The Forgotten Garden Part 28

The agent seemed happy enough to be dismissed and, within a minute, Nell saw her appear outside the front gate, huddling into her coat.

Nell watched as the woman did battle with the wind to light a cigarette, then she let her gaze drift down towards the garden. She couldn't see much from up here, had to look through a frayed tapestry of creepers, but she could just make out the stone head of the little-boy statue.

Nell leaned on the dusty window frame, felt the salt-roughened wood beneath her palms. She had been in this cottage before, as a child, she knew that now. She had stood at this very spot, in this room, watching the same sea. She closed her eyes and willed her memory into sharper focus.

A bed had stood where she was now, a single bed, simple, with bra.s.s ends, dulled k.n.o.bs that needed polishing. From the ceiling, an inverted cone of netting fell, like the white mist that hung from the horizon when storms were stirring the distant sea. A patchwork quilt, cool beneath her knees; fishing boats bobbing on the tide, flower petals floating on the pond below.

Sitting in this window that jutted out from the rest of the cottage was like hanging from the top of the cliff, like the princess in one of her favorite fairy tales, turned to a bird and left swinging in her golden cage- Raised voices downstairs, her papa and the Auth.o.r.ess.

Her name, Ivory, sharp and jagged like a star cut from cardboard with pointed scissors. Her name as a weapon.

There were other angry words being hurled. Why was Papa shouting at the Auth.o.r.ess? Papa who never raised his voice.

The little girl felt frightened, she didn't want to hear.

Nell clenched her eyes tighter, tried to hear.

The little girl blocked her ears, sang songs in her mind, told stories, thought about that golden cage, the princess bird swinging and waiting.

Nell tried to push aside the child's song, the image of a golden cage. In the cold depths of her mind, the truth was lurking, waiting for Nell to clutch it and drag it to the surface...

But not today. She opened her eyes. Those tendrils were too slippery today, the water around them too murky.

Nell took herself back down the narrow stairs.

The agent locked the gate and together they started in silence down the path to where the car was parked.

"So, what did you think?" said the agent in the perfunctory tone of one who thought she knew the answer.

"I'd like to buy it."

"Perhaps there's something else I can-" The agent looked up from the car door. "You'd like to buy it?"

Nell gazed again across the stormy sea, the misty horizon. She enjoyed a bit of inclemency in her weather. When the clouds hung low and rain threatened, she felt restored. Breathed more deeply, thought more clearly.

She had no idea how she'd pay for the cottage, what she'd have to sell in order to do so. But as sure as black and white made grey, Nell knew she had to own it. From the moment she'd remembered that little girl by the fish pond, the little girl who was Nell in a different lifetime, she'd known.

THE AGENT drove all the way back to the Tregenna Inn with breathless promises to walk round with the contracts just as soon as she had them typed up. She had the name of a good lawyer Nell could use, too. Nell closed the car door and went up the steps to the foyer. She was so intent on her attempt to calculate the time difference-was it add three hours and change a.m. to p.m.?-so she could call her bank manager and attempt to explain the sudden acquisition of a Cornish cottage, she didn't see the person coming towards her until they almost collided. drove all the way back to the Tregenna Inn with breathless promises to walk round with the contracts just as soon as she had them typed up. She had the name of a good lawyer Nell could use, too. Nell closed the car door and went up the steps to the foyer. She was so intent on her attempt to calculate the time difference-was it add three hours and change a.m. to p.m.?-so she could call her bank manager and attempt to explain the sudden acquisition of a Cornish cottage, she didn't see the person coming towards her until they almost collided.

"I'm sorry," said Nell, stopping with a jolt.

Robyn Martin was blinking quickly behind her gla.s.ses.

"Were you waiting for me?" said Nell.

"I brought you something." Robyn handed Nell a pile of papers clipped together. "It's research for the article I've been working on about the Mountrachet family." She shifted awkwardly. "I heard you asking Gump about them, and I know he wasn't able to...that he wasn't much help." She smoothed already smooth hair. "It's an odd a.s.sortment, really, but I thought they might be of interest to you."

