The Forgotten Garden Part 25

It happened that, many years before, the King had stolen the throne from its rightful ruler, the Fairy Queen, and the beautiful, peaceful land of Fairy had overnight become a desolate place in which magic no longer flourished and laughter was banished. So wrathful was the King that he determined to capture the Fairy Queen and force her back to the kingdom. A golden cage was prepared specially that he might imprison the Fairy Queen and impel her to make magic for his pleasure.

One winter's day, while the King was away, the Queen sat by an open window, gazing out across the snow-laden ground. She was weeping as she sat, for the desolation of the winter months had a habit of reminding the Queen of her own loneliness. As she took in the barren winter landscape, she thought of her own barren womb, empty, as ever, despite her longing. "Oh, how I wish for a child!" she cried. "A beautiful daughter with a heart of truth and eyes that never fill with tears. Then need I never be lonely again."

Winter pa.s.sed, and the world around began to wake. The birds returned to the kingdom and set about readying their nests, deer could be seen once more grazing where the fields met the woods, and buds burst forth upon the branches of the kingdom's trees. As the new season's skylarks took to the air, the Queen's skirt began to tighten around her middle, and by and by she realized she was with child. The King had not been back to the castle and thus the Queen knew that a mischievous fairy, far from home and hidden in the winter garden, must have heard her weeping and granted her wish by magic.

The Queen grew and grew and winter came once more, and on Christmas Eve, as a deep snow fell across the land, the Queen began to pain. All night she labored, and on the last chime of midnight her daughter was born, and the Queen was able to look at last upon her baby's face. To think that this beautiful child, with pale unblemished skin, dark hair, and red lips in the shape of a rosebud, was all hers! "Rosalind," the Queen said. "I shall name her Rosalind."

The Queen was instantly smitten and refused to let the Princess Rosalind out of her sight. Loneliness had made the Queen bitter, bitterness had made her selfish, and selfishness had made her suspicious. At every turn the Queen worried that someone was waiting to steal the child from her. She is mine, thought the Queen, my salvation, thus must I keep her for myself.

On the morning of the Princess Rosalind's christening, the wisest women in all the land were invited to bring their blessings. All day the Queen watched as wishes for grace and prudence and wit rained upon the child. Finally, when night began its creep into the kingdom, the Queen bid the wise women farewell. Her back was turned but briefly, yet when she looked again upon her child, she saw that one guest remained. A traveler in a long cloak stood by the crib, staring down at the infant.

"It is late, wise woman," said the Queen. "The Princess has been blessed and must now be allowed her sleep."

The traveler pushed back her cloak and the Queen gasped, for the face was not that of a wise maiden, but a wizened crone with a toothless smile.

"I come with a message from the Fairy Queen," said the crone. "The girl is one of ours, thus must she come with me."

"No," cried the Queen, rushing to the crib-side. "She is my daughter, my precious baby girl."

"Yours?" said the crone. "This glorious child?" And she began to laugh, a cruel cackle that made the Queen draw back in horror. "She was yours only as long as we let you keep her. In your heart you have always known she was born of fairy dust and now must you give her up."

The Queen wept then, for the crone's p.r.o.nouncement was all that she had feared. "I cannot give her up," she said. "Have mercy, crone, and let me keep her longer."

Now, it so happened that the crone liked to cause mischief and, at the Queen's words, a slow smile spread across her face. "I offer you a choice," she said. "Relinquish the child now and her life will be long and happy, spent at the Fairy Queen's knee."

"Or?" said the Queen.

"Or you may keep her here. But only until the morning of her eighteenth birthday, when her true destiny will come for her and she will leave you forever. Think carefully, for to keep her longer is to love her deeper."

"I don't need to think upon it," said the Queen. "I choose the second."

The crone smiled so that the dark gaps in her mouth showed. "She is yours, then, but only until the morning of her eighteenth year."

At that moment the baby Princess began to cry for the first time ever. The Queen turned to scoop the child into her arms, and when she looked back the crone was gone.

The Princess grew to be a beautiful little girl, full of joy and light. She bewitched the ocean with her singing and brought smiles to the faces of all throughout the land. All, that is, except the Queen, who was too plagued by fear to enjoy her child. When her daughter sang the Queen did not hear, when her daughter danced the Queen did not see, when her daughter reached out the Queen did not feel, for she was too busy calculating the time left before the child was to be taken from her.

As the years pa.s.sed, the Queen grew ever more afraid of the cold, dark event that lurked around the corner. Her mouth forgot how to smile, and the lines about her forehead learned how to hold their creases. Then, one night, she had a dream in which the crone appeared. "Your daughter is almost ten," said the crone. "Do not forget that her destiny will find her on her eighteenth birthday."

"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 honored."

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 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 gla.s.s. On the third night, when the Princess drank of her gla.s.s 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 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 pa.s.sed, 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 midstroke 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."

"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 seash.e.l.ls 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.

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 of all who heard it curdle. 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.

THIRTY-ONE.

BLACKHURST M MANOR, 1907.

THERE was a blunt knock at the door and Eliza hid "The Changeling" behind her back. Felt her cheeks flush with antic.i.p.ation. was a blunt knock at the door and Eliza hid "The Changeling" behind her back. Felt her cheeks flush with antic.i.p.ation.

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 pa.s.sageway, 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.

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 gla.s.ses. 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 enamored of the estate. Along with the pa.s.sageways 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," her 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.

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 eyeb.a.l.l.s 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."

