The Night Gardener (7 page)

Molly and her family had always slept together in one room, and the idea of having a space all of her own both thrilled and frightened her. She dressed for bed, making a mental list of all she needed to do the next morning. She took comfort in the idea that “next morning” was no longer a thing plagued by uncertainty and fear—too many nights she had gone to bed with an empty stomach and heavy heart. Upstairs in the foyer, the grandfather clock chimed twelve times. Midnight. As if awaiting the hour, a dark breeze swept across the grounds outside. Old boards groaned as the wind pushed
against cracks, searching for a way inside the house. Molly’s room had a window above the bed—just big enough for a person to fit through. She took her lamp and perched it on the sill. She blinked the light three times with her hand, like a mariner signaling a passing ship.

A few minutes later, she heard a rap at the glass. Molly opened the window to find Kip crouched in the mud. “Boo,” he said, wind grasping at his hair.

“Boo, yourself.” Molly took his crutch from outside and propped it against the bed frame. She grabbed him under the arms and helped him through the window. “Remember what we talked about: you’re to be up and away by dawn—before anyone sees you.” Molly knew it was dangerous to disobey her mistress, but she also knew that her brother needed some place dry and warm to sleep. “Watch your boots,” she warned too late as he touched down on the mattress. “And shut that window before any leaves get in.”

Kip was a little out of breath and his cheeks were flushed. He peered over his shoulder, searching the darkness outside. “Comin’ over here, I coulda swore someone was followin’ me.” He shut the latch and carefully climbed to the floor.

Molly set to making the bed. “Well, did you tell him to stop?”

Kip sat on the floor to remove his boots and trousers. “I ain’t foolin’. I was out at the stables, waitin’ for your sign at the window. All of a sudden this wind comes and it gets real dark—no moon, no stars. That’s when I seen your light, so I set to walkin’ over here. I’m halfway
to the house when the hairs on my neck stand straight up. It was like I could
feel
it, Molls, right behind me. I turned around, and there, in the fog …” He shook his head. “For half a heartbeat, I thought I saw someone there, watchin’ me.”

Molly continued with the bedding, trying not to look alarmed. It was her fault that he came up with such things. Her fault for stuffing his brain full of goblins and witches and giant squids. “I thought you said it was too dark to see,” she observed.

“Well, I could see
this
,” he said through the nightshirt over his head. “He was real tall, dressed all in black, with a tall black hat. I walked a few more steps toward the house and looked again … but he was gone.”

Molly helped her brother into the freshly made bed. “He probably got a look at your face and was scared off,” she said.

“It’s no joke,” he insisted. “Something’s wrong with this whole place. You seen how pale they all are—it ain’t natural.”

“That’s just how folks look in England.” Molly suddenly felt very glad that she had not told Kip about the portrait in the library. There was no reason to add to his worry. “I’m sure we’ll get used to it.” She blew out the lamp and lay down beside her brother. She stared at the ceiling, letting her eyes adjust to the night. In the shadows, she could make out the place where a thick root had broken through the exposed wooden beams. After all these weeks of struggle, she and Kip had finally made it to a safe, warm bed. And yet she couldn’t shake the feeling that they shouldn’t be here.

“Molls?” Kip said softly. He was staring at the cracked button she had given him earlier that day. “Why’d they have to go round the world without us?”

Molly propped herself up on one arm. “You know well as I do, Kip. They didn’t want us gettin’ hurt.”

He nodded. “Drowning.”

Molly swallowed a lump in her throat. “Aye. Or that.”

Kip turned toward her, his eyes shining in that little-boy way that spoke of distant adventure. “Do you think they’ve seen any dragons yet?” he asked.

“I’m sure of it. The ocean’s full of ’em. Maybe, if we’re good, they’ll even catch one for us.” She looked at him, very serious. “But in the meantime, we’ve got a job of our own.”

“What’s that?”

She smiled, pinching his side. “Gettin’ sleep.”

Kip might have protested were he not already in the middle of a yawn. Molly had observed that for children of a certain age, thought is action. No sooner had she put sleep in his mind than he was already halfway there. Molly could actually see it happen right before her eyes. His head grew heavy against the pillow, and his breathing became soft and regular. His fingers uncurled, revealing the wishing button, nested safe in his palm.

Molly turned onto her back and slowly shut her eyes. For the first time, she let herself feel the exhaustion that she had been fighting for weeks. Every part of her was worn out. Her hands, feet, legs,
arms—even the tips of her hair felt tired. Molly was too tired to think about the strange pale family or the strange ugly tree or the strange portrait in the library.

She was too tired, even, to register the sound of a door opening and heavy footsteps entering the house.

ip was dressed and outside just after dawn. A good night’s sleep and two hot meals had done wonders for his spirit. Even his left leg, which usually ached in the mornings, felt better. Molly had said that Master Windsor was returning at the end of the week, and Kip thought if he worked hard, he might be able to tame the front lawn by then.

He started with the overgrown ivy at the base of the mansion. He trimmed around the back and sides of the house. He would have continued around front by the tree, but it appeared as though someone had already cleared the growth on that side. When the ivy was finished, he chopped some firewood, repaired the stable door, and swept Galileo’s stall.

Kip enjoyed working outside. It reminded him of hours spent with his father, tending their farm on the shore. It was a small farm—just a few animals, a vegetable garden, and a potato patch—but it had been more than Da could handle by himself. Kip had always secretly wondered, if he had been stronger, if he had been able to work as much
as a healthy boy, whether their farm might have thrived. Then maybe his family wouldn’t have needed to leave Ireland for work, and they would all still be together.