"Thank you," said Nell, meaning it. "And I'm sorry if I..."

Robyn nodded.

"Is your grandfather...?"

"Much better. In fact, I was wondering whether you might come to dinner again, one night next week. At Gump's house."

"I appreciate you asking me," said Nell, "but I don't think your grandfather will."

Robyn shook her head, hair swinging neatly. "Oh no, you've misunderstood."

Nell's eyebrows lifted.

"It was his idea," said Robyn. "He said there was something he needed to tell you. About the cottage and Eliza Makepeace."

THIRTY-FOUR.

NEW Y YORK AND T TREGENNA, 1907.

Miss Rose MountrachetCunard Liner, Lusitania LusitaniaMiss Eliza MountrachetBlackhurst ManorCornwall, England9 September 1907My Dearest Eliza,Oh!-What wonder the Lusitania Lusitania! As I write this letter, cousin of mine, I am seated on the upper deck-a dainty little table on the Veranda Cafe-gazing out across the wide blue Atlantic, as our great "floating hotel" spirits us towards New York.There is an atmosphere of tremendous celebration on board, with everyone positively overbr.i.m.m.i.n.g with hope that the Lusitania Lusitania will take back the Blue Riband from Germany. At the landing stage in Liverpool, as the great ship moved slowly from her moorings & began proper her maiden voyage, the crowd on deck were singing "Britons never, never, never shall be slaves" & waving flags, so many & so quickly, that even as we pulled further away & the folk ash.o.r.e were diminished into tiny dots, I could see the flags still moving. When the boats bade us farewell by tooting their horns, I confess to goose b.u.mps on my arms & a sensation of swelling pride in my heart. What joy to be involved in such momentous events! Will history remember us, I wonder? I do hope so-to imagine that one might do something, touch an event somehow, & thereby transcend the bounds of a single human lifetime! will take back the Blue Riband from Germany. At the landing stage in Liverpool, as the great ship moved slowly from her moorings & began proper her maiden voyage, the crowd on deck were singing "Britons never, never, never shall be slaves" & waving flags, so many & so quickly, that even as we pulled further away & the folk ash.o.r.e were diminished into tiny dots, I could see the flags still moving. When the boats bade us farewell by tooting their horns, I confess to goose b.u.mps on my arms & a sensation of swelling pride in my heart. What joy to be involved in such momentous events! Will history remember us, I wonder? I do hope so-to imagine that one might do something, touch an event somehow, & thereby transcend the bounds of a single human lifetime!I know what you will say with regards to the Blue Riband-that it's a silly race invented by silly men trying to prove little more than that their boat can outrun that belonging to even sillier men! But dearest Eliza, to be here, to breathe the spirit of excitement & conquest-Well, I can only say that it's invigorating. I feel more alive than I have done in an age, & though I know you will be rolling your eyes, you must allow me to profess my deepest wish that we do do make the trip in record speed & win back our rightful place. make the trip in record speed & win back our rightful place.The entire ship is appointed in such a way that it is difficult at times to remember that one is at sea. Mamma & I are staying in one of two "Regal Suites" on board-it comprises two bedrooms, a sitting room, dining room, private bath, lavatory & pantry, & is beautifully decorated, reminding me a little of the pictures of Versailles in Miss Tranton's book, the one she brought to the schoolroom that summer long ago.I overheard a beautifully dressed lady commenting that it is more like a hotel than any ship she has ever before traveled aboard. I do not know who that lady was, but I feel sure she must be Very Important, for Mamma suffered a rare bout of speechlessness when we found ourselves within her orbit. Never fear, 'twas not abiding-Mamma cannot be repressed for long. She quickly found her tongue & has been making up for lost time ever since. Our fellow pa.s.sengers are a veritable who's who of London society, according to Mamma, & thus they must be "charmed." I am under strict instructions to be always at my best-thank goodness I have two wardrobes full of armaments with which to dress for battle! For once Mamma & I are of a mind, though certainly not of a taste!