The Forgotten Garden Part 14

He slid into a seat. "What a stroke of luck inheriting a house."

"Not to mention a delicious family mystery." Ruby waved at a waiter and proceeded to order breads and olives for them all.

At mention of the mystery, Ca.s.sandra's lips tingled with her newfound knowledge, the ident.i.ty of Nell's parents. The secret, though, sat lumpen in her throat.

"Ruby tells me you enjoyed her exhibition," said Grey, eyes twinkling.

"Of course she did, she's only human," said Ruby. "Not to mention an artist herself."

"Art historian." Ca.s.sandra blushed.

"Dad said you draw brilliantly. You ill.u.s.trated a kids' book, didn't you?"

She shook her head. "No. I used to draw, but it was just a hobby."

"Bit more than a hobby from what I hear. Dad said-"

"I used to muck around with a sketchpad when I was younger. Not anymore. Not for years."

"Hobbies have a tendency to drop by the wayside," Grey said diplomatically. "I submit as evidence Ruby's mercifully short-lived infatuation with ballroom dancing."

"Oh, Grey, just because you've got two left feet..."

As her tablemates fell to debating Ruby's commitment to the finer points of salsa, Ca.s.sandra let her thoughts slip backwards to the afternoon, many years before, when Nell had tossed the sketchpad and pack of 2B pencils onto the table where Ca.s.sandra was busy drowning in algebra homework.

She'd been living with her grandmother for just over a year. Had started high school and was having as much trouble making friends as she was making equations balance.

"I don't know how to draw," she'd said, surprised and unsure. Unexpected presents had always made her wary.

"You'll learn," said Nell. "You've got eyes and a hand. Draw what you see."

Ca.s.sandra sighed patiently. Nell was full of unusual ideas. She was nothing at all like the other kids' mums and certainly nothing like Lesley, but she meant well and Ca.s.sandra didn't want to hurt her feelings. "I think there's more to it than that, Nell."

"Nonsense. It's just a matter of making sure you see what's really there. Not what you think think is there." is there."

Ca.s.sandra raised her eyebrows dubiously.

"Everything is made up of lines and shapes. It's like a code, you just need to learn to read and interpret it." Nell pointed across the room. "That lamp over there, tell me what you see."

"Um...a lamp?"

"Well, there's your problem," said Nell. "If all you see is a lamp, you've no chance of drawing it. But if you see that it's actually a triangle on top of a rectangle, with a skinny tube connecting them-well, you're halfway there, aren't you?"

Ca.s.sandra shrugged, uncertain.

"Humor me. Have a go."

Ca.s.sandra sighed again, a small sigh of extravagant tolerance.

"Never know, you might surprise yourself."

And she had. Not that she'd exhibited any great talent that first time. The surprise had been how much she enjoyed it. Time had seemed to disappear when she had the sketchpad on her lap and a pencil in her hand...

The waiter arrived and tossed two tins of bread onto the table with continental flair. Nodded as Ruby placed an order for Prosecco. As he left, Ruby reached for a wedge of focaccia. She winked at Ca.s.sandra and indicated the table. "Try the olive oil and balsamic. They're to die for."

Ca.s.sandra dunked some focaccia into the oil and vinegar.

"Come, Ca.s.sandra," said Grey, "save an old unmarried couple from bickering, tell us about your afternoon."

She picked up a crumb of bread that had fallen onto the table.

"Yes, anything exciting?" said Ruby.

Ca.s.sandra heard herself start speaking, "I found out who Nell's biological parents were."

Ruby squealed. "What? How? Who?"

She bit her lip, arresting its attempt to tremble into a smile of self-conscious pleasure. "Their names were Rose and Nathaniel Walker."

"Oh, my goodness," Ruby laughed, "it's the same as my painter, Grey! What are the odds of that, and us just speaking of him today, and he once living on the same estate as..." She froze as realization turned her face from pink to white. "You do mean my Nathaniel Walker?" She swallowed. "Your great-grandfather was Nathaniel Walker?"

Ca.s.sandra nodded, couldn't stop herself grinning. Felt vaguely ridiculous.

Ruby's mouth dropped open. "And you had no idea? Today, when I saw you at the gallery?"

