The Forgotten Garden (37 page)

‘I’ve changed my mind,’ said the Queen. ‘I cannot let
her go, I will not let her go.’

‘You gave your word,’ said the crone, ‘thus must it be
honoured.’

The next morning, after making sure the Princess was
safely under guard, the Queen put on her riding habit and
sent for her horse. Although magic had been banished
from the castle there was one place where spells and
sorcery might still be found. In a black cave on the edge of
the enchanted sea lived a fairy who was neither good nor
bad. She had been punished by the Fairy Queen for using
magic unwisely and had thus remained hidden while the
rest of the magic folk had fled the land. And although
the Queen knew it was dangerous to seek the fairy’s help,
she had no other hope.

The Queen rode for three days and three nights
and when she finally arrived at the cave the fairy was
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waiting for her. ‘Come,’ she said, ‘and tell me what it is
you seek.’

The Queen told of the crone and her promise to
return on the Princess’s eighteenth birthday, and the
fairy listened. Then, when the Queen was finished, the
fairy said, ‘I cannot undo the crone’s curse, but I may
help you still.’

‘I order you to do so,’ said the Queen.

‘I must warn you, my Queen, that when you hear what
I propose, you may not thank me for my help.’ And the
fairy leaned over and whispered in the Queen’s ear.

The Queen did not hesitate, for surely anything was
better than losing her child to the crone. ‘It must be
done.’

So the fairy handed the Queen a potion and instructed
her to give the Princess three drops on each of three nights.

‘All will then be as I promised,’ she said. ‘The crone will
trouble you no more, for only the Princess’s true destiny
will find her.’

The Queen hastened home, her mind easy for the first
time since her daughter’s christening, and for the next
three nights she placed three drops of the potion into
her daughter’s milk glass. On the third night, when the
princess drank of her glass she began to choke and, as she
fell from her chair, she was changed from a princess into
a beautiful bird, just as the fairy had foretold. The bird
fluttered about the room and the Queen called for her
servant to fetch the golden cage from the King’s quarters.

The bird was shut inside, the golden door was closed, and
the Queen breathed a sigh of relief. For the King had been
clever and his cage, once closed, could not be reopened.

‘There now, my pretty,’ said the Queen. ‘You are safe
and none shall ever take you from me.’ And then the
Queen hung the cage from a hook in the highest turret of
the castle.

With the princess trapped in the cage, all light went
out of the kingdom, and the subjects of Fairyland were
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sunk into an eternal winter in which crops and fertile
lands failed. All that kept the people from despair was
the princess bird’s songs—sad and beautiful—which
drifted from the turret window and spilled across the
barren land.

Time passed, as time must, and royal princes made
brave by greed came from far and wide to release the
trapped Princess. For it was said that in the arid kingdom
of Fairyland there was a golden cage so precious it made
their own fortunes seem humble, and a caged bird whose
songs were so beautiful that gold pieces had been known
to fall from the sky when she sang. But all who tried to
open the cage dropped dead as soon as they touched it.

The Queen, who sat day and night in her rocking chair,
guarding the cage so that none might steal her prize,
laughed when she saw the princes slain, for fear and
suspicion had finally conspired to drive her mad.

Some years after, the youngest son of a woodcutter
came to the forest from a distant land. While he was
working, there arrived upon the breeze a melody so
glorious that he stopped mid-stroke and remained as
still as if he had been turned to stone, listening to every
note. Unable to help himself, he laid down his axe and
went in search of the bird that could sing so sadly and so
splendidly. As he made his way through the overgrown
forest, birds and beasts appeared to help him and the
woodcutter’s son made sure to thank them, for he was
a gentle soul who could communicate with all in nature.

He climbed through brambles, ran across fields, scaled
mountains, slept at night in hollow trees, ate only fruits
and nuts, until finally he arrived at the castle walls.

‘How came you into this forsaken land?’ said the
guard.

‘I followed the song of your beautiful bird.’

‘Turn back if you value your life,’ said the guard. ‘For
all in this kingdom is cursed, and whosoever touches the
sad bird’s cage shall be lost.’

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‘I have nothing to love nor lose,’ said the woodcutter’s
son. ‘And I must see for myself the source of such glorious
singing.’

It so happened that, just in that instant, the princess
bird attained her eighteenth year and she began to sing
the saddest and most beautiful song of all, lamenting the
loss of her youth and her freedom.

The guard stood aside, and the young man crossed into
the castle and climbed the stairs to the highest turret.

When the woodcutter’s son saw the trapped bird, his
heart was full of care, for he liked to see neither bird nor
beast imprisoned. He looked beyond the gold cage and
saw only the bird inside. He reached for the cage door
and, at his touch, it sprang open and the bird was set
free.