-she is forever pointing out a gentleman she considers an excellent match & I am frequently dismayed. But enough-I fear I will lose the audience of my dearest cousin if I tarry too long on such subjects.Back to the ship, then-I have been carrying out certain explorations, sure to make my Eliza proud. Yesterday morning I managed briefly to escape Mamma, & pa.s.sed a lovely hour in the roof garden. I thought of you, dearest, & how amazed you would be to see that such vegetation could be grown on board a ship. There are tubs at every turn, filled with green trees & the most beautiful flowers. I felt quite joyous sitting among them (no one knows better than I the healing properties of a garden) & gave myself over to all kinds of silly daydreams. (You will be able to imagine well enough the paths down which my fancies rambled...)Oh! but how I wish you had relented & come with us, Eliza. I shall make time here for a brief but gentle scold, for I simply cannot understand. It was you, after all, who first raised the notion that the two of us might someday travel to America, witness firsthand the skysc.r.a.pers of New York & the great Statue of Liberty. I cannot think what induced you to forsake the opportunity so that you might stay at Blackhurst with only Father for company. You are, as always, a mystery to me, dearest, but I know better than to argue with you when your mind is made up, my dear, stubborn Eliza. I will say only that I miss you already & find myself frequently imagining how much mischief might be had were you here with me. (How we would wreak havoc on poor Mamma's nerves!) It is strange to think upon a time when you were unknown to me, it seems we have always been a pair & the years at Blackhurst before you arrived but a horrid waiting period.Ah-Mamma is calling. It seems we are expected yet again in the dining room. (The meals, Eliza! I am having to stroll about the deck between times in order to stand any hope at all of making a polite attempt at the next sitting!) Mamma has no doubt managed to harpoon the earl of so-and-so, or the son of some wealthy industrialist as tablemate. A daughter's work is never done, & she is right in this: I shall never meet My Fate if I keep myself locked away.I bid you good-bye, then, my dear Eliza, & close by saying that though you are not with me in person, you most certainly are in spirit. I know that when I first catch sight of the famed lady of Liberty, standing vigilant over her port, it will be my cousin Eliza's voice I hear, saying, "Just look at her & think of all she's seen."I remain always, your beloved cousin, Rose ELIZA TIGHTENED her fingers around the brown-paper-wrapped parcel. Standing on the doorstop of the Tregenna general store, she watched as a dark grey blanket of cloud sagged towards the mirror below. Haze on the horizon spoke of storms at sea, and the air in the village vacillated with anxious flecks of moisture. Eliza had brought no bag, as when she'd left the house she hadn't intended a trip to the village. It was sometime during the morning that the story had crept up on her and demanded immediate attention. The five pages left in her current notebook had been sorely inadequate, the need for a new one pressing, thus had she embarked on this impromptu shopping expedition. her fingers around the brown-paper-wrapped parcel. Standing on the doorstop of the Tregenna general store, she watched as a dark grey blanket of cloud sagged towards the mirror below. Haze on the horizon spoke of storms at sea, and the air in the village vacillated with anxious flecks of moisture. Eliza had brought no bag, as when she'd left the house she hadn't intended a trip to the village. It was sometime during the morning that the story had crept up on her and demanded immediate attention. The five pages left in her current notebook had been sorely inadequate, the need for a new one pressing, thus had she embarked on this impromptu shopping expedition.

