The Forgotten Garden Part 38

Christian stood tall. "And when you come back, I'll help you fix it all up. Like my dad does over at the hotel."

Nell smiled. "I might well hold you to that. I don't accept help from just anyone, but I have a feeling that in this case you're the right man for the job."

FORTY-TWO.

BLACKHURST M MANOR, 1913.

ROSE gathered the shawl around her shoulders and crossed her arms against a chill that wouldn't be warmed away. When she'd decided to seek sun in the garden, Eliza had been the last person she'd expected to see. As Rose had sat making notes in her sc.r.a.pbook, looking up occasionally to see Ivory fluttering and swooping around the flower beds, there'd been no indication that the day's peace was to be so horridly shattered. Some peculiar sense had made her glance towards the maze gates, and there had been the sight that chilled Rose's blood. How had Eliza known that she would find Rose and Ivory alone in the garden? Had she been watching, waiting for just such a time when she might catch Rose off guard? And why now? Why after three years had she materialized today? Like a nightmare specter crossing the lawn, wretched parcel in her hand. gathered the shawl around her shoulders and crossed her arms against a chill that wouldn't be warmed away. When she'd decided to seek sun in the garden, Eliza had been the last person she'd expected to see. As Rose had sat making notes in her sc.r.a.pbook, looking up occasionally to see Ivory fluttering and swooping around the flower beds, there'd been no indication that the day's peace was to be so horridly shattered. Some peculiar sense had made her glance towards the maze gates, and there had been the sight that chilled Rose's blood. How had Eliza known that she would find Rose and Ivory alone in the garden? Had she been watching, waiting for just such a time when she might catch Rose off guard? And why now? Why after three years had she materialized today? Like a nightmare specter crossing the lawn, wretched parcel in her hand.

Rose glanced sideways. There it sat, masquerading as a harmless thing. But it wasn't. Rose knew that. She didn't need to look beneath the brown-paper wrapping to know what lurked within, an object representing a place, a time, a union Rose wanted so much to forget.

She gathered her skirts and smoothed them against her thigh, trying to create some distance between herself and it.

A flock of starlings took flight and Rose looked towards the kidney-shaped lawn. Mamma was coming towards her, the new hound, Helmsley, stalking close to her dark skirts. A wash of relief left Rose light-headed. Mamma was an anchor back to the present, to a safe world where everything was as it should be.

As Adeline drew near, Rose could contain her anxiety no longer. "Oh, Mamma," she said quickly. "She was here, Eliza was here."

"I saw it all from the window. What did she say? Did the child hear anything she should not?"

Rose ran the encounter back through her mind, but worry had conspired with fear to wrinkle the edges of her memory and she could no longer tease loose the precise words that had been spoken. She shook her head miserably. "I don't know."

Adeline glanced at the parcel, then lifted it from the bench cautiously, as if it were hot to the touch.

"Don't open it, Mamma, please. I cannot bear to see inside." Rose's voice was almost a whisper.

"Is it...?"

"I'm quite sure it is." Rose pressed cold fingers against her cheek. "She said it was for Ivory." Rose looked at her mother and a fresh wave of panic surged beneath her skin. "Why would she bring it, Mamma? Why?"

Adeline's lips tightened.

"What did she mean by it?"

"I believe the time has come when you must put some distance between yourself and your cousin." Adeline sat beside Rose and lay the parcel across her lap.

"Distance, Mamma?" Rose's cheeks cooled, her voice dropped to a terrified whisper. "You don't think she might...might come again?"

"She has shown today that she has no respect for the rules that were agreed upon."

"But, Mamma, surely you don't think-"

"I think only that I wish for your continued well-being." As Rose's daughter fluttered beneath the dappled light, Adeline leaned close, so close that Rose felt a smooth upper lip against her ear. "We must remember, my darling," she whispered, "that a secret is never safe when it is known by others."

Rose nodded slightly. Mamma was right, of course. It had been folly to think all might continue indefinitely.

Adeline stood and rolled her wrist, motioning Helmsley to heel. "Thomas is about to serve luncheon. Don't be long. You needn't compound the day's upleasantness by catching a chill." She returned the parcel to the seat and lowered her voice. "And have Nathaniel dispose of that."

RACING FOOTSTEPS every which way overhead and Adeline winced. It mattered not how many times she delivered the well-worn diatribe on young ladies and fitting behavior, the child would not be taught. It was to be expected, of course: no matter the pretty wrapping in which Rose clad her, the girl was common-born, there was no escaping that. Cheeks that glowed too pink, laughter that echoed along the halls, curls that escaped her ribbons, she was as unlike Rose as was possible. every which way overhead and Adeline winced. It mattered not how many times she delivered the well-worn diatribe on young ladies and fitting behavior, the child would not be taught. It was to be expected, of course: no matter the pretty wrapping in which Rose clad her, the girl was common-born, there was no escaping that. Cheeks that glowed too pink, laughter that echoed along the halls, curls that escaped her ribbons, she was as unlike Rose as was possible.

