The Forgotten Garden (56 page)

Nathaniel paused but did not turn. ‘Goodbye, Eliza. I will not see you again.’ He thrust his arms into his coat and pushed aside the niggling, unnameable doubts.

He was almost at the door when he heard Eliza in the hall behind him. ‘Wait,’ she said, some of her composure shed. ‘Allow me a closer look at the girl, at Rose’s daughter.’

Nathaniel pressed his fingers against the cool of the metal doorknob. Clenched his back teeth together as he pondered her request.

‘It will be my last.’

How could he refuse such a simple appeal? ‘A look. Then I must take her back, take her home.’

Together they went through the front door into the garden. Ivory was sitting by the edge of the small pond, bare toes curled over the bank so that they kissed the water, singing to herself as she pushed a leaf along the surface.

As the child looked up, Nathaniel placed his hand gently on Eliza’s arm and pushed her forward.

c

The wind had picked up and Linus had to lean against his cane to avoid losing his footing. Down in the cove, the usually mild sea had been agitated so that small waves with white tips rushed towards the shore.

The sun was hiding behind a blanket of clouds—a far cry from the perfect summer’s days he had once spent in the cove with his poupee.

The little wooden boat had been Georgiana’s, a gift from Father, but she had been glad to share it with him. Hadn’t thought for a moment 401

Bh1449M-PressProofs2.indd 401

6/5/08 2:40:09 PM

K a t e M o r t o n

that his weak leg made him any less of a man, never mind what Father said. On afternoons when the air was warm and sweet, they had paddled out together to the centre of the cove. Sat, while waves lapped gently against the base of the boat, neither of them caring for anything but the other. Or so Linus had thought.

When she’d left, she’d taken with her the frail sense of solidarity that he had nursed. The sense that, though Father and Mother judged him a foolish boy with neither worth nor function, he had something to offer. Without Georgiana he was useless again, purposeless. Thus had he determined she must be returned.

Linus had hired a man. Henry Mansell, a dark and shadowy character whose name was whispered in the inns of Cornwall and passed on to Linus by the valet of a local earl. It was said he knew how to take care of matters.

Linus told Mansell of Georgiana and the harm done to him by the fellow who stole her, told him also that the man worked on the ships in and out of London.

The next Linus knew, the sailor was dead. An accident, Mansell said, face registering no emotion, a most unfortunate accident.

It was a strange sensation that animated Linus that afternoon. A man’s life had been extinguished at his will. He was powerful, able to inflict his inclination on others; it made him want to sing.

He’d given Mansell a generous payment, then the man had taken his leave, headed off in search of Georgiana. Linus had been filled with hope, for surely there were no limits to what Mansell could achieve.

His poupee would be home presently, grateful for her rescue. Things would be as they had been before . . .

The black rock looked angry today. Linus felt his heart lurch as he remembered Georgiana sitting on its top. He reached into his pocket and pulled out the photograph, smoothed it gently with his thumb.

‘Poupee.’ Half thought, half whisper. No matter how Mansell had hunted, he’d never found her. He’d scoured the Continent, followed leads across London, all to no avail. Linus had heard nothing until late in 1900, when word had come that a child had been found in London.

A child with red hair and her mother’s eyes.

402

Bh1449M-PressProofs2.indd 402

6/5/08 2:40:09 PM

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

Linus’s gaze lifted from the sea, swept sideways to the top of the cliff that bound the left-hand side of the cove. From where he stood he could just make out the corner of the new stone wall.

How he had rejoiced at news of the child. He’d been too late to recover Georgiana, but through this girl would she be returned.

But things had not played out as he’d expected. Eliza had resisted him, had never understood that he had sent for her, brought her here so that she might know she belonged to him.

And now her presence tormented him, locked away in that accursed cottage. So close, and yet . . . Four years, it had been. Four years since she had set foot on this side of the maze. Why was she so cruel? Why did she deny him over and again?

A sudden gust of wind and Linus felt his hat lift at the sides. He reached, from instinct, to stop it and, as he did, his grip loosened on his photograph.

On the current of the hilltop breeze, while Linus stood helplessly, his poupee was blown from his reach. Down and up, fluttering on the wind, shining white beneath the glare of the clouds, hovering, teasing him, before being swept further away. Landing finally on the water and being carried out to sea.

