The Night Gardener (11 page)

He took his crutch and pulled himself to his feet. “I know you’re doin’ your best to take care of us, Molls. But if there really is danger, shouldn’t we leave?”

“And go where? Back to town? We were homeless and halfway to starved.”

Kip looked at her and knew she was right. “Ma an’ Da would know what to do,” he said, collecting his tools. “I wish they was here.”

His sister tensed her jaw, still staring at the water. “Well, they’re not. And it’s no use wishin’ otherwise.”

“You think I dinna know that?” He picked up his toolbox and hobbled toward the wagon. He knew it hadn’t been fair to bring up their parents that way. Molly wanted to see them again just as much as he did. But they were gone for now, and there was nothing either of them could do about it. “Forget I said anythin’.”

“Don’t be sore,” Molly called out behind him.

“I ain’t sore,” he said, hefting his tools into the wagon bed.

He felt her hand on his shoulder. “You’re right to miss ’em, Kip.” Ma an’ Da aren’t here to tell us what to do … but maybe … maybe we could ask ’em?”

Kip turned around. He could tell from her face that she was being serious.

“Ask ’em how?” he said.

Molly looked down at the hat, which was still in her hands. She screwed up her mouth as if she didn’t want to say what she was about to say. “We could write ’em a message.” She smiled weakly. “Well,
I’ll
write it—your letters ain’t so good.”

Kip steadied himself against the back of the wagon. Again he had that feeling inside like he was being tricked. “But they’re at sea. And we dinna even know where.”

Molly shrugged. “We can send it to the navy postmaster. He’d be able to deliver it easy enough. Or we could put it in a bottle and toss it out in the river like that Robinson Crusoe fellow I told you about.” She moved toward him, taking his hands in hers. “Think of it, Kip. We could tell ’em everything in our hearts. We could tell ’em how we miss ’em.”

Kip did think of it, and just doing so made him feel less alone. A letter was not the same as being with them, of course, but it was something. “And that way they’d know where to look for us when they reach land,” he said.

Molly beamed. “Exactly!”

Molly’s smiles always had a way of catching, and before Kip knew it, he was smiling, too. “I’ve got just the thing to help.” He fished through his trousers pocket and removed a folded sheet of paper. It was an advert with a picture of a metal leg brace some doctor had invented. “We can use this paper I found in town. There’s words all on one side, but the back is plain enough.” He shrugged. “I’d been savin’ it to teach myself letters, but maybe this’d be a better use.”

Molly took the sheet from him and read it. “Kip, this …” She looked up at him, her eyes full of something he couldn’t quite understand. “This’ll never do for a letter.” Before Kip could react, she tore the paper in two and tossed it over the edge of the bridge. “I tell you what: meet me at the stables at sundown. I’ll bring us somethin’ hot to eat, and we’ll do it proper.”

Kip nodded, and Molly seized him in an enormous hug. “Get your chamber-pot hands off me!” he said, squirming.

Molly kissed him on the cheek and sprinted back to the house. Kip took Galileo’s bit and limped toward the stables, his heart swelling. They were going to talk to Ma and Da. And everything was going to be all right.

undown couldn’t come quickly enough for Kip. He spent the rest of the afternoon pulling weeds in the garden and imagining what he might say to his parents in the letter. He was so absorbed in his thoughts that he hardly noticed his work, and when he finally stood up, he was surprised to discover that he had completely weeded half the beds. He used Galileo’s cart to haul the weeds to the edge of the property, where they made a pile nearly as tall as himself. The stems were still wick, and so Kip had to bait the fire with a bit of lamp oil. The pile burned wet and smoky in the damp spring air, and the smell reminded Kip of peat fires back home. He imagined his parents somewhere on the other side of the world, making a fire of their own. (He wasn’t certain that ships had fireplaces aboard, but he figured the crew needed some way to keep warm.) Kip stood over the blaze, petting Galileo’s side, watching until the last bit had burned away, leaving only a black patch on the ground.

When Kip reached the stables, he found them empty. “Molls?” he called.

“Up here!” sounded a voice from above. He hobbled back outside to find his sister sitting atop the roof, legs dangling over the edge. She waved down at him. “There’s no better place for writing than a rooftop—the fresh air makes your words come out like songs.”

Kip hopped around to the back wall where the gutter connected to an old rain barrel. He laid down Courage and climbed onto the barrel. With the help of the windowsill, drainpipe, and Molly’s hand, he pulled himself to the eaves.

“Tell me this isn’t better,” Molly said.

Kip had to agree. From up here, he felt like king of the forest. He stared out over the glowing treetops and then looked to his sister, lit golden against the red sky. He smiled. She always knew just the right thing to do to make him feel better.