And yet Rose adored the girl. Thus had Adeline accepted her, schooled herself to smile at the child, meet her impertinent gaze, tolerate her noise. What wouldn't Adeline do for Rose? What hadn't she already done? But Adeline understood, too, that it was her duty to maintain a stern and ready hand, for the child would need firm guidance if she were to escape the pitfalls of her birth.

The circle of those who knew the truth was small and so must it remain: to allow otherwise was to invite the hideous specter of scandal. It was imperative, therefore, that Mary and Eliza be properly managed.

Adeline had worried at first that Rose might not understand, that the innocent girl might imagine all could continue as before. But on that count she had been pleasantly surprised. The moment Ivory was placed in Rose's arms, a change had come over her: she was seized by a fierce maternal desire to protect her child. Rose had agreed with Adeline that certainly Mary and Eliza must stay away: sufficient distance to preclude a daily presence, yet close enough to remain within the sphere of Adeline's influence. Only in that way could it be ensured that neither divulged what they knew about the child at Blackhurst Manor. Adeline had a.s.sisted Mary in the purchase of a little house in Polperro and Eliza had been permitted tenure at the cottage. Although a part of Adeline lamented the permanent proximity of Eliza, it was the lesser of two evils, and Rose's happiness was paramount.

Dear Rose. She'd looked so pale, sitting alone on the garden seat. Had barely touched her luncheon afterwards, merely moved it about the plate, this way and that. She was resting now, warding off the return of a migraine that had haunted her all week.

Adeline opened the fist which had clenched itself in her lap and flexed her fingers thoughtfully. She had made the conditions perfectly clear when everything was arranged: neither girl was to set foot again on the Blackhurst estate. The stipulation was simple, and to date each of them had complied. The wings of security had closed over the secret and life at Blackhurst had adopted a peaceful rhythm.

What, then, was Eliza thinking, breaking her word now?

IN THE end, Nathaniel waited until Rose was in bed, resting because of her nerves, and Adeline was out visiting. That way, he reasoned, neither need ever learn the method by which he ensured Eliza's continued absence. Ever since he'd heard what had happened, Nathaniel had been mulling over how best to set things right. To see his wife in such a state was a chilling reminder that, despite the distance they had traveled, the blessed reversal after Ivory was born, the other Rose, worry-worn, tense, erratic, was never far beneath the surface. He had known instantly that he must speak with Eliza. Find a way to make her understand that she could never come again. end, Nathaniel waited until Rose was in bed, resting because of her nerves, and Adeline was out visiting. That way, he reasoned, neither need ever learn the method by which he ensured Eliza's continued absence. Ever since he'd heard what had happened, Nathaniel had been mulling over how best to set things right. To see his wife in such a state was a chilling reminder that, despite the distance they had traveled, the blessed reversal after Ivory was born, the other Rose, worry-worn, tense, erratic, was never far beneath the surface. He had known instantly that he must speak with Eliza. Find a way to make her understand that she could never come again.

Some time had pa.s.sed since his last venture through and he'd forgotten how dark it was within the bramble walls, how briefly the sun's rays were permitted entry. He went carefully, trying to remember which turns to make. A far cry from the time, four years ago, when he had torn hotly through the maze in pursuit of his sketches. He'd arrived at the cottage, blood pulsing, shoulders heaving from the unusual exertion, and had demanded the sketches' return. They were his, he'd said, they were important to him, he needed them. And then, when he'd run out of things to say, he'd stood, catching his breath, waiting for Eliza to respond. He wasn't sure what he'd expected-a confession, an apology, a handover of the sketches, all of these things, perhaps-but she had given none. Rather, she'd surprised him. After a moment spent regarding him in the way one might a minor curiosity, she'd blinked those pale, changeable eyes that he itched to draw, and asked whether he would care to contribute ill.u.s.trations for a book of fairy tales- A noise and the memory fled. Nathaniel's heart stepped up its beat. He turned and glanced through the dim s.p.a.ce behind him. A lone robin blinked at him before flying away.

Why was he so jumpy? He had the frayed nerves of a guilty man, a ridiculous state as there was nothing inappropriate in his actions. He intended only to speak with Eliza, request that she resist breaching the maze gates. And his mission, after all, was for Rose's sake; it was his wife's health and well-being that were uppermost in his mind.