Eliza glanced once more at the sullen sky and set off quickly along the harbor. When she reached the point where the road forked, she ignored the main branch and started instead up the narrow cliff track. She had never followed it before, but Davies had once told her that a shortcut from the estate to the village ran along the cliff edge.

The way was steep and the gra.s.s long but Eliza proceeded apace. She paused only once to look out across the flat, granite sea, on which a fleet of tiny white fishing boats was coming home to roost. Eliza smiled to see them, like baby sparrows returning to the nest, hurrying in after a day spent exploring the rim of a vast world.

One day she would cross that sea, all the way to the other side, just as her father had done. There were so many worlds waiting beyond the horizon. Africa, and India, Arabia, the antipodes, and in such faraway places would she discover new stories, magical tales from long ago.

Davies had suggested she write down her own tales, and write Eliza had. She'd filled twelve notebooks and still she hadn't stopped. Indeed, the more she wrote, the louder the stories seemed to grow, swirling in her mind, pressing against her head, anxious for release. She didn't know whether they were any good and in truth she didn't care. They were hers, and writing them made them real somehow. Characters who'd danced around inside her mind grew bolder on the page. They took on new mannerisms she hadn't imagined for them, said things she didn't know they thought, began to behave unpredictably.

Her stories had a small but receptive audience. Each night after supper, Eliza would crawl into bed beside Rose, just as she had when they were younger, and there she would begin her most recent fairy tale. Rose would listen, wide-eyed, gasping and sighing in all the right places, laughing gleefully at certain gruesome moments.

It was Rose who had cajoled Eliza into sending one of her tales away to the London office of the Children's Storytime Children's Storytime journal. journal.

"Don't you want to see them in print? They will be real stories then, and you a real writer."

"They're already real stories."

Rose had taken on a slightly devious look. "But if they're published, you will earn a little income."

An income of her own. This did did interest Eliza, and Rose well knew it. Up until this point Eliza had been fully dependent on her aunt and uncle, but lately she'd been wondering how she was going to fund the travels and adventures she knew the future held. interest Eliza, and Rose well knew it. Up until this point Eliza had been fully dependent on her aunt and uncle, but lately she'd been wondering how she was going to fund the travels and adventures she knew the future held.

"And it certainly wouldn't please Mamma," said Rose, clasping her hands together beneath her chin, biting her lip to stop from smiling. "A Mountrachet lady earning a living!"

Aunt Adeline's reaction, as always, meant little of consequence to Eliza, but the idea of other people reading her tales...Ever since Eliza had discovered the book of fairy tales in Mrs. Swindell's rag and bottle shop, had disappeared inside its faded pages, she'd understood the power of stories. Their magical ability to refill the wounded part of people.

Drizzle was turning now to light rain and Eliza began to run, hugging the notebook to her chest as wet strands of gra.s.s brushed against her damp skirt. What would Rose say when Eliza told her the children's journal was going to publish "The Changeling," that they had asked to see more? She smiled to herself as she ran.

A week to go before Rose was finally home, and Eliza could barely wait. How she longed to see her cousin! Rose had been rather remiss with correspondence-there had been one letter composed en route to America, but nothing since, and Eliza found herself waiting impatiently for news of the great city. She would have loved to visit it herself but Aunt Adeline had been clear.

"Ruin your own prospects, by all means," she said one evening when Rose had retired to bed. "But I will not allow you to ruin Rose's future with your uncivilized ways. She'll never meet Her Fate if she's not given opportunity to shine." Aunt Adeline had drawn herself to her full height. "I have booked two pa.s.sages to New York. One for Rose and one for myself. I wish to avoid unpleasantness, thus it would be best if she thought the decision had been yours."

"Why would I lie to Rose?"

Aunt Adeline inhaled and her cheeks hollowed. "To make her happy, of course. Don't you want her to be happy?"

A thunderclap echoed between the cliff walls as Eliza reached the hilltop. The sky was darkening and the rain growing heavier. In the clearing stood a cottage. The same little cottage, Eliza realized, that crouched on the other side of the walled garden that Uncle Linus had given her to plant. She hurried to shelter beneath the entrance portico, huddled against the door as rain spilled, thicker and faster, over the eaves.

It had been almost two months since Rose and Aunt Adeline had left for New York, and though time was dragging now, the first month had pa.s.sed swiftly in a whirl of fine weather and splendid story ideas. Eliza had split each day between her two favorite places on the estate: the black rock down in the cove, on top of which millennia of tides had washed smooth a seat-sized platform; and the hidden garden, her garden, at the end of the maze. What a delight it was to have a place of one's own, an entire garden in which to Be. Sometimes Eliza liked to sit on the iron seat, perfectly still, and just listen. To the windblown leaves tapping against the walls, the m.u.f.fled ocean breathing in and out, and the birds singing their stories. Sometimes, if she sat still enough, she almost fancied she could hear the flowers sighing in grat.i.tude to the sun.

