Eden's Garden (31 page)

‘But …’ Carys looked down at the article, puzzled. ‘I thought from this she died as a child.’

‘Oh, no. I’m pretty sure not. I’ve got a picture of her somewhere. I think it must be still amongst the boxes I haven’t unpacked yet. Dad always loved it, because the photograph was taken by the waterfall in Treverick Gardens. She’s definitely a young woman. Dad always said it was the last one of her ever taken. The real end of the Trevericks, he called it.’ She met two pairs of enquiring eyes. ‘Sorry, he never explained, and I never thought to ask. Family history never really interested me, I’m afraid. At least, not until it was too late and I had no one left to ask.’ She considered for a moment. ‘I think I know roughly where that photograph is stashed. I’ll try and find it later, if you like. Are you staying long in Treverick?’

‘We have to get back to Wales tomorrow,’ said Carys.

‘Okay. Well, if you give me your email address, I can always send a copy to you. You never know, it might be useful.’

‘Great, thanks,’ replied Carys, with a smile.

 For in the end I could not leave her.

And I could not take her with me, into the disintegration of the ocean. Somehow, even in my despair, I could not take life from this child who had irked me from the day of my engagement, with her watchful eyes and her wilfulness, and that dogged determination to lead her life as she chose.

She held on tightly as I kept her steady with the weight of my body and the heaviness of my clothing, while the surf clawed at us, the undertow boiling around our feet. Then, as the wave passed, I turned and led her back towards the shore.

I did not know we had been seen. Not until the voices called to us, and I saw shadows come racing along the beach.

Judith was immediately swept up and taken back to the house. She went, unwillingly enough, but less able to resist now half the household was surrounding me on the shore. Besides, even I could see that her lips were blue and the core of her was chilled, almost beyond redemption, certainly beyond protest.

I knew what would come next. Their voices were kind. But, released from Judith’s gaze, I sank down to my knees on the sand, and I could not let him go. After a while, I felt them step back, defeated. One of the valets was sent for my husband. The other for a priest. And then they fell silent.

I felt a perfect dawn rise around us. A winter sun streaked along the beach, clear and fragile beneath a cloudless sky as the sea drew back to a gleaming turquoise, leaving a sheen of wet sand shimmering in its wake, and a scattering of shells.

‘I’ll take him now, shall I?’ It was one of the grooms. An elderly man, reaching the end of his time at Treverick Hall. I had not spoken to him once in all my time there. I did not even know his name. But his eyes were kind. He had lost a son in the rebellion in the Transvaal, I remembered. I had seen him, standing deep in thought in front of the gravestone each Sunday, as we went to church.

Slowly, I nodded.

He knelt down beside me. ‘I’ll take him now.’ His voice was gentle, as were the hands that reached around my burden, waiting to take its weight.

My arms were cold and cramped. I could scarcely feel the lessening of pressure as I let go. But I heard the cry that went up along the beach. A wild, hard cry of an animal dying. I did not understand until later that the sound was the one vibrating through my body. And that mine was the throat from which it came.

 It was almost dark by the time David drew into the car park of the Treverick Arms that evening. After he’d cut the engine, they sat for a while in silence.

‘I’m not sure we’re any the wiser,’ said David, with a grimace.

Carys shook herself. Her mind was rushing with ideas from wandering for most of the day through the Lost Gardens of Heligan, following paths through the palms and giant ferns of the jungle, and sitting amongst the green peace of the Lost Valley woodland. She was quite certain she had bored David half-senseless with her lingering over the flower and vegetable gardens and her wild excitement over discovering the melon yard, despite him busily taking notes on the ways the Lost Gardens attracted visitors.

‘But at least we know that your dad thought there was some kind of connection between Plas Eden and Treverick Hall. And that was why he was trying to get here that day. Maybe it doesn’t matter if we never know what he thought the connection was. Maybe this was just about laying that part of the past to rest.’

‘Yes, I suppose.’ He turned to her with a smile. ‘I’m glad I came. Even though it has stirred up lots of memories.’ He cleared his throat in a hesitating sort of a way. ‘And I’m glad you were with me.’

‘Me too,’ said Carys, returning his smile.

David took a deep breath. He’d been working on this for the entire drive, but it still didn’t seem any easier. ‘Look,’ he began tentatively. ‘I don’t suppose –’

‘Have a good day?’ It was Rob McIntyre, watering can in hand, making his way back from the line of hanging baskets at the side of the car park, and the moment went winging away over the horizon.

‘Lovely, thanks,’ called Carys. ‘We managed to fit in the Lost Gardens of Heligan and the Eden project all in one day. It’s beautiful down here. I’m never going abroad on holiday again!’

He laughed. ‘People who come to this part of the world are usually smitten. You’d be surprised how many come back time and time again.’