At that moment, the bird was transformed into a
beautiful woman with long hair that swirled about her,
and a crown of glistening seashells upon her head. Birds
came from distant trees and from their beaks showered
her with pieces of shining flint that clung to her so that she
was attired all in silver. Animals returned to the kingdom,
and crops and flowers began instantly to grow from the
barren soil.

The following day, as the sun rose brilliant over
the ocean, a thundering sound could be heard, and six
enchanted horses appeared at the castle gates dragging
a golden carriage behind. The Fairy Queen stepped from
inside and all her subjects bowed down. Following her
was the fairy from the sea cave, who had proved herself
most certainly good, by doing her true Queen’s bidding
and ensuring that the Princess Rosalind was ready when
her destiny came for her.

Under the Fairy Queen’s watchful eye, the Princess
Rosalind and the woodcutter’s son were married, and the
joy of the young couple was so great that magic returned
to the land and all in Fairyland were thenceforward free
and happy.

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Excepting, of course, the Queen, who was nowhere to
be found. In her place was a huge ugly bird with a cry so
horrid it made the blood curdle of all who heard it. It was
chased from the land and flew to a distant wood, where
it was killed and eaten by the King, who had been driven
to madness and despair by his wicked and unfruitful hunt
for the Fairy Queen.

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31

Blackhurst Manor, 1907

There was a blunt knock at the door and Eliza hid ‘The Changeling’

behind her back. Felt her cheeks flush with anticipation.

Mary hurried in, curls messier than ever. Her hair always gave fair indication of her mood and Eliza was left in little doubt that the kitchen was abuzz with birthday preparations.

‘Mary! I was expecting Rose.’

‘Miss Eliza.’ Mary pressed her lips together. An unusually prim gesture and one that made Eliza laugh. ‘The master wishes to see you, Miss.’

‘My uncle wishes to see me?’ Though she had roamed far and wide across the estate, in the years she’d been at Blackhurst Eliza had barely encountered her uncle. He was a shadowy figure who spent most of his time touring the Continent in search of bugs, the images of which he stole for his darkroom.

‘Come now, Miss Eliza,’ said Mary. ‘Look sharp.’

Mary was more serious than Eliza had ever seen her. She went quickly along the hall and down the narrow back stairs, and Eliza had to scurry to keep up. At the bottom, instead of turning left to the main part of the house, Mary turned right and hurried along a quiet passageway, dim for having fewer whispering lanterns than elsewhere in the house. There were no pictures either, Eliza noticed; indeed, little attempt at decoration had been made along the cool, dark walls.

When they reached the furthest door, Mary stopped. As she was about to open it she glanced over her shoulder and gave Eliza’s hand a slight squeeze, completely unexpected.

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K a t e M o r t o n

Before Eliza could ask what the matter was, the door was open and Mary was announcing her.

‘Miss Eliza, your Lordship.’

And then she was gone and Eliza was alone on the threshold to her uncle’s lair, subject to a most peculiar smell.

He was seated behind a large wooden desk at the back of the room.

‘You wished to see me, Uncle?’ The door closed behind her.

Uncle Linus peered over his glasses. Once again Eliza found herself wondering that this blotchy old man could be related to her beautiful mother. The tip of his pale tongue appeared between his lips. ‘I hear you have performed well in the schoolroom during the years you’ve been at Blackhurst.’

‘Yes, sir,’ said Eliza.

‘And according to my man, Davies, you are fond of the gardens.’

‘Yes, Uncle.’ From her first morning at Blackhurst, Eliza had been enamoured of the estate. Along with the passageways that ran beneath the cliffs, she knew the cleared part of the maze and the wider garden as well as she’d once known the foggy streets of London. And no matter how far and wide she explored, the garden grew and changed with each season.

‘It is within our family. Your mother . . .’ His voice cracked. ‘Your mother when she was a girl had a great fondness for the garden.’

Eliza tried to accord this information with her own memories of Mother. Through the tunnel of time came fragmented images: Mother in the windowless room above Mrs Swindell’s shop; a small pot with a fragrant herb. It hadn’t lasted long, there was little that could survive in such dim conditions.

‘Come closer, child,’ the uncle said, beckoning with his hand. ‘Come into the light that I might see you.’

Eliza went to the other side of the desk so that she was standing by his knees. The room’s smell was stronger now, as if it were coming from her uncle himself.

He reached out a hand, trembling slightly, and caressed the golden ends of Eliza’s long red hair. Lightly, so lightly. Withdrew his hand, as if scorched.

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T h e F o r g o t t e n G a r d e n

He shuddered.

‘Are you unwell, Uncle? Should I fetch someone to help?’

‘No,’ he answered quickly. ‘No.’ He reached out to stroke her hair once more, closed his eyes. Eliza was so near that she could see the eyeballs moving beneath his lids, could hear the tiny clicking noises in his throat. ‘We searched so long, so wide, to bring your mother . . . to bring our Georgiana home.’