"Yes, sir." Mary had told Eliza as much. About Uncle Linus's attachment to his younger sister, his heartbreak when she left, his frequent trips to London. The searching that had consumed his youth and his little good humor, the eagerness with which he left Blackhurst each time, the inevitable disappointment of his return. The way he would sit alone in the darkroom, drinking sherry, refusing any counsel, even that of Aunt Adeline, until Mr. Mansell would appear once more with a new lead.

"We were too late." He was stroking harder now, wrapping Eliza's long hair around his fingers, this way and that, like ribbon. It was pulling, and Eliza had to hold the edge of the desk to save herself from stumbling. She was transfixed by his face; it was that of the wounded fairy-tale king whose subjects have all deserted him. "I was too late. But you are here now. By G.o.d's grace, I have been given another chance."

"Uncle?"

Her uncle's hand dropped to his lap and his eyelids peeled open. He pointed to a little bench on the far wall, shrouded in white muslin cloth. "Sit," he said.

Eliza blinked at him.

"Sit." He limped to a black tripod by the wall. "I wish to take your photograph."

Eliza had never had a photograph taken, had no interest in having one taken now. Just as she opened her mouth to tell him so, the door opened.

"The birthday luncheon-" Aunt Adeline's words ended with a shrill rise. Her thin hand leaped to her chest. "Eliza!" The word was pa.s.senger on a desperate exhalation. "Whatever are you thinking, girl? Upstairs at once. Rose is asking for you."

Eliza hurried towards the door.

"And stop bothering your uncle," hissed Aunt Adeline as Eliza pa.s.sed her. "Can't you see he's exhausted from his travels?"

AND SO the day had come. Adeline hadn't known what form it would take, but the threat had always been there, lurking in dark places so she could never fully be at ease. She ground her back teeth, channeled her rage into the bones at the back of her neck. Willed herself to clear the image from her mind. Georgiana's girl, her hair hanging loose, looking for all the world like a ghost from the past, and the expression on Linus's face, his old face turned foolish by a young man's desire. To think he had been about to take the girl's photograph! To do what he had never done for Rose. Nor for Adeline. the day had come. Adeline hadn't known what form it would take, but the threat had always been there, lurking in dark places so she could never fully be at ease. She ground her back teeth, channeled her rage into the bones at the back of her neck. Willed herself to clear the image from her mind. Georgiana's girl, her hair hanging loose, looking for all the world like a ghost from the past, and the expression on Linus's face, his old face turned foolish by a young man's desire. To think he had been about to take the girl's photograph! To do what he had never done for Rose. Nor for Adeline.

"Close your eyes, Lady Mountrachet," said her maid, and Adeline did as she was asked. The other woman's breath was warm as she combed the hair from Adeline's brow, strangely comforting. Oh, to sit here forever, the warm, sweet breath of this dull, cheerful girl on her face, no other thoughts to plague her. "And open again, ma'am, while I fetch your pearls."

The maid bustled away and Adeline was left alone with her thoughts. She leaned forward. Her brows were smooth, her hair neat. She pinched each cheek, harder perhaps than was necessary, and sat back again to observe the whole. Oh, but to age was cruel! Little changes that slipped by unnoticed, that could never be arrested. The nectar of youth slipping through a blind sieve whose holes continued to widen. "And thus was friend turned to foe," whispered Adeline to the merciless mirror.

"Here you are, ma'am," said the maid. "I've brought the set with the ruby clasp. Nice and festive on such a happy occasion. Who could have imagined it, Miss Rose's birthday luncheon. Eighteen years old! A wedding next, you mark my words..."

As the maid babbled on, Adeline shifted her gaze, refusing to look any longer upon her own decay.

The photograph hung where it always had, beside the dressing table. How proper she looked in her bridal dress, how right. No one would guess by this photo at the fierce self-coaxing she'd suffered in order to affect this model of calm. Linus, for his part, looked every bit the gentleman groom. Glum, perhaps, but that was the custom.

They were married a year after Georgiana disappeared. From the moment of their engagement Adeline Langley had worked hard to reinvent herself. She determined to become a woman worthy of the grand old name of Mountrachet: cast off her Northern accent and small-town tastes, devoured Debrett's, Debrett's, and schooled herself in the twin arts of vanity and gentility. Adeline knew she had to be twice as much a lady as anyone else if she were to wipe from people's memories the reality of her origins. and schooled herself in the twin arts of vanity and gentility. Adeline knew she had to be twice as much a lady as anyone else if she were to wipe from people's memories the reality of her origins.

"Would you like your green bonnet, Lady Mountrachet?" said the maid. "Only it always suits this dress so well, and you'll be wanting a hat if you're headed to the cove. I'll lay it out on the bed, shall I?"

Their wedding night had been nothing like Adeline expected. She couldn't tell, and certainly there were no words to ask, but she suspected it had disappointed Linus, too. They shared a marriage bed only rarely afterwards, even less when Linus started his roaming. Taking photographs, he said, but Adeline knew the truth.

How worthless she felt. How failed as a wife and as a woman. Worse still, failed as a society lady. For all her efforts, they were rarely invited out. Linus, when he was at Blackhurst, was such poor company, standing alone most of the time, answering questions when necessary with belligerent remarks. When Adeline grew sickly, pale and tired, she presumed it was despair. Only when her stomach began to swell did she realize she was with child.

"There you are, Lady Mountrachet. The hat's on the bed and you're all ready for the party."

"Thank you, Poppy." She managed a thin smile. "That will be all."

As the door closed, Adeline dismantled her smile and met her own gaze once more.