But not today. The sun had withdrawn and beyond the cliff edge sky and sea were merged in grey agitation. Rain continued to pour and Eliza sighed. There was no point yet attempting to make her way to the garden and through the maze, not unless she wanted a thorough drenching for herself and her new notebook. If only a hollow tree could be found in which to shelter! A story idea began to flutter on the edge of Eliza's imagination; she s.n.a.t.c.hed at it, refused to let it go, held on as it grew arms, legs and a clear destination.

She reached inside her dress and withdrew the lead pencil she always kept tucked beneath her bodice. Leaned the new notebook against her bent knee and began to scribble.

The wind blew stronger up here in the realm of the birds, and rain had begun to swirl inside her hiding place, tossing splotches on her pristine pages. Eliza turned towards the door but still the rain found her.

This was no good! Where would she write when the wet weather set in for the season? The cove and the garden would not be fair shelter then. There was her uncle's house, of course, with its hundred rooms, but Eliza found it difficult to write when there was always someone nearby. It was possible to think oneself alone, only to discover a housemaid had been knelt by the fire, raking coals all the while. Or her uncle, sitting silent in a dim, dark corner.

A scud of heavy rain landed at Eliza's feet, drenching the portico. She closed the notebook and tapped her heel impatiently against the stone floor. She needed better shelter than this. Eliza glanced at the red door behind her. How had she not noticed before? Emerging from the lock was the ornate handle of a big bra.s.s key. Without further hesitation, Eliza twisted it to the left. The mechanism shifted with a clunk. She lay her hand on the doork.n.o.b, smooth and unaccountably warm, and turned it. A click, and the door was open, as if by magic.

Eliza stepped across the threshold into the dark, dry womb.

BENEATH THE black umbrella Linus sat waiting. He hadn't caught a glimpse of Eliza all day and agitation possessed his every mannerism. She would come, though, he knew that, Davies said she had intended to visit the garden and there was only one way back from there. Linus allowed his eyes to close and his mind to fall backwards through the years to a time when Georgiana had disappeared daily into the garden. She had asked him again and again to come, to see the planting she had done, but Linus always declined. He had waited for her, though, kept vigil until his black umbrella Linus sat waiting. He hadn't caught a glimpse of Eliza all day and agitation possessed his every mannerism. She would come, though, he knew that, Davies said she had intended to visit the garden and there was only one way back from there. Linus allowed his eyes to close and his mind to fall backwards through the years to a time when Georgiana had disappeared daily into the garden. She had asked him again and again to come, to see the planting she had done, but Linus always declined. He had waited for her, though, kept vigil until his poupee poupee reappeared each day from between the hedges. Remembered sometimes his entrapment by the maze all those years before. What an exquisite feeling it had been, the curious mixture of old shame mixed with joy at his sister's emergence. reappeared each day from between the hedges. Remembered sometimes his entrapment by the maze all those years before. What an exquisite feeling it had been, the curious mixture of old shame mixed with joy at his sister's emergence.

He opened his eyes and drew breath. Thought at first he was subject to a wishful fantasy, but no, it was Eliza, coming this way and deep in thought. She hadn't seen him yet. His dry lips moved around the words he wished to speak. "Child," he called out.

She looked up, surprised. "Uncle," she said, smiling slowly. She held her hands out to the side; in one was a brown package. "How sudden the rain!"

Her skirt was wet, the transparent rim clinging to her legs. Linus couldn't look away. "I-I was afraid you might be caught in the weather."

"And I very nearly was. I found shelter, though, in the cottage, the little cottage on the other side of the maze."

Wet hair, wet hem, wet ankles. Linus dug his cane into the damp earth and pushed himself to standing.

"Is the cottage used by anyone, Uncle?" Eliza came closer. "It appeared unused."

Her smell-rain, salt, soil. He leaned against his cane and almost fell. She reached to steady him. "The garden, child, tell me of the garden."

"Oh, Uncle, how it grows! You must come one day and sit among the flowers. See for yourself the planting I have done."

