The Night Gardener (29 page)

“We don’t need him to
believe
us,” she said. “We just need him to help.”

“What are you two talking about?” Penny called, leaping up from behind a hill. “And what’s that net for?” She was occupying herself with a game that seemed to involve jumping over the grassy mounds. Kip had thought it looked like a fun thing to do—not that he would ever be able to do it.

“Go back to playin’,” Kip said. He hopped toward Molly, his voice low. “I think it’s a mistake what we’re doin’ here. I think we should keep as far from that Gardener as slugs from salt.”

Molly laughed. “Slugs! Just what every girl wants to be called.” Kip didn’t smile, which seemed to annoy her. “Kip, I know it’s tall odds, but if this works, the Gardener’ll be gone. We’ll be safe.”

“An’ if it don’t work,” he said, “he’ll be mad and we’ll be …” He shook his head, unsure of what, exactly, might happen. He knew in his bones that it would be bad. Bad like what had happened to Master Windsor’s parents all those years back.

“I hear you whispering over there.” Penny took a running jump over a hill. “Are you talking about the night man?”

Kip and Molly both snapped, “No!” This, at least, they seemed to agree on.

Penny made a sour face and went back to her game. Kip leaned on his crutch, massaging his left leg. It was throbbing at the knee—throbbing everywhere, really. His mind went to the story that Hester had told them in the village. He thought of the house and the tree and what he had found in the room with the little green door and
wondered, once again, how much Molly truly knew about this place. He watched her tie two pieces of rope together, going over and then through, the way their father had taught them. “It’s been a while since we heard from Ma an’ Da,” he said. “You think they’re all right?”

Molly’s hands slowed. “I’m sure they’re fine.” She untied her knot and started over.

Kip hopped closer, watching her expression. Something was obviously wrong. “Maybe you could read us an old letter, just to pass the time?”

Molly shook her head, not looking up. “I dinna got ’em with me. They were gettin’ cumbrous in my apron, so I put ’em somewhere safe.” She held up the net. “Besides, we got work to do. Doctor’s orders.”

Kip felt his throat tighten. “Doctor’s orders,” he muttered. Why couldn’t Molly just be honest with him and say she was scared of the Gardener? Why did she hide behind smiles and stories? But Kip knew why. It was because she thought he was too small, too frail. And wasn’t he? He watched Penny jumping between the hills with abandon. What he would give to be whole like that. What he would give to swim and jump and run and play like a normal boy.

Kip gripped his rake and went back to work. Doctor Crouch had instructed him to clear the area around the tree for their trap. Ever since his ordeal with the roots, Kip had been careful not to walk too close to the tree or the hole. Until now, the hole had remained undisturbed beneath a blanket of leaves. He cleared the bottom and was surprised to see that it wasn’t any deeper than before—he had several
nights since heard the Night Gardener digging in the darkness, but the hole looked untouched.

Kip hobbled away from the hole to clear a pile of leaves nearby. He balanced himself on one leg and gripped the rake with both hands. “Any last words?” he said. He brought the rake down like an executioner. The iron tongs sliced right through the pile and kept going. Kip had been expecting to hit hard dirt, and when he did not, the surprise caught him off-balance. He fell to the ground, landing hard on his shoulder. “I’m fine,” he called to Molly before she could offer help.

Kip stood, breathing hard. His shoulder was throbbing, and it hurt to hold the rake in that hand. He hopped closer to the spot and, using just one hand, raked back the edge of the pile. Where he should have found dirt or grass, he saw only more leaves. Kip flipped his rake around and pushed the long handle into the spot. It sank deep into the leaves—

Another hole
.

“I think you should see this,” he called to Molly. “And watch your step.”

Kip and his sister spent the next half hour clearing the area around the tree. What had started as two holes had now become six, all in a row. They were of similar size but for length, which ran from short to long. The hole closest to the house was about the size of a grown man; the hole at the other end was about the size of a little girl.

A breeze stirred the hairs along Kip’s neck. He looked back over his shoulder at the lawn where Penny was playing. Little green hills
rose and fell as far as he could see, each of them about the length of a body. “Molls, I dinna think those are just hills …,” he said, staring at the rolling mounds. More than he could count.

He felt Molly’s hand wrap around his own. Her skin was clammy with perspiration. “This whole place …,” she whispered. “It’s one giant graveyard.”

“Nay.” Kip swallowed, peering back at the tree. “It’s one giant trap.”

“What’s all that behind you?” called Penny, who had seen them looking in her direction. She skipped toward them. “Are you making a fort?”

“Stay back!” Kip called. He hopped in front of the smallest grave, blocking her path.

“Penny,” Molly said, her voice sweet but tense, “could you go back inside and check on your mum’s hot water? And tell the doctor we’re almost finished—he’ll know what that means.”

Penny stared at them for a moment, no doubt suspecting that she was being left out of something very interesting. “Fine,” she said and marched toward the house.

“That was close,” Kip said when the girl had finally disappeared through the front door. He looked up at his sister, who was still staring at the expanse of graves.

“You were right,” she said. “I shouldn’t ’a brought us here.”

Kip stared at her pale face. Her once-green eyes were now almost
black. He wanted to tell her that he understood, that he knew why she hadn’t listened to him. He winced, feeling an ache in his left leg.

