mistressmaryquitecontrary: (stormymary)
The garden's a secret place. A safe place.

Several months ago, it very nearly was neither of those things; and it is perhaps because the garden needs so very much to be protected that Mary has been very quiet until Dickon and Colin are both there.

Dickon, too, has looked as if he had something he wished to say; but, being Dickon, he lets Mary speak first.

Now, she stands up, her back very straight.

"There is something I must tell you," she says, "and you must listen very closely. Colin especially - as you know less of it."
mistressmaryquitecontrary: (coatmary)
It's an oddly-assorted group that's gathering around a table in the bar: a Time Lord, a Fable, and three small Yorkshire children, one of them in a wheelchair.

All three children have packs filled with food, water, maps, stakes, garlic, and other useful items - Mary made quite sure they'd all be prepared.

"Well?" Mary demands, as Dickon wheels Colin up around the table to join the rest. "Is everybody ready?"
mistressmaryquitecontrary: (pigtailsmary)
The knock on Colin's door is loud and ominous.

- that doesn't matter much, however, as Mary marches in immediately after knocking and folds her hands neatly over her lap.

"Good morning, Colin."
mistressmaryquitecontrary: (beckoningmary)
OOC: MEME. Ask any of mine what you will!

- that would be Mary Lennox, Meg Giry, James Stanton and Sam-I-Am, at the moment. The vast majority of them will even answer pretty honestly.
mistressmaryquitecontrary: (Default)
Mary is sitting, patient and still, on the bed in her room.

She has been sitting there for quite some time; if there's one thing Mary Lennox is good at, it's sitting still.

She's waiting for Martha to appear to do her chores, as she does most days. Martha is taking quite some time to appear. As a result, Mary might look ever so slightly cross.
mistressmaryquitecontrary: (contrarymary)
Mary Lennox has the sort of voice that tends to be very easily audible. Even at great distances. No matter how much you might wish it wasn't.

It's part of her charm.

Therefore, when she announces, "Colin Craven, I know you are not asleep, so you need not bother pretending!" before pushing his door open and marching inside, there's really no possible way that Colin hasn't heard every word she's said.
mistressmaryquitecontrary: (Default)
*There is a stubborn weed, in the vicinity of a cluster of lilies o' the valley, that simply won't come up.

Mary scowls at it as she waits for Dickon to get there; she wants to root it up, but the roots are in so deep she's rather worried she'll pull out one of the lilies o' the valley along with it.*
mistressmaryquitecontrary: (eyeingmary)
In spite of his invalid back Colin wat up in bed in quite a healthy rage.

"Get out of the room!" he shouted and he caught hold of his pillow and threw it at her. He was not strong enough to throw it far and it only fell at her feet, but Mary's face looked as pinched as a nutcracker.

"I'm going," she said. "And I won't come back!"

She walked to the door and when she reached it she turned round and spoke again.

"I was going to tell you all sorts of nice things," she said. "Dickon brought his fox and his rook and I was going to tell you all about them. Now I won't tell you a single thing!"

. . . Mary went back to her room not feeling at all as she had felt when she had come in from the garden. She was cross and disappointed but not at all sorry for Colin . . .

Martha was waiting for her and the trouble in her face had been temprarily replaced by interest and curiosity. There was a wooden box on the table and its cover had been removed and revealed that it was full of neat packages.

"Mr. Craven sent it to you," said Martha. "It looks as if it had picture-books in it."

Everything was so nice that her pleasure began to crowd her anger out of her mind. She had not expected him to remember her at all and her hard little heart grew quite warm.

If she had been friends with Colin she would have run to show him her presents at once . . .

But since she was not, she picked up one of her new books - one of the ones with gardens in it - and went outside, to the door in the garden.
mistressmaryquitecontrary: (Default)
Mary stood near the door with her candle in her hand, holding her breath. Then she crept across the room, and, as she drew nearer, the light attracted the boy's attention and he turned his head on his pillow and stared at her, his gray eyes opening so wide taht they seemed immense.

"Who are you?" he said at last in a half-frightened whisper. "Are you a ghost?"

"No, I am not," Mary answered, her own whisper sounding half frightened. "Are you one?"

"No," he replied, after waiting a moment or so. "I am Colin."

"Who is Colin?" she faltered.

"I am Colin Craven. Who are you?"

"I am Mary Lennox. Mr. Craven is my uncle."

"He is my father," said the boy . . .


When she looked at him again his balck lashes were lying close against his cheeks, for his eyes were shut and he was fast asleep. So she got up softly, took her candle and crept away without making a sound.

She was not supposed to go outside at night; but after this, she did not feel she would be able to go to sleep for a long while.

And as she was already out of bed, perhaps it could do no harm to stay up a little longer; to slip down the stairs, and out-of-doors, and into the garden, and into a certain door.
mistressmaryquitecontrary: (Default)
"Whatever happens," Mary says to Dickon, "you - you never would tell?"

His poppy-colored cheeks are distended with his first big bite of bread and bacon, but he manages to smile encouragingly.

"If tha' was a missel thrush an' showed me where thy nest was, does tha' think I'd tell any one? Not me," he says. "Tha-art as safe as a missel thrush."