‘Well, I hope that includes me,’ Carys replied.

‘Great stuff.’ He turned back towards the outside tap. ‘Mary’s around. She said to pop in and see her when you’re back. No hurry though, if you’re going into the village for a meal.’

‘We rather thought we’d eat here,’ said David, as they made their way out of the car. ‘We decided we’d had enough rushing around.’

‘Great stuff,’ said Rob again. ‘I recommend the sea bass. Chef’s speciality.’

‘Is that with or without chips?’ returned Carys, keeping the bantering tone.

He laughed. ‘Red wine reduction and a rhubarb jus, naturally. Got to practise for my appearance on
MasterChef
, whatever the punters really prefer.’

‘I think he was joking,’ whispered Carys, seeing David looked like someone heading straight for the harbour and a good dose of cod.

‘Oh, right.’ He looked faintly embarrassed. ‘You’re not into all that fine dining stuff, are you? I was looking at the leaflets earlier: Rick Stein’s restaurant in Padstow isn’t that far away.’

‘Don’t be silly.’ Carys watched a faintly hurt look pass over his face. This wasn’t David Meredith asking her out on a date, was it? Surely they’d known each other a bit too long to be doing first date stuff? Besides, it was far too soon after Joe to even think of anything like that, and especially with David Meredith. Bound to end in trouble. On the other hand… ‘I mean, I’d love to.’ She cleared her throat. ‘Only, I’m sure you have to book ages in advance.’

‘Ah.’ He grimaced. ‘I’ve a feeling that’s probably the case. But they might have a cancellation?’

Carys bit her lip. But she was determined to start as she meant to go on, and that meant being honest. ‘Would you mind if we did that another time? I’ve a feeling Mary will want to hear about everything we’ve found, and I’d quite like to leave early tomorrow with such long drive ahead, if that’s okay with you.’

‘That’s fine. No problem.’

She smiled. ‘And besides, we might be seen as casting aspersions on Mr McIntyre’s cooking skills if we hear the menu and immediately up sticks and head for a celebrity chef instead.’

David laughed. ‘Well seeing as my cooking is generally confined to beans and omelettes, I’m hardly in a position to judge.’

‘You used to be a good cook. Rhiannon taught you and Huw well, I remember. You were both much better than me.’

‘Were we? Well, I’m out of practice, I’m afraid. I’ll have to try and be more adventurous in future.’ He cleared this throat. ‘When you say another time …’

‘Don’t you want to come back?’

‘Well, yes…’

‘Great,’ said Carys. ‘We didn’t see half of the Eden Project, and I definitely want to go back to the Lost Gardens. Didn’t you just love those figures rising out of the ground? That giant’s head was amazing, and weren’t you just blown away by the woman lying there asleep? People loved them.’

‘And the estate was in far worse a state than Eden, when they started, according to the book we bought,’ added David.

‘So that’s why you were so quiet on the way back.’

He smiled. ‘Well, it did cross my mind. Wales has got its own Eden Project, but it doesn’t have a lost garden. At least, not in the north and not like Heligan. It might at least be worth looking into. Especially with Plas Eden’s statues. There’s nothing like those at all.’

‘So maybe it wasn’t a waste of time coming here, after all,’ replied Carys, as they made their way into the pub.

The Treverick Arms was quiet when they arrived, with only a few drinkers sitting in the bar. As Carys made her way back down twenty minutes later, after a quick wash and change of clothes, Mary McIntyre was chatting to an elderly couple who were also guests in the B&B.

‘Enjoy your evening,’ Mary called to her guests, who appeared to be heading to the quay for a meal and a touch of genteel nightlife.

‘Have a good time?’ enquired Mary.

‘Fascinating,’ said Carys. ‘And we’ve lots to tell you.’

‘Not exactly what I’d expected,’ said David.

‘There are always surprises when you look into the past, I’ve found.’ After handing over to the young man who appeared to be her assistant for the evening, she turned back to David and Carys.

‘Come in here,’ she said, beckoning them behind the bar. ‘We won’t be disturbed.’ She led the way into a whitewashed courtyard surrounded by pots that overflowed with the reds and blues of petunias and lobelia, mixed in with dark green sprays of rosemary, the long, slightly purple-tinged leaves of sage, clumps of chive and several varieties of mint. At one side of the courtyard a door opened into the kitchen, where they could hear the banging of pans and the murmur of voices as the preparation for the evening meals began.

‘Yes, that makes sense,’ said Mary, as they finished and Carys placed the copy of the article from the
Treverick Times
in front of her. ‘I suppose that’s where the story of the sound of a woman’s grief among the rocks on Treverick beach must have started.’

