The secret Garden

Alone in a New Home

  Ten-year-old Nicole Lennox sat in the plush carriage with her hands folded tightly in her Lap and her lips pressed together in an angry scow. She was an orphan now, on her way to live with a rich uncle in England.
   Nicole's black dress and black hat made her look paler thinner, and more sickly than she actually was. But nicole didn't care how she looked. Why should she? Her parents never did. They were dead now, dead from the terrible cholera epidemic that had spread throughout Brazil, the hot country in South american where Nicole had been born and where she had been living for all of her ten years.
   Her father, an official of the British government ruling Brazil, had Always been too Bush with his work to care about Nicole. And her mother, who had never wanted a child in the first place, had been concerned only with going to parties with her friends.
    Nicole had been raised by her aurora, the In dian nurse who obeyed her orders and gave the child everything she wanted except love. The result was that Nicole Lennox was a self- ish, spoiled little girl whose tantrums got her her own way with everything she wanted.

But now, the tall, stout, beak-nosed woman who sat opposite Nicole in the carriage as it rumbled over the darkness of the English moor had no intention of giving the child everything she wanted. As housekeeper to Mr. Archibald Craven, the girl's wealthy uncle and only relative, Mrs. Medlock was not bothered at all by the girl's angry frowns and scowls, or by her refusal to talk.

Mrs. Medlock was simply following her mas ter's orders to go to London to meet the ship on which Nicole was traveling to England in the care of a poor clergyman. However, she didn't expect the warning that Reverend Crawford gave her.

"My family took care of the child until w could arrange to bring her here. But I have to warn you, Nicole's a difficult child to manage Our own five children found her so disagree able, they began calling her Mistress Nicole, Quite Contrary, after the rhyme."

Now, as Mrs. Medlock looked at Nicole, she felt a flicker of pity for the child who had been orphaned at such a young age, and she decid ed she'd better prepare her for what to expect. So she asked, "Did your mother or father ever speak to you about Misselthwaite or about your uncle?

"No! My parents never spoke to me about anything. They never had time."

"Then, you'd better listen well. Missed. thwaite Manor's a big gloomy place on th edge of the moor. Growing up in India, you probably don't know much about the moor, but it's a bare wasteland where not much grows and where sheep and ponies run wild. Mr. Craven's family built the Manor six hundred years ago. It's got a hundred rooms, though most of them are locked up. Outside, there are parks and gardens... and nothing else."

Nicole had been listening even though she didn't want to show she was interested. So she wasn't prepared for Mrs. Medlock's sudden ending of "nothing else."

But the woman did continue. "As for your uncle, I'm certain he's not going to trouble himself about you. He doesn't trouble himself about anyone, not even-"

She stopped again, but took a breath and went on. "Your uncle's a fairly young man who was born with a crooked back. He always brooded about his back and hated his life and his home until he got married. Mra, Craves was a pretty young thing who truly loved his and didn't care a bit for his money. And he was so much in love with her that he'd have given her anything in the world she wanted. Then when she died-"

Nicole had never felt sorry for anyone in her life, but she suddenly felt very sorry for her uncle.

"When she died, it made Mr. Craven hate his life even more than before. He doesn't care for anyone and won't see anyone. He's been spending the last ten years traveling all over the world. But even when he's home, he locks himself up in his wing of the house and won't let anyone in except his servant."

As if to make the gloomy story even gloomi- er, the rain began beating down on the car- riage windows. Nicole stared out, thinking, "A dreary day and a dreary story about a dreary house on a dreary moor!" Still, Mrs. Medlock's voice droned on. "You'd better not expect anyone at Misanthwaits t talk to you or play with you or look after yo There are plenty of gardens to play in, but in side the house, you'll be told which room you can go into and which ones you can't. Mr. Craven won't permit you to wander or go pok ing about the house,"

"I don't care to poke about his house at all, snapped Nicole, as her sympathy for her uncle disappeared just as quickly as it had ap peared. Then, under her breath, she whis pered, "If he's that unpleasant, he deserves everything that's happened to him!"

Nicole turned her eyes back to the rain as it beat at the window. The noise of the carringo rumbling over the rough, rocky road was bro ken only by the wild, rushing sound of the wind howling around them. Inside the car riage, however, there was only silence,

On and on they drove through the darkness. After several hours, a light appeared in the distance and Mrs. Medlock breathed a sigh of relief. "That's Misselthwaite up ahead." Trees on both sides of the road formed

an archway leading up to a massive stone house. When the carriage stopped in the courtyard, a footman helped Mrs. Medlock and Nicole down, and the girl followed the housekeeper to an enormous wooden door.

Once inside, Nicole found herself in a huge hall. Family portraits hung on the walls, and suits of armor stood on the stone floor.

An old man servant approached Mrs. Med- lock and said politely, "The master says you are to take the child to her room. He's leaving in the morning and doesn't wish to see her."

Mrs. Medlock nodded, then led Nicole up a wide staircase, down one long corridor, then another, until she stopped at a door.

"This is your room," she said, opening the door and leading Nicole inside. "This, and the one next to it, your nursery, are the only ones you're allowed to stay in. And don't you dare forget that!".