Mary takes a breath.

"Then - then I have got something else to show you."
mistressmaryquitecontrary: (Default)
The next day rain poured down in torrents . . .

She had wandered about long enough to feel too tired to wander any further, and she turned back. Two or three times she lost her way by turning down the wrong corridor and was obliged to ramble up and down until she found the right one; but at last she reached her own floor again, though she was some distance from her own room and did not know exactly where she was.

It was while she was standing here and just after she had said this that the stillnes was broken by a sound. It was another cry, but not quite like the one she had heard last night; it was only a short one, a fretful childish whine muffled by passing through walls.

She put her hand accidentally upon the tapestry near her, and then sprang back, feeling quite startled. The tapestry was the coverying of a door which fell open and showed her that there was another part of the corridor behind it, and Mrs. Medlock was coming up it with her bunch of keys in her hand and a very cross look on her face.

"What are you doing here?' she said, and she took Mary by the arm and pulled her away. "What did I tell you?"

"I turned round the wrong cornor," explained Mary. "I didn't know which way to go and I heard someone crying."

She quite hated Mrs. Medlock at the moment, but she hated her more the next.

"You didn't hear anything of the sort," said the housekeeper. "You come along back to your own nursery or I'll bo your ears . . ."

Mary did not cry, but ground her teeth.

"There was some one crying - there was - there was!" she said to herself.
mistressmaryquitecontrary: (Default)
[OOC: Pre-Milliways.]

Mary runs into the bar, looking a little different than the last time she'd entered. Her face has lost some of its unhealthy sallow color, and her cheeks are red from the exercise of running across the moor, and her eyes shine with excitement. Almost, today, she could be any normal little girl.
mistressmaryquitecontrary: (Default)
Mary walked round and round the gardens and wandered about the paths in the park . . .

one place she went to oftener than to any other. It was the long walk outside the gardens with the walls round them. There were bare flowerbeds on either side of it and against the walls ivy grew thickly. There was one part of the wall where the creeping dark green leaves were more busy than elsewhere . . .

"It's the garden without a door," she said to herself.

She walked round and looked closely at that side of the orchard wall, but she only found what she had found before - that there was no door in it. Then she ran through the kitchen-gardens again and out into the walk outside of the long ivy-covered wall, and she walked to the end of it and looked at it, but there was no door; and then she walked to the other end, looking again, but there was no door.

Mary had a great deal to think about, now, and she did not want to go inside just yet, so on impulse she went back to the door that led to the greenhouse. It had been locked since the last time she went through, and would not open; but now, when she ran back to try the door, it opened, and Mary found herself in the greenhouse again. Quickly, now she knew the way, she ran through.
mistressmaryquitecontrary: (flowermary)
Mary turned down the walk which led to the door in the shrubbery, in the Misselthwaite gardens . . .

When she had passed through the shrubbery gate she found herself in great gardens, with wide lawns and winding walks with clipped borders. But the flower-beds were bare and wintry and the fountain was not playing. This was not the garden which was shut up. How could a garden be shut up? You could always walk into a garden.

She was just thinking this when she saw that, at the end of the path she was following, there seemed to be a long wall, with ivy growing over it. She was not familiar enough with England to know that she was coming upon the kitchen-gardens where the vegetables and fruit were growing. She went towards the wall and found that there was a green door in the ivy, and that it stood open. This was not the closed garden, evidently, and she could go into it.

She went through the door and found that it was a garden with walls all round it and that it was only one of several walled gardens which seemed to open into one another. She saw another open green door, revealing bushes and pathways between beds containing winter vegetables. Fruit-trees were trained flat against the wall, and over some of the beds ther ewere glass frames. The place was bare and ugly enough, Mary thought, as she stood and stared about her. It might be nicer in summer when things were green, but there was nothing pretty about it now.

There was another door, though, which stood closed, but not locked, in the side of one of the garden walls. Mary wondered if perhaps there might be something prettier beyond it, and walked over to open it.

For a moment everything was dark, as she stepped inside - and then she saw roses; hundreds of roses, under a glass roof. At first she thought that she had found her way to the secret garden, but then she thought about it more, and found herself confused; for wouldn't she have seen the glass from over the wall? And surely if this was the secret garden, the door should have been locked.

She walked past all the silent roses, feeling almost as if she ought to tiptoe, as if in church. Then suddenly the flowers opened up in front of another door of glass and she was outside again. The roses were in a large glass building behind her, and in front was the door to a place she felt that she recognized . . .
mistressmaryquitecontrary: (Default)
The house was perfectly still. She had never known it to be so silent before. She heard neither voices nor footsteps, and wondered if everybody had got well of the cholera and all the trouble was over . . .

but no one came, and as she lay waiting the house seemed to grow more and more silent. She heard something rustling on the matting, and when she looked down she saw a little snake gliding along and watching her with eyes like jewels. She was not frightened, because he was a harmless little thing who would not hurt her and he seemed in a hurry to get out of the room. He slipped under the door as she watched him.

So she followed.

[OOC: Italicized portions taken from the novel The Secret Garden, by Frances Hodgson Burnett.]


mistressmaryquitecontrary: (Default)

January 2012

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