Her hands on his arm were warm, her grip firm. He would give the remaining years of his life to stop time and remain forever in this moment, he and his Georgiana- "Lord Mountrachet!" Thomas was fl.u.s.tering towards them from the house. "My Lord, you should have said you needed help."

And then Eliza was no longer holding him, Thomas was in her place. And Linus could only watch as she disappeared up the steps and into the entrance hall, paused fractionally at the stand to collect the morning's post, before being swallowed by his house.

Miss Rose MountrachetCunard Liner, Lusitania LusitaniaMiss Eliza MountrachetBlackhurst ManorCornwall, England7 November 1907Dearest Eliza,What a time! So much has happened since last we met, I can barely think where to start. First, I must apologize for the dearth of letters in recent weeks. Our last month in New York was such a whirlwind, & when I first sat down to write to you, as we left the great American port, we fell victim to such a storm I almost believed myself back in Cornwall. The thunder, & Oh! the squalls! I was laid up in my cabin for a full two days, & poor Mamma was quite green. She required frequent tending-what a turnup it was, Mamma ill and Sickly Rose her nurse!After the storm finally subsided, the mist remained for many days, floating about the ship like a great sea monster. It put me in mind of you, dear Eliza, & the stories you used to spin when we were girls, about the mermaids & the ships lost at sea.The skies have cleared now, as we draw ever closer towards England-But wait. Why am I giving you weather reportage when I have so much else to relate? I know the answer to that: I am dancing around my true intentions, hesitating before giving voice to my real news, for Oh! where to begin...You will remember, Eliza dear, from my last letter, that Mamma & I had made the acquaintance of certain Important people? One, Lady Dudmore, turned out to be a person of some consequence indeed; what's more, it would seem she took a shine to me, for Mamma & I were issued many a letter of introduction & were thus inducted into a circle of New York's finest society. What glittering b.u.t.terflies we were, flitting from one party to another-But still I tarry-for you need not hear of every soiree, every game of bridge! Eliza dearest, with no further ado, I will hold my breath & write it plain-I am engaged! Engaged to be married! & dear Eliza, I am so bursting with joy & wonder that I hardly dare open my mouth to speak for fear I will have little to say except to gush about my Love. And that I will not do-not here, not yet. I refuse to diminish these fine feelings through inadequate attempt to capture them in words. Instead, I will wait until we meet again & then tell you all. Let it be enough, my cousin, to say that I am floating in a great & glittering cloud of happiness.I have never felt so well, and I have you to thank, my dear Eliza-from Cornwall you have waved your fairy wand & granted me my dearest wish! For my fiance (what thrill to write those two words-my fiance!) may not be what you imagine. Though in most everything he is of the highest order-handsome, clever & good-in matters of finance, he is quite a poor man! (And now you will begin to intuit just why I suspect you of the gift of prophecy-). He is just as the match you invented for me in "The Changeling"! How did you know, dearest, that I would have my head turned by such a one!Poor Mamma is in a state of some shock (though improved somewhat by now), indeed, she barely spoke to me for some days after I informed her of my engagement. She, of course, had her heart set on a greater match & will not see that I care not one whit for money or t.i.tle. Those are her her desires for me, & while I confess I once shared them, I do so no longer-How can I when my Prince has come for me and unlatched the door to my golden cage? desires for me, & while I confess I once shared them, I do so no longer-How can I when my Prince has come for me and unlatched the door to my golden cage?I ache to see you again, Eliza, & to share with you my joy. I have missed you tremendously and can hardly bear to think that once I arrive in England there will be another week to wait before we're together. I will post this letter as soon as we dock in Liverpool: would that I were accompanying it directly to Blackhurst, rather than languishing in the dreary company of Mamma's family!I remain yours, lovingly now & evermore, cousin Rose IF SHE were honest, Adeline blamed herself. Had she not, after all, been present with Rose at each glittering event during their visit to New York? Had she not appointed herself chaperone at the ball given by Mr. and Mrs. Irving in their grand house on Fifth Avenue? Worse still, had she not given Rose a nod of encouragement when the dashing young man with dark hair and full lips made his approach and requested the pleasure of a dance? were honest, Adeline blamed herself. Had she not, after all, been present with Rose at each glittering event during their visit to New York? Had she not appointed herself chaperone at the ball given by Mr. and Mrs. Irving in their grand house on Fifth Avenue? Worse still, had she not given Rose a nod of encouragement when the dashing young man with dark hair and full lips made his approach and requested the pleasure of a dance?

