you," I said in my most contrary of tones. "No, sorry Dickon, you see I've always been used to being waited upon, but now I want to do something for you!"
"For me miss?"
"To show you something new, I can do that for you."
"For me?"
"Yes, you love being a girl in that sil- in that flowery frilly dress. You lie down there, that's it, next our precious rose, and lie like a girl should do."
Obediently, he snuggled on the grass aside our rose tree and from inside that garden there were sounds of that uncontrollable moment when the sounds forgot to hush themselves.
Drawn to the garden, Mr Archibald Craven, the sad survivor, took in the sights and the sounds, and smiled.
From the summerhouse the happy cries of Martha and Colin. I didn't care that my uncle saw us.
"Mr Craven, yours is a garden of sissy delights!"
As he was guided towards his son's happy screams, he turned to me and laughed,
"It isn't for nothing they call you Mary Quite Contrary."
THE END
