Lily and Archibald: 1

Here is the first part of a novel I'm writing based on the novel and the musical The Secret Garden. I haven't made any edits yet, but I am very open to comments!

A perfect day for gardening, Lily thought as she awoke, the sunlight taking on the colors of stained-glass window in her bedroom. Adorned with crocus and pansies, she had begged her father for the window the minute she saw it in the London shop. Her sister, Rose, had thought it gauche, but her father was accustomed to giving his youngest daughter what she asked for, as long as it was in reason.

That included the garden. Their Yorkshire estate was, of course, filled with them, all carefully tended by a slate of gardeners, undergardeners, and groundkeepers. In fact, the gardens of Spencer Hall were some of the finest in the country. So from a very young age, Lily had been exposed to a love of flowers that her mother espoused in almost everything, including the names of her two children. As long as she kept “reasonable” (her father’s word) hours in the garden, it was fine with him. Early morning rising, however, was not reasonable.

Quietly getting out of bed so as not to disturb Carrie next door –she would have a fit if she knew where Lily was going at this hour of the morning—she began to dress in her gardening clothes, adding her large straw-brimmed hat in a vain attempt to shield her complexion, at her mother’s insistence. It was going to be hot again, so she chose a simple muslin gown, without many flounces and that didn’t require being laced into one of the corsets she dreaded. Rose would kill her if she knew she was going out in this “indecent” manner. Oh well. Rose wouldn’t know. She never got up until Carrie woke them right before breakfast and lessons.

The small French clock on her vanity told her she had at least two hours before breakfast, which was served promptly at nine, at her father’s wish. Lord Spencer was a very schedule-driven man, and expected his household to be the same.

The halls were dark and silent as Lily slipped down the large back staircase that ended in the kitchen. Lucy, the cook, and Martha, her assistant, already had a fire going, but their backs were to their sneaky mistress, so they didn’t observe her; at least, not until Lily dropped her shoe.

The boot clattered on the stone floor and Lucy whirled around, flour flying off her hands. “What in the name of ‘eaven, Miss Lily? ‘Tis not time for you to be up.”

Lily hushed them impatiently. “I know. But I wanted to go to the garden before everyone woke up. It’s going to be busy today, you know.”

Lucy sighed deeply. “I know. What with doctor coming for your mother…”

“And Richard coming home from Eton—“ Martha interjected.

“And she’s depending on Rose and I to run the house during her confinement.”

“You’d think this was the Regency, woman bein’ all confined. She’s not the Queen. Even Victoria ‘ated being confined,” Martha grumbled.

Lucy eyed Lily. “I guess I’ll give you somethin’ to eat.” She went into the larder and pulled out a few biscuits and a jar of plums and filled a small bottle with the sun-brewed tea she’d made yesterday for her mother. “This’ll hold ya. And don’t spill the honey all over the basket as you’re gallopin’ around.”

Lily nodded, her brown hair escaping its careless updo, and she seized the basket. “Thank you, Lucy.”

“You better be back before breakfast or your father’ll have words for you!” Lucy called as the girl scurried out the door, heading for the moors.

Don’t need to tell me that twice, Lily thought as she headed outwards. Her garden wasn’t too far from the main grounds of the Hall, but it was far enough to make her father anxious when she went out alone. Usually Ben, one of the groundskeepers, went with her, to make sure she was “properly supervised,” as her father said. Lily sighed. She didn’t like being “properly supervised,” although she did admit that Ben’s knowledge of the Yorkshire countryside and its ways with plant life were invaluable to her efforts.

The sun was still rising, sending away some of the early morning mist, and Lily was beginning to feel a bit hungry. She broke off some of the biscuit and was grateful that Lucy had given her something to eat.

Her garden was placed in between two small hills, near the main road that cut through the countryside. Ben had been instructed by her father to build a small fence with a gate around it, so that it was properly marked, and Lily fished around in her dress pocked for the small iron key she kept that unlocked the gate.

“Good morning,” she said to the small rabbit and blackbird that had gathered in her absence. The bunny looked at her with its wide eyes and hopped away, disappointing Lily. She loved animals and wished they would stay more often when she was there. Oh well. It was a new garden and it would likely take some time for them to get used to her.

She had left her spade and a few packets of seed here yesterday and was determined to finish planting her vegetables. Ben had promised her a rose bush for one of the corners and the thought was heaven to Lily. She loved roses (she often wished she was the older sister, so she could’ve had the name), more than any other flower, for their extravagant beauty. But roses were tough, too; they had to be, in order to survive in this landscape.

She began to work in earnest, with a regular, even pace that she brought to everything, from her music to her cooking (her mother insisted that she and Rose know how to cook), and soon was making progress, a growing line of tiny, dark mounds trailing behind her skirt (which, she was sure, was covered in dirt, since she was kneeling and not bothering to bustle her dress).