Molly untied a cloth bag she had brought up with her. “I know you’ve already had supper, but I thought you could do with a snack.” Inside were warm biscuits with butter. She had also snuck a half jug of fresh cream, which was Kip’s favorite.

“Careful you dinna drown yourself,” she said as he drained the cream in just two breaths. Kip set the jug down and started on the biscuits. “I brought you more than just food—look what I found in the study.” She pulled a polished wooden box from the cloth. “It’s a stationery desk—for writin’ letters,” she said before he could ask.

Kip wiped the cream and crumbs from his face and opened the lid of the box. Inside he found a stack of ivory paper. He picked up the topmost sheet. It was thicker than normal paper and had a rough
surface. “It feels expensive.” He resisted the urge to put the paper against his cheek.

“I think it belonged to Master Windsor’s father,” Molly said. “I saw it last week when I was cleanin’ the bureau. Mistress Windsor says nobody hardly goes in there, so I figure they won’t miss it.”

Kip put the paper down. “You took this without asking?”

She shrugged. “If the Windsors object, they can dock it from our pay.”

Kip knew that they were not being paid, and so he took his sister’s words to mean that they were somehow allowed to take things—but of course they weren’t. Kip looked at the paper. He imagined how impressed Ma and Da would be to see a letter so fine. And surely one sheet wouldn’t be missed, would it? “Maybe we could figure out some other ways to pay ’em back for what we take,” he said.

Molly snapped her fingers. “That’s just what we’ll do! I’ll work some extra chores, and you collect a few more bunches of flowers—all the paper in the world ain’t worth one of your blossoms, and that’s a fact.”

Kip smiled. He knew she was just being nice, but he liked hearing it nonetheless. “All right,” he said. “Let’s write a letter.”

“Perfect!” Molly took the paper from him and laid it on the lid of the box. She produced an inkwell and pen from her cloth and wet the nib. “How do we start it?”

“Dear Ma and Da
,” Kip said, leaning closer. He watched as she wrote the words down. When she had finished, she looked to him for
further dictation. Kip thought a moment. “
We,
um,
me and Molly
…” He sighed, scratching the back of his neck. He had never written a real letter before, and he wanted it to be very official.

Molly tapped the end of the pen against her bottom lip, thinking. “How about:
We hope this finds you in good health
?” she said.

“That’s perfect! Fancy, just like a real letter!” Kip leaned over his sister and watched her write. “Next, tell ’em:
We’re in ugly England. Where are you?
” After that, the words came more naturally. He told their parents all about the orphanage, and leaving the city, and the scary old witch Hester, and the sourwoods, and the pale family, and the house, and the big tree, and the man in the fog, and most of all he told their parents that they loved them and missed them and wanted them to come back right away.

When the letter was finished, Molly signed her name and then helped Kip sign his. They carefully folded the paper and put it into the envelope and sealed the flap with wax from a candle Molly had swiped from the pantry.

Kip sat back on his hands, staring out across the lawn. The sun was fully hidden now, and stars were starting to show in the night sky. He took his sister’s hand. “I hope they find it soon,” he said, imagining what grand adventures the little envelope was about to sail out on.

His sister stared out at the house, which was dark but for one light at a small window on the second floor. “Aye,” she said softly. “Me, too.”

istress Windsor fit a glove over her porcelain fingers. “I should be back within the half hour, at which time I would like tea.”

Molly held open the kitchen door, which led to the garden. “Of course, mum,” she said, bowing. As soon as the woman was outside, Molly closed the door and listened to the house. She could hear Alistair and Penny playing up in their bedrooms. Master Windsor was working in the study. Molly took the kettle off the stove and went downstairs to the servants’ quarters. She slipped into her bedroom and shut the door behind her. A moment alone. She slid a hand into her apron pocket and removed the envelope addressed with her parents’ names. She stared at the made-up address, written in her own clumsy hand. The letter inside did not weigh much, and yet it felt very, very heavy.

In a brief moment of weakness, she had shared her fears with Kip, which had led to the pair of them writing a letter that, for a variety of reasons, could not be delivered. The logical thing would
have been to destroy the letter, but every time she’d had an opportunity to burn it or throw it away, she’d hesitated. Kip had poured his very heart into its composition, and to ignore that seemed cruel, like setting fire to a prayer.

Molly removed her old trunk from the wardrobe and opened the lid. This was where she hid the things she did not want to think about. Inside lay the rags she and Kip had worn before coming to the house. Beside them sat the old top hat she had found in the foyer. Molly had done her best to put the night man out of her mind. This was not hard to do, for with the sunlight comes a sort of boldness that takes the scare right out of things. But now, even in daylight, the sight of the hat sent a shiver through her body, and she could not help but remember the heavy sound of footsteps in the hall—