It was early afternoon, and Kip was drawing water for Galileo at the well when he heard a pained voice in the direction of the house. “But Alistair, I’ll ruin my favorite dress!” It was the little girl, Penny. She was speaking to her brother, who was leaning against the big tree out front.

“You should have thought about that before you agreed to play,” Alistair said matter-of-factly. “Now get in there, or it’ll be a double penalty.”

Kip had known bullies in his life, and he could tell at one glance that Alistair was a bully of the highest order—the sort who took a special delight in torturing things smaller than himself. Show him a spider’s web and he would tear it. Show him a bird’s nest and he would kick it. Show him a lame boy? Kip preferred not to find out what he would do. He had thus far managed to avoid Alistair, which was not difficult, as both the Windsor children seemed to prefer playing indoors, and even when they were outside, the low hills covering the lawn created a sort of natural barrier between any two points.

Now, however, Kip found himself with an opportunity to study the children, unobserved. He watched the little girl lower herself into a hole near the base of the tree. He had not noticed this hole before because it had been covered with leaves. Kip made a note to
himself that he should rake them clear when he got the chance. It was not a deep hole, for when Penny touched bottom, her chin was still aboveground. As soon as she was in, Alistair pushed leaves around her body with his foot until she was properly buried.

“Alistair, I don’t think I want to play this game,” Penny said. Her glasses had slipped down from her nose, and she was trying unsuccessfully to fix them without the use of her arms.

“Today’s game is entirely new.” The boy paced in front of the tree, hands behind his back like a captain of the guard. “It’s something I call ‘Pit and Pockets.’ You’ve likely already figured out the ‘pit’ part. Now for the next bit: I’ve got something in each of my pockets. In one pocket is a bag of sweets; in the other is …” He spun around dramatically.
“Certain doom!”

Penny made a small, terrified sound. She blinked up at her brother. “I pick the sweets,” she said in a tone more befitting a question.

Alistair stood back. “No, stupid. You have to choose: Right or left? And whatever you pick, you have to eat.”

Kip could not say for certain, but something in Alistair’s voice made him suspect that no matter which pocket the girl selected, she would lose. He watched as Penny screwed up her face, concentrating all her mental energy on determining which pocket was the winner. “I … I think it’s the left one,” she ventured after a moment.

“Left, she says!” Alistair reached a hand into his left pocket and pulled out a fistful of something dark and stringy. The prize hung limp between his fingers, squirming slowly.

Kip had spent enough years working in soil to know what Alistair was holding. “Earthworms,” he said under his breath. Penny gave a shriek that confirmed his suspicion.

Alistair held the creatures over his sister’s head. “Let’s see which one reaches you first.” With a great flourish, he sprinkled the worms around the edge of the hole.

Penny, who up until this point had been a commendable sport, broke down. “Alistair, pull me out of here.” She spun her head about, trying to keep clear of the worms blindly inching toward her. Suddenly she gave a sharp scream that surprised Kip for its sincerity. Even Alistair looked a bit taken aback. “Help!” she shrieked. “They’re getting my feet! I can feel them!”

“You’re just being hysterical,” Alistair protested. “I can see for myself the worms have barely made it past the first layer of leaves.” He crouched down and took one of the worms between his two fingers. “Look here, all you have to do is eat one worm, and then you’re done.”

Penny did not hear him, as she was too busy screaming about how she could feel the worms moving around her ankles. Seizing a perfect opportunity, Alistair raised the worm over her open mouth.

Kip had seen enough. He took up his crutch, Courage, and hobbled out from behind the well. “You leave her alone!” he called, moving toward them as fast as he could.

Alistair turned around slowly. A look of pure pleasure crept across his face. “If it isn’t our new groundskeeper!” he said. “I thought I smelled something foul.”

Kip ignored the comment and hopped closer. Alistair took a lazy step to one side, planting himself between Kip and Penny. The two boys were now only a few feet from each other. At this range, Alistair looked even bigger. Kip swallowed, steeling himself. “She ain’t done nothin’ to deserve that. Let her go.”

“Or else what?” Alistair said, tossing the worm aside. “One word to Mother, and you’ll be turned out—two fishy orphans, alone in the cold.”

“I ain’t no orphan,” Kip snapped. “And you’re a bully.” His face was flushed, his free hand clenched tight in a fist. He knew talking was useless; this was going to be a fight.

Kip was by no means a good fighter, but he had been in enough scraps to know a few tricks. The first trick was to always strike first—to guarantee he got in at least one good blow before things went bad. The second trick was to bite his tongue, as hard as he could, right before things got started. That way, when he was hit, the pain wouldn’t surprise him. The last thing, and this was important, was to level the field as quickly as possible by getting the other boy onto the ground. Down there, having only one good leg was not as much of a problem. None of these tricks had ever helped him win a fight, of course, but they usually helped him lose a little less badly.

Kip dropped his crutch and sprang across the grass, tackling Alistair at the knees. The boy shouted out as they both came crashing down onto the wet lawn. Kip concentrated on hitting the places he knew hurt most: the kidneys, just below the ribs, the back of the
leg. It quickly became clear to him that, for all his posturing, Alistair knew next to nothing about proper fighting. The boy landed a few ineffectual blows upon Kip’s shoulder blades and elbows before resorting to a campaign of hair pulling and ear biting.