Ca.s.sandra shook her head, still smiling like a fool. She spoke, if only to force the goofy grin from her face. "Not until this afternoon, when I read it in Nell's notebook."

"I can't believe you didn't say something as soon as we got here tonight!"

"With all your talk of salsa, I imagine she didn't have the opportunity," said Grey. "Not to mention, Ruby darling, that some people actually like to keep their private life private."

"Oh, Grey, no one really likes keeping secrets. The only thing that makes a secret fun is knowing that you weren't supposed to tell it." She shook her head at Ca.s.sandra. "You're related to Nathaniel Walker. Some people have all the b.l.o.o.d.y luck."

"It feels a little strange. It's very unexpected."

"Too right," said Ruby. "All those people searching through history in the hopes they're related to Winston b.l.o.o.d.y Churchill, and provenance drops unexpectedly into your lap in the shape of a famous painter."

Ca.s.sandra smiled again, couldn't help it.

The waiter reappeared and poured them each a gla.s.s of Prosecco.

"To solving mysteries," said Ruby, holding hers aloft.

They clinked gla.s.ses and all took a sip.

"Pardon my ignorance," said Grey, "my knowledge of art history isn't what it might be, but if Nathaniel Walker had a daughter who went missing, surely there'd have been a huge search?" He held his palms out towards Ca.s.sandra. "I'm not doubting your grandmother's research, but how on earth did the daughter of a famous artist go missing and no one knew it?"

Ruby, for once, had no ready answer. She looked to Ca.s.sandra.

"From what I can gather, reading Nell's notebook, all the records say Ivory Walker died when she was four. The same age Nell was when she turned up in Australia."

Ruby rubbed her hands together. "You think she was kidnapped and whoever did it made it look like she had died? How completely thrilling. So who was it? Why did they do it? What did Nell find out?"

Ca.s.sandra smiled apologetically. "It seems she never managed to solve that part of the mystery. Not for sure."

"What do you mean? How do you know?"

"I read the end of her notebook. Nell didn't find out."

"She must have found something, something, though, formed a theory?" Ruby's desperation was palpable. "Tell me she formed a theory! Left us something to go on?" though, formed a theory?" Ruby's desperation was palpable. "Tell me she formed a theory! Left us something to go on?"

"There's a name," said Ca.s.sandra. "Eliza Makepeace. Nell wound up with a suitcase containing a book of fairy tales that sparked some memories. But if Eliza put Nell on the boat, she didn't make it to Australia herself."

"What happened to her?"

Ca.s.sandra shrugged. "There's no official record. It's like she disappeared into thin air right around the time Nell was being spirited to Australia. Whatever Eliza's plans, they must've gone wrong somehow."

The waiter topped up their gla.s.ses and asked whether they were ready to order their main course.

"I suppose we should," said Ruby. "Could you give us five minutes, though?" She opened her menu with purpose and sighed. "It's all tremendously exciting. To think, tomorrow you're off to Cornwall to see your secret cottage! How can you bear it?"

"Are you staying in the cottage itself?" said Grey.

Ca.s.sandra shook her head. "The lawyer who's been holding the key said it's not really habitable. I've made a reservation at a nearby hotel, the Blackhurst Hotel. It's the house where the Mountrachet family used to live, Nell's family."

"Your family," said Ruby.

"Yes." Ca.s.sandra hadn't thought of that. Now her lips were at it again, acting against her wishes to form a trembling smile.

Ruby shivered theatrically. "I'm completely envious. I'd give anything for a mystery like that in my family's past, something exciting to unravel."

"I do feel quite excited. It's started to haunt me, I think. I keep seeing that little girl, little Nell, plucked from her family, sitting alone on the wharf. I can't get her out of my head. I'd love to know what really happened, how she wound up on the other side of the world all alone." Ca.s.sandra felt self-conscious suddenly, realized she'd been doing a lot of talking. "It's silly, I suppose."

"Not at all. I think it's completely understandable."

And something in the sympathetic quality of Ruby's tone made Ca.s.sandra's skin cool. She knew what was coming. Her stomach tightened and her mind grasped for words to change the subject.

But she wasn't fast enough.