Away from Linus, slipping through his fingers once more.

c

Ever since Eliza’s visit, Rose had been worrying. Tying her mind in knots as she sought a path through this dilemma. When Eliza had made her appearance through the maze gates, Rose had suffered the peculiar shock of a person who comes suddenly to understand that they are in danger. Worse, that they have been in danger for some time without realising it. She’d felt a sudden onset of light-headedness and panic. Relief that so far nothing had happened, and dread certainty that such luck could not hold. For all Rose had weighed up the options, there was only one thing she knew for sure: Mamma was right, they needed to put a distance between themselves and Eliza.

Rose pulled the thread gently through her needlepoint and schooled her voice into a tone of perfect nonchalance: ‘I have been thinking again of the visit from the Authoress.’

403

Bh1449M-PressProofs2.indd 403

6/5/08 2:40:09 PM

K a t e M o r t o n

Nathaniel looked up from the letter he was penning. Chased quickly the concern from his gaze. ‘As I said before, my dear, think no more upon it. It won’t happen again.’

‘You can’t be sure of that, for who among us predicted this most recent visit?’

Sterner now. ‘She will not come again.’

‘How do you know?’

Nathaniel’s cheeks flushed. The change was only slight, but Rose noticed. ‘Nate? What is it?’

‘I have spoken with her.’

Rose’s heart tapped faster. ‘You saw her?’

‘I had to. For you, dearest. You were so upset by her visit, I did what was needed to ensure it won’t happen again.’

‘But I didn’t mean for you to see her.’ This was worse than Rose had imagined. A surge of heat beneath her skin and she was filled with an even stronger certainty that they must get away. All of them. That Eliza must be extricated forever from their lives. Rose slowed her breath, schooled her face to relax. It wouldn’t do to have Nathaniel think she was unwell, was making decisions without reason. ‘Speaking with her is not enough, Nate. Not any more.’

‘What else can be done? Surely you don’t suggest we lock her in the cottage?’ He’d been trying to make her laugh but she didn’t flinch.

‘I’ve been thinking about New York.’

Nathaniel’s brows raised.

‘We have spoken before of spending time across the Atlantic.

I think we should bring forward our plans.’

‘Leave England?’

Rose nodded, slightly but certainly.

‘But I have commissions. We spoke of engaging a governess for Ivory.’

‘Yes, yes,’ Rose said impatiently. ‘But it is no longer safe.’

Nathaniel said nothing in return but he didn’t need to, his expression spoke volumes. The little ice chip inside Rose hardened. He would come around to her way of thinking, he always did. Especially when he feared that she teetered atop the slide to despair. It was regrettable, using Nathaniel’s devotion against him, but Rose had little other choice.

Motherhood and family life were all Rose had dreamed of; she didn’t 404

Bh1449M-PressProofs2.indd 404

6/5/08 2:40:09 PM

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

intend to lose them now. When Ivory was born, placed in Rose’s arms, it was as if they had all been granted a fresh start. She and Nathaniel were happy again, they never spoke of the time before. It didn’t exist any longer. Not so long as Eliza stayed away.

‘I have the engagement in Carlisle,’ said Nathaniel. ‘I’ve already started.’ In his voice, Rose perceived the cracks that she would widen until his resistance crumbled.

‘And of course you must be able to complete it,’ she said. ‘We will bring forward the Carlisle engagement, sail directly after we return. I have three tickets for the Carmania.’

‘You’ve booked already.’ A statement rather than a question.

Rose softened her voice. ‘It is best, Nate. You must see that. It’s the only way we will ever be safe. And think what such a trip will do for your career. Why, the New York Times may even report it. A triumphant homecoming for one of the city’s most accomplished sons.’

c

Pressed beneath Grandmamma’s favourite sprung chair, Ivory whispered the words to herself. ‘New York.’ Ivory knew where York was. Once, when they were travelling north to Scotland, she and Mamma and Papa had stopped for a time in York, at the house of one of Grandmamma’s friends. A very old lady with wiry spectacles and eyes that looked always to be weeping. But Mamma wasn’t speaking of York, Ivory had heard her clearly. New York, she’d said, they must go soon to New York. And Ivory knew where that city was. It was far across the sea, the place in which Papa had been born, about which he had told her stories full of skyscrapers and music and motor cars. A city where everything gleamed.