At the end of a row, she stood and attempted to brush the dirt from the dark blue fabric, with minimal success. The sun was hot now, reminding her that she should be getting back. But it was so peaceful in her garden, and some of the crocuses and daffodils were in perfect bloom…

“Lass?”

She turned, startled, and her hat dropped off her head and onto her back. Hastily she covered her head with her hand and shielded her eyes with the other. The sun blinded her view of the speaker, but she knew it was a man.

“Yes?” She was wary, but still polite. She was, after all, the daughter of an Earl. She wasn’t the daughter of some London fish-monger who could be easily taken.

“Would you mind if I rested here a moment?” He indicated the small bench her father had placed in the garden under one of the yew trees. “I’ve ridden quite far this morning and my horse is tired.”

She exhaled slowly and closed her eyes. He sounds decent enough. She looked around, hesitantly, then nodded. “Of course.”

“Thank you.” He dismounted and began to tether his horse to the gate. Lily went and lifted the latch, allowing him entrance.

On closer approximation, she could see he was tall, thin, and relatively well-built. His hair was ebony-colored and he had a good complexion, his cheeks red from the wind and the effort of riding. His dark eyes studied her.

“Are you Lord Spencer’s daughter?”

She nodded. “The younger. Lily.” She dropped a small curtsy as he gave the cursory bow. Some things in British society would never change, she thought. Men and women have probably been doing this since time immemorial.

He sat on the bench and she noticed there was something odd about his posture. It wasn’t quite right and that was disconcerting for a young man of his obvious wealth. Most of them had mastered the ability to look as commanding and formidable as possible by the time they were fifteen, and this man was certainly older than that.

“Would you care for some tea?” She asked, remembering the basket. If he was tired he must be hungry.

He smiled and nodded. “Yes, please. That would be wonderful.” She poured a small glass and handed it to him, which he drank quickly. “It’s been quite a ride.”

“Where are you going?”

“Misslethwaipe Manor,” he said. “I’m coming up from London.”

“And there was no train? No car or carriage?”

“There was. But I wanted to ride. I enjoy the freedom it gives me. I did take the train halfway, though.”

“Are you a relative of the Cravens?” Lily knew them slightly; they were neighbors, and though not gentry, it was rumored that the heir had over thirty thousand pounds a year.

“I’m Archibald. I’m the oldest son.”

Lily’s eyes widened. She had heard of him but they had never met, not even at one of her parents’ annual balls, which the entire county seemed to attend.

“You probably think it’s strange we’ve never met,” he continued, taking another sip. “I am not one for balls and dancing.”

“Oh.” Lily took this into consideration. Most young men, as a matter of course, weren’t. But it was one way to get a wife.

“You don’t seem surprised.”

“I have yet to meet a man who enjoys a ball,” she said. “And men with a great income must know that women will seek them out, no matter how reclusive they may be inclined to be.”

He laughed. “That is so. My absence from the London season has hardly failed to produce some eligible women. Are you out?”

She nodded. “Last year.” She didn’t add that her mother was in a hurry to get her married, now that Rose was seemingly closing in on an engagement with an army officer from a good family.

“So you’re what? Seventeen?”

“I was in January.”

He laughed again. “You are quiet young to speak with so much authority.”

She blushed. “I can be too forthright, at times. My mother despairs of it.”

“I would imagine so. A witty debutante can create a problem with many men.”

“I still have a few more seasons, though. Mother will see that the rough edges are polished off, believe me.”

He appraised her shrewdly and she felt like a horse under her father’s scrutiny at market. Her eyes dropped to the bench.

“Are you feeling uncomfortable?” He asked, teasingly.

She shook her head, not meeting his gaze. “No. Just…scrutizined.”

“Sorry. Bad habit.”

She looked up. “It’s all right. I should be used to it by now. Men look at women the way they look at horses. Looking for the flaws.”

“I assure you, I was not looking for the flaws.” He drained his glass and handed it back to her. “Thank you for that. It was good.”

“Our cook’s a wonder,” she said, getting up and replacing the glass in her basket. Suddenly she looked up and realized she was very late for breakfast. “Oh, father will be so angry…”

“Are you late for an appointment? A suitor, perhaps?” His tone was playful.

“No, just breakfast. But father can be so stern on it…”

“Well, I won’t keep you.” The two walked to the gate and he re-mounted his horse, a strong Bay. “Perhaps we will meet again.”

“I’m here almost every morning…perhaps.”

“I hope you don’t get into too much trouble.” He winked at her and then moved away, the horse breaking into a smooth cantor as they headed up the hills towards where the Craven manor lay.

Lily felt a strange shudder go through her as she watched him. Then she turned, hiked up her skirt, and ran back towards the Hall, hoping that Rose and her father had overslept and she wasn’t going to be given a verbal lashing.