"There can't be much worse than losing a child," came Ruby's kind voice, her words cracking the thin protective sh.e.l.l of Ca.s.sandra's grief so that Leo's face, his smell, his two-year-old laugh, slipped free.

Somehow she managed to nod, to smile weakly, to hold back the memories as Ruby reached to take her hand.

"After what happened to your little boy, it's no wonder you're so intent on discovering your grandmother's past." Ruby gave a little squeeze. "Makes perfect sense to me: you lost a child and now you hope to find one."

TWENTY.

LONDON, 1900.

ELIZA knew who they were as soon as she saw them turn the corner into Battersea Church Road. She'd glimpsed them in the streets before, the old one and the young one, dressed to the nines, doing their good works with all the violent certainty as if G.o.d himself had come down from on high and bid them do so. knew who they were as soon as she saw them turn the corner into Battersea Church Road. She'd glimpsed them in the streets before, the old one and the young one, dressed to the nines, doing their good works with all the violent certainty as if G.o.d himself had come down from on high and bid them do so.

Mr. Swindell had been threatening to call the do-gooders ever since Sammy left them, had let no opportunity pa.s.s to remind Eliza that if she didn't find a way to earn the coins of two, she'd find herself in the workhouse. And though Eliza did her best to meet the rent and still leave a little spare for the leather pouch, her gift for rat-catching seemed to have deserted her, and week by week she slipped further behind.

Downstairs, a knock at the door. Eliza froze. She surveyed the room, cursing the tiny crack in the mortar, the blocked chimney. Being windowless and un.o.bserved was all well and good when one wanted to spy upon the street, but not much use when gripped by an urgent need to escape.

The knock came again. A short sharp rap, urgent, and then a high trilling voice that pierced the brick wall. "Parish calling."

Eliza heard the door opening, the bell atop tinkling.

"I'm Miss Rhoda Sturgeon, and this is my niece, Miss Margaret Sturgeon."

Then Mrs. Swindell: "Charmed, I'm sure."

"My, what a lot of funny old things, and barely s.p.a.ce to swing a cat."

Mrs. Swindell again, her tone soured: "Follow me, the girl's upstairs. And watch yourselves. Breakages must be paid for."

Footsteps, coming closer. The squeaky fourth step, then again, and again. Eliza waited, heart beating as fast as one of Mr. Rodin's captured rats. She could picture it, flickering away in her chest, like a flame in a light breeze.

Then the traitorous door was open, the two do-gooders framed by the jamb.

The older one smiled, eyes receding into folds of skin. "Ladies of the parish calling," she said. "I'm Miss Sturgeon, and this is my niece, Miss Sturgeon." She bent forward so that Eliza had to inch backwards. "And you must be little Eliza Makepeace."

Eliza didn't respond. She tugged slightly at Sammy's cap, which she was still wearing.

The old lady's gaze lifted to take in the dark and dingy room behind. "Oh my," she said, and made a clicking sound with her tongue, "your plight was not exaggerated." She raised an open hand and fanned her full chest. "No, it certainly was not exaggerated." She brushed past Eliza. "Is it any wonder ill health flourished here? No window to speak of."

Mrs. Swindell, offended by the scandalous affront to her room, scowled at Eliza.

The older Miss Sturgeon turned to the younger, who had not moved from the doorway. "I advise you to affix your handkerchief, Margaret, what with your delicate const.i.tution."

The young woman nodded and plucked a lacy square from her sleeve, folded it in half to form a triangle, then clamped it over her mouth and nose while she ventured a step across the threshold.

Filled with the certainty of her own righteousness, the older Miss Sturgeon proceeded undeterred. "I'm delighted to announce that we've been able to find somewhere for you, Eliza. As soon as we heard of your situation, we immediately set about trying to help. You're a mite too young for service-and, I suspect, of the wrong character-but we've managed to do very well. With G.o.d's good grace, we've found you a place at the local workhouse."

Eliza's breath shortened, caught in her throat.

"So if you'll gather your things"-Miss Sturgeon's gaze flickered sideways beneath her blunt lashes-"such as they are, we'll be on our way."

Eliza didn't move.

"Come, now, don't tarry."