Carys shivered. ‘I’m glad it was calm when we went to see Treverick Gardens.’

‘And you still have no idea if there is any connection with your family at all?’ asked Mary.

David shook his head. ‘Nothing for definite. As Ann Treverick died in Ketterford, I can’t see how there can be. I just wish Dad hadn’t felt the need to keep whatever it was he was trying to find a secret. Then at least we might have known where to start. I suppose it was the madness thing. People are funny about that, aren’t they.’

‘If she was mad,’ remarked Mary, looking up from the article.

Carys blinked. ‘You mean, you think she might not have been?’

‘I think the loss of a child might drive you to the edge. But those drawings you showed me looked like the work of sanity to me.’

‘Didn’t Margaret Tyack say something like that, when we were at Ketterford?’ said David. ‘It never really struck me at the time.’

‘Yes, you’re right,’ replied Carys. ‘I didn’t think much about it either.’ She frowned at Mary. ‘But why…?’

‘Lots of reasons. Mental illness wasn’t really understood in those days. From what I’ve read people – especially women – were sent to asylums for all kinds of reasons. Postnatal depression. Menopause. Depression itself. And sometimes just for being inconvenient. Good way to get rid of a wife. Victorians didn’t get women at all. They didn’t even have a legal existence in their own right. They belonged to their father, then their husband. You didn’t even have any rights to anything that belonged to you before you were married until the divorce law was changed in the 1880s. As far as legalities was concerned before then, married women were the same as criminals, small children, and the mad. Charming, eh? Even after a law is changed, old attitudes die hard.’

‘I’m glad I live now,’ said Carys.

‘Absolutely.’ Mary smiled at her. ‘The world might not be equal still, but at least we aren’t classed as children.’ She shook her head. ‘There were supposed to be safeguards against people being incarcerated in places like this just because they were inconvenient, but if you were ruthless and powerful enough – and had enough money – you could usually get around anything.’

‘But that’s horrible!’

‘Well, from what I’ve seen in the letters and newspapers of the time, William Treverick didn’t exactly stay at home grieving. He tried to marry again after Ann died. Several times. All of them young and very wealthy.’

David frowned at her. ‘But he didn’t?’

Mary gave a wry smile. ‘This is a small community. Word gets about. I’m sure even then there were men who loved their daughters and cared for their happiness above the chance of good connections. Or had wives who made damn sure they knew their lives would be hell if they tried. I don’t think getting rid of an inconvenient wife in Ketterford did the Trevericks any good at all.’

‘Poor woman,’ sighed Carys.

‘I don’t expect we’ll ever know,’ said Mary. ‘Not if so many of the records at Ketterford have gone missing. He might not even have put her there under her own name in the first place. Not a thing people tend to broadcast, even nowadays. It’s fascinating, isn’t it, to see how someone begins, and how they end. Especially women. All you hear about them usually is when they are young. Hit middle age, and you vanish. As a woman, that so annoys me still. It’s experience that interests me, and how that creates someone.’

‘So when did she die?’ asked David.

Mary considered for a moment. ‘In the Edwardian era. Early nineteen-hundreds? About then, I think. To be honest, I can’t exactly remember. It’s a bit late tonight, the church will be locked. But if you’ve time tomorrow before you go, I’ll take you to see the plaque her husband put up to her.’ She smiled at the raised eyebrows. ‘Oh, it’s quite spectacular, I can assure you. Money is no object when you’ve plenty, and want to look good for the neighbours,’ she added, dryly.

‘Okay,’ said David, glancing at Carys. ‘I suppose, if nothing else, we should at least find out the end of the story.’

Carys nodded. ‘I’d like that. It’s funny; when I saw that first photograph of her, I never thought I’d grow quite fond of Ann Treverick. I suppose following her story is like getting to know her. Seeing the end would be like laying her to rest, in a way.’

Mary looked up enquiringly as her husband appeared in the doorway, phone in hand. ‘Oh dear. I knew I wouldn’t escape for long.’

Mr McIntyre coughed delicately. ‘I’d have taken a message and asked them to ring back, but she was terribly insistent that she spoke to you and our guests straight away.’

‘Oh?’ said Mary.

‘Karenza Treverick,’ said her husband. ‘She’s saying she’s found something, she won’t say what, she wants to come over tomorrow morning, and she wants to make sure it’s before David and Carys leave.’

‘Really?’ Mary’s eyes were suddenly gleaming, as she reached for the handset. ‘Well, it looks as if you might find some answers, after all.’

 For a while, they left me alone to do as I pleased.

I think maybe the servants were a little afraid of me. While William dealt with his loss in his own way, which meant attending to the Treverick estate more diligently than usual. I scarcely even laid eyes on him for more than a few minutes at a time as the first frosts of winter came.