He went faster, rea.s.suring himself that he was manufacturing danger where there was none. His mission might be secret but it was not illicit. There was a difference.

He had agreed to ill.u.s.trate the book. How could he resist, and why should he have? To sketch was his dearest wish and to ill.u.s.trate her fairy tales allowed him to slip inside a world that didn't recognize the particular regrets in his own life. It had been a lifeline, a secret pursuit that made the long days of portraiture tolerable. At meetings with wealthy, t.i.tled dullards, when Adeline pressed him forward yet again and he was required to smile and perform convivially like a trained hound, he had nursed to himself the secret knowledge that he was also bringing to life the magical world of Eliza's tales.

He'd never had a finished copy of his own. Publication had been delayed for one reason or another, and by the time the book was published it was clear to him how unwelcome such would be at Blackhurst. Once, in the early days of the project, he'd committed the grave error of mentioning the book to Rose. He had thought she might be glad, might appreciate the union of her husband and her dearest cousin, but he had been mistaken. Her expression was one he would never forget: shock and anger, mixed together with bereavement. He had betrayed her, she said, he didn't love her, he wanted to leave her. Nathaniel had been at a loss as to how to understand. He had done what he always did on such occasions, rea.s.sured Rose and asked whether he might sketch her portrait for his collection. And he kept the project to himself from that day forward. But he didn't give it up. He couldn't.

After Ivory was born and Rose was restored, the trailing threads of his life had plaited slowly back together. Strange, the power of a tiny baby to bring life to a dead place, to lift the black pall that had covered everything-Rose, their marriage, Nathaniel's own soul. It hadn't been instant, of course. To begin with where the child was concerned, Nathaniel had trodden cautiously, taken his lead from Rose, mindful always of the possibility that the baby's origins might prove insurmountable. Only when he saw that she loved the girl as a daughter, never a cuckoo, did he allow the walls of his own heart to weaken. He permitted the baby's divine innocence to permeate his tired and wounded spirit, and he embraced the completion of his little family, the strength it gained as its members.h.i.+p grew from two to three.

And by and by he forgot about the book and the joy its ill.u.s.trations had given him. He devoted himself to toeing the Mountrachet family line-ignored Eliza's existence and, when Adeline asked him to alter John Singer Sargent's portrait thus, bore willingly, if not happily, the dishonor at having tampered with the great man's work. It seemed to Nathaniel that by then he'd crossed so many lines of principle once presumed inviolable, one more wouldn't hurt...

Nathaniel reached the clearing at the center of the maze and a pair of peac.o.c.ks appraised him briefly before continuing on their way. He went carefully to avoid the metal ring that threatened to trip a man up, then entered the narrow straight that began the way towards the hidden garden.

Nathaniel froze. Branches breaking, light footfalls. Heavier than those belonging to the peac.o.c.ks.

He stopped, turned quickly. There-a flash of white. There was was someone following him. someone following him.

"Who is it?" His voice was raspier than he'd expected. He forced some steel into it. "I insist that you come out from hiding."

A moment's pause, then his pursuer was revealed.

"Ivory!" Relief was followed quickly by consternation. "What are you doing here? You know you're not permitted beyond the maze gates."

"Please, Papa," said the little girl. "Take me with you. Davies says there's a garden at maze end where all the world's rainbows begin."

Nathaniel couldn't help but admire the image. "Does he, now?"

Ivory nodded with the sort of childlike earnestness that captivated Nathaniel. He consulted his pocket watch. Adeline would be back within the hour, eager to check his progress on Lord Haymarket's commission. There wasn't time to take Ivory home and then return, and who knew when the opportunity would present itself again. He scratched his ear and sighed. "Come, then, little one."

She followed closely, humming a tune that Nathaniel recognized as "Oranges and Lemons." Lord knew from whom she'd learned it. Not from Rose, who had a terrible memory for lyrics and melody; nor Adeline, for whom music had little meaning. One of the servants, no doubt. For want of a proper governess, his daughter was pa.s.sing much of her time with the Blackhurst staff. Who could guess what other questionable skills she was acquiring as a consequence?

"Papa?"

"Yes."

"I made another picture in my mind."

"Oh?" Nathaniel pushed a th.o.r.n.y bramble aside so that Ivory could pa.s.s.

"It was the s.h.i.+p with Captain Ahab on it. And the whale swimming just by."

"What color was the sail?"

"White, of course."

"And the whale?"

"Grey like a storm cloud."

"And what did your s.h.i.+p smell like?"

"Salty water and Davies's dirty boots."