“C’mon,” he said, turning around. He brought up some phlegm from his throat and spit into the grave at his feet, the one meant for him. “We got a monster to catch.”

t was nearly dark by the time Molly finished setting the net. It was large, nearly twenty feet across. She hammered a wooden peg into the earth, fixing the net in place directly below the tree. “All finished, Doctor,” she called, struggling to her feet.

Doctor Crouch reclined on the stoop, enjoying the last sips of his tea. While he made no secret of his doubts regarding Molly’s story, he nevertheless seemed to have thrown himself into the experiment with commendable spirit. He had spent the whole of the afternoon collecting supplies in the village and now looked completely different from the genteel physician who had attended Mistress Windsor’s bedside. His girth was hidden behind a leather apron similar to what a butcher might wear. Hanging from his shoulders was a jumble of fishing rods, bear traps, sketchbooks, telescopes, and a few things the purpose of which Molly couldn’t begin to fathom. On his head was a hat with a sort of lantern attached as well as a pair of goggles with thick black lenses.

“I shall be the judge of that!” The man set his tea down and pulled
himself upright. He walked to the net, which Molly and Kip had secured with wooden pegs placed at regular intervals around the edges. “Excellent work—and those extra holes are a clever touch.”

Molly exchanged a look with her brother. They had decided not to tell him what the “holes” really were, for fear of frightening him.

The doctor returned to his tea, calling behind him, “Now cover it up with leaves.”

Kip groaned. “More raking?”

Doctor Crouch either did not hear him or did not care. He had already explained to them that he was not disposed toward “manual labor.” Molly picked up a rake and handed another one to Kip. “Least this way, we dinna have to look at our own graves.”

The final part of the trap was a long rope, which connected to the net. Molly was instructed to loop the rope over a large overhanging branch from the tree. The branch was very high, and it took her several tries to toss it over the top. When she had succeeded, she gave it to Kip, who was waiting at the “counterweight”—that being the doctor’s fancy word for Galileo’s wagon.

“Tie it tight, my boy!” Doctor Crouch instructed.

Molly stood over Kip, watching him secure the rope to the back of the wagon. He said nothing, but it was clear from his manner that he did not want to be doing this.

“Are you feelin’ all right?” she said.

“Why wouldn’t I be?” he said, his voice sharp.

In recent days, Kip had been quieter and slower to smile. It felt
like every question that came from his mouth was some sort of test that she was destined to fail. Every so often, she noticed him massaging the hip of his bad leg, a strained look on his face. Molly supposed that he had always felt pain, but only recently was he letting it show.

Kip cinched the knot tight and hopped past Molly. “Doctor, we’re all set!”

The only thing left now was to wait. Molly, Kip, and the doctor all huddled behind the wagon, which concealed them from view. Doctor Crouch hummed to himself, tending to his arsenal of expensive equipment—all of which the children were strictly forbidden from touching. He had allowed himself a chair from the garden but insisted that the children crouch on the grass “to keep them alert.” Molly pulled her coat close, reminding herself that however uncomfortable she was, Kip was more so. As the night wore on, Galileo became increasingly tense, pulling against his bit. It was Kip’s job to keep a hand on the horse and prevent him from moving. “Gal’s mighty keen to get away from this tree,” he said, struggling with the reins. “Maybe we should let ’im.”

Even in the darkness, Doctor Crouch’s irritation was clear. “Perhaps we should leave the plan making to more evolved minds, hmm?”

“My brother didn’t mean nothin’, sir,” Molly said. “We’re grateful for what you’re doin’.”

“As well you should be,” Crouch said, sounding a bit hurt. “It is no ordinary doctor who would condescend to test your hypothesis. Lucky for you, I am far from ordinary.”

“You can say that twice,” Kip muttered.

Even in the cold, Molly felt a hot flush of irritation. Why was Kip so negative about everything? Why couldn’t he just trust her? But then, what reason had she given him to trust her? “Doctor,” she said sweetly, “perhaps you can tell us a bit more about your plan. I’m sure it’s a thing of brilliance.”

“I wouldn’t go that far, child …” He gave a laugh that was probably meant to communicate humility. “According to your own reports, the creature appears near this tree each night—from which I can only conclude that it is some sort of burrowing mammal—perhaps a weasel or badger.”

“It’s an awfully big badger,” Kip said. Molly gave him an elbow to the ribs and a look to match.

Crouch seemed not to hear him. “When the creature appears—
if
the creature appears—I shall give the sign for you two to start the horse running. He will pull the rope, and our trap will be sprung, at which time, I shall run forward and capture the creature!”

“Capture him how?” Molly said tactfully. “A net won’t hold him forever. You’ll need to lock him up.”

“Or kill him,” Kip added.

“I shall do one better,” the doctor exclaimed. “I shall freeze it forever in time.” He gestured proudly to a device perched atop a tripod. It looked like a pair of billows attached to a bread box, wearing a cape. A variety of straps and cords dangled from the back, one of which seemed to contain a button.

Molly studied the strange apparatus. “What is that thing?”

The man chuckled. “This ‘thing’ is a
camera obscura
. I had planned to document some local fauna, but you’ve potentially led me to something far more promising.” He excitedly removed something that looked like a dustpan from his bag, which he affixed to the top of the box and filled with some white powder. “This is a magnesium flash. I ordered it from France just last month. When I pull the lever on this handle”—he showed her a small trigger—“it will ignite the powder—creating enough light to capture the subject’s likeness on one of these plates.” He lifted the cloth in back and removed a sheet of tin, about the size of a postcard. “A perfect photographic specimen.”