A clump of dog hairs tickled Ivory’s nose and she fought to hold in a sneeze. It was one of her most impressive skills, the ability to halt sneezes in their track, and part of what made her such an excellent hider. Ivory so enjoyed hiding that sometimes she did so for no other reason than to please herself. Alone in a room she would conceal herself for the pure pleasure of knowing that even the room itself had forgotten she was there.

405

Bh1449M-PressProofs2.indd 405

6/5/08 2:40:09 PM

K a t e M o r t o n

Today, though, Ivory had hidden with purpose. Grandpapa had been in odd spirits. Usually he could be counted upon to keep himself to himself, but lately he’d appeared wherever Ivory was, calling her his own. Always with his little brown camera, trying to take photos of her with that broken dolly of his. Ivory didn’t like the broken dolly with her horrid blinking eyes. So although Mamma said she should do as Grandpapa asked, that it was a great honour to have one’s photograph taken, Ivory preferred to hide.

Thoughts of the dolly made her skin prickle, so she tried to think of something else. Something that made her happy, like the adventure she’d been on with Papa, through the maze. Ivory had been outside playing when she’d seen Papa emerge from the side door of the house.

He’d walked quickly and at first she had thought he might be taking a carriage to paint somebody’s portrait. Only he didn’t have any of his equipment with him, nor was he dressed in quite the same way he usually was when he had an important meeting. Ivory had watched him stride across the lawn, drawing closer to the maze gate, and then she’d known exactly what he was doing, he wasn’t good at pretending.

Ivory hadn’t thought twice. She’d hurried after Papa, followed him through the maze gates and into the dark, narrow tunnels. For Ivory knew that the lady with the red hair, the one who had brought the parcel for her, lived on the other side.

And now, after her visit with Papa, she knew who the lady was.

Her name was the Authoress, and though Papa said she was a person, Ivory knew better. She’d suspected it the day the Authoress had come through the maze, but after looking into her eyes in the cottage garden, Ivory had known for certain.

The Authoress was magical. Witch or fairy, she wasn’t sure, but Ivory knew the Authoress wasn’t a person like any other she’d seen before.

406

Bh1449M-PressProofs2.indd 406

6/5/08 2:40:09 PM

43

Cliff Cottage, 2005

Cliff Cottage, Cornwall, 2005

Outside, the wind worried the treetops and the ocean breathed heavily in the cove. Moonlight streamed through the windowpane, casting four silvery squares across the wooden floor, and the warm tomato smell of soup and toast had impregnated the walls, the floor, the very air. Cassandra, Christian and Ruby sat around the table in the kitchen, the range glowing on one side, a kerosene heater on the other.

Candles were lined along the table and at various points about the room, but there were still spaces in the dark, lonely corners where candlelight failed to reach.

‘I still don’t understand,’ said Ruby. ‘How do you know Rose was infertile from that journal article?’

Christian spooned a mouthful of soup. ‘The X-ray exposure. There’s no way her eggs would have survived.’

‘Wouldn’t she have known though? I mean, surely there’d have been a sign that something was wrong.’

‘Like what?’

‘Well, did she still . . . you know . . . get her periods?’

Christian shrugged his shoulders. ‘I guess so. The function of her reproductive system would have been unaffected, she still would have released an egg each month, it’s just the eggs themselves that would have been damaged.’

‘So damaged she couldn’t conceive?’

‘Or if she did, there’d have been so much wrong with the baby that she would most likely have miscarried. Or given birth to a child with massive deformities.’

407

Bh1449M-PressProofs2.indd 407

6/5/08 2:40:10 PM

K a t e M o r t o n

Cassandra pushed the last of her soup aside. ‘That’s terrible. Why did he do it?’

‘He probably just wanted to be amongst the first to make use of the shiny new technology, enjoy the glory of publication. There was certainly no medical reason to take an X-ray, the kid had only swallowed a thimble.’

‘Who hasn’t?’ said Ruby, wiping a crust of bread around her already smeared-clean bowl.