"Your daughter is a beauty," Mrs. Frank Hastings had said, leaning over to whisper in Adeline's ear as the handsome couple took to the floor. "Fairest of them all tonight."

Adeline had shifted-yes, proudly-on her seat. (Was that the moment of her undoing? Had the Lord noted her hubris?) "Beauty equaled by her purity of heart."

"And Nathaniel Walker is a handsome man indeed."

Nathaniel Walker. It was the first time she'd heard his name. "Walker," she said thoughtfully: the name had a solid ring to it, surely she'd heard tell of a family called Walker who'd made their fortune in oil? New money, but times were changing, there was no longer any shame in a match of t.i.tle with treasure. "Who are his people?"

Did Adeline imagine the hint of barely concealed glee that briefly animated Mrs. Hastings's bland features? "Oh, no one of consequence." She raised one bald eyebrow. "An artist, you know, befriended, most ludicrously, by one of the younger Irving boys."

Adeline's smile had grown stale around the edges but still she held it. All was not yet lost, painting was a perfectly n.o.ble hobby after all...

"Rumor has it," came Mrs. Hastings's crushing blow, "the Irving chappie met him on the street! Son of a pair of immigrants, Poles at that. Walker may be what he calls himself, but I doubt that's what was written on the immigration papers. I hear tell he makes sketches for a living!"

"Oil portraits?"

"Oh, nothing so grand as that. Scratchy charcoal things, from what I understand." She sucked in one cheek in an attempt to swallow her glee. "Quite a rise indeed. Parents are Catholics, father worked on the wharves."

Adeline fought the urge to scream as Mrs. Hastings leaned back against her gilt chair, face pinched at the edges by one of Schadenfreude's smiles. "No harm in a young girl dancing with a handsome man, though, is there?"

A smooth smile to mask her panic. "No harm at all," said Adeline.

But how could she believe it when her mind had already tossed up the memory of a young girl standing atop a Cornish cliff, eyes wide and heart open as she looked upon a handsome man who appeared to promise so much? Oh, there was harm indeed for a young lady flattered by the brief attentions of a handsome man.

The week pa.s.sed, and that was the best that could be said of it. Night after night, Adeline paraded Rose before an audience of suitable young gentlemen. She waited and she hoped, longing to see a spark of interest brighten her daughter's face. But each night, disappointment. Rose had eyes only for Nathaniel, and he, it seemed, for her. Like one in the grip of dangerous hysteria, Rose was trapped and unreachable. Adeline had to fight the urge to slap her cheeks, cheeks that glowed more fervently than a delicate young woman's cheeks had any right to.

Adeline, too, was haunted by Nathaniel Walker's face. At each dinner, dance or reading they attended she would scan the room, seeking him out. Fear had created a template in her mind and all other faces were blurred: only his features clear. She began to see him even when he wasn't there. She had dreams of wharves and boats and poor families. Sometimes the dreams took place in Yorkshire, and her own parents played the part of Nathaniel's family. Oh, her poor addled brain; to think that she could be brought to this.

Then one evening the worst finally happened. They had been at a ball and the entire carriage ride home Rose was very quiet. The particular type of quiet which presages a firming of heart, a clearing of view. Like someone nursing a secret, keeping it close for a time before unleashing it to do its worst.

The horrid moment came when Rose was dressing for bed.

"Mamma," she said, as she brushed her hair, "there's something I wish to tell you." Then the words, the dreaded words. Affection...fate...forever...

"You are young," Adeline said quickly, cutting Rose off. "It is understandable that you should confuse friendship with affection of another kind."

"It isn't friendship alone that I feel, Mamma."

Heat rose beneath Adeline's skin. "It would be a disaster. He brings nothing-"

"He brings himself and that's all I need."