Amused, Nathaniel raised his eyebrows. "I imagine it did." It was one of their favorite games, played often on the afternoons Ivory had taken to spending in his studio. It had surprised Nathaniel to discover that he so enjoyed the child's company. She made him see things differently, more simply, in a way that brought new life to his portraits. Her frequent questions as to what he was doing and why he was doing it required him to explain things he had long ago forgotten to appreciate: that one must draw what one sees, not what one imagines is there; that every image is comprised merely of lines and shapes; that color should both reveal and conceal.

"Why are we going through the maze, Papa?"

"There is someone on the other side whom I must see."

Ivory digested this. "Is it a person, Papa?"

"Of course it's a person. Do you think your papa might be meeting with a beast?"

They turned a corner, then another in quick succession, and Nathaniel was put in mind of a marble slipping through the twists and turns of the run Ivory had constructed in the nursery. Following the bends and straights with little control over its own destiny. A silly notion, of course, for what were his actions today if not those of a man taking charge of his own fate?

They made a final turn and arrived at the door to the hidden garden. Nathaniel stopped, knelt down and cupped his daughter's bony shoulders gently in his hands. "Now, Ivory," he said carefully, "I have brought you through the maze today."

"Yes, Papa."

"But you must never come again, and certainly not alone." Nathaniel pressed his lips together. "And I believe it would be best if...if this trip of ours today..."

"Don't worry, Papa. I won't tell Mamma."

Within the pit of Nathaniel's stomach, relief mixed with the uncomfortable sensation of having colluded with his child against his wife.

"Nor Grandmamma, either, Papa."

Nathaniel nodded, smiled weakly. "It's best that way."

"A secret."

"Yes, a secret."

Nathaniel pushed open the door to the hidden garden and ushered Ivory through. He had half expected to see Eliza, sitting like the Queen of the Fairies on the tuft of gra.s.s beneath the apple tree, but the garden was still and silent. The only movement came from a robin-the same one?-who c.o.c.ked his head and watched almost proprietorially as Nathaniel made his way along the zigzag path.

"Oh, Papa," said Ivory, staring in wonder at the garden. She gazed upwards, taking in the creepers that snaked their way back and forth, from the top of one wall to the top of the other. "It's a magical magical garden." garden."

How odd that a child should perceive such a thing. Nathaniel wondered what it was about Eliza's garden that made one feel such splendor could not have come naturally. That some bargain had been struck with spirits on the other side of the veil to procure such wild abundance.

He guided Ivory through the southern door and down the path that hugged the side of the cottage. Despite the hour, it was cool and dark in the front garden, courtesy of the stone wall that Adeline had had built. Nathaniel laid a hand between Ivory's shoulder blades, her fairy wings. "Now, listen," he said. "Papa is going inside but you must wait here in the garden."

"Yes, Papa."

He hesitated. "Don't go wandering now."

"Oh no, Papa." Said so innocently, as if to wander where she shouldn't was the furthest thing from her mind.

With a nod, Nathaniel went to the door. He knocked and waited for Eliza to come, straightened the cuff of his sleeve.

The door opened and there she was. As if he'd last seen her yesterday. As if the four years hadn't pa.s.sed between.

WHILE NATHANIEL sat on a chair by the table, Eliza stood on the other side, fingers resting lightly on its rim. She was looking at him in that singular way she had. Empty of the usual social nicety that would have suggested she was pleased to see him. Was it vanity that had made him think she might be pleased to see him? Something within the cottage light conspired to turn her hair brighter red than usual. Flints of sunlight played within its tangles, made it look as if it really had been spun from fairies' gold. Nathaniel chided himself-he was allowing his knowledge of her stories to permeate his vision of the woman herself. He knew better than that. sat on a chair by the table, Eliza stood on the other side, fingers resting lightly on its rim. She was looking at him in that singular way she had. Empty of the usual social nicety that would have suggested she was pleased to see him. Was it vanity that had made him think she might be pleased to see him? Something within the cottage light conspired to turn her hair brighter red than usual. Flints of sunlight played within its tangles, made it look as if it really had been spun from fairies' gold. Nathaniel chided himself-he was allowing his knowledge of her stories to permeate his vision of the woman herself. He knew better than that.

A strangeness sat between them. There was much to be said yet nothing he could think to say. It was the first time he'd seen her since the arrangements had been made. He cleared his throat, reached out as if to take her hand. Couldn't seem to help himself. She lifted her fingers suddenly and turned her attention to the range.

Nathaniel leaned back against his chair. He wondered how to begin, what words to wrap his message in. "You know why I have come," he said finally.

Without turning. "Of course."

He watched her fingers, such narrow fingers, as she put the kettle on the stove. "You know, then, what I have to say."

"Yes."

From outside, riding lightly on the breeze that swept through the window, came a voice, the sweetest voice: "Oranges and lemons, say the bells of St. Clement's..."