The Forgotten Garden Part 37

"What!" Ca.s.sandra's stomach lurched. "What is it?"

"I've just had the most brilliant idea." She swallowed, motioned with her hand as she caught her breath. "A sleepover," she squealed finally. "You and me, tonight, here in the cottage!"

Ca.s.sANDRA HAD already been to the market and was leaving the hardware shop with a cardboard box full of candles and matches when she b.u.mped into Christian. It had been three days since they'd had supper at the pub-there'd been far too much rain to even contemplate returning to the hidden garden over the weekend-and she hadn't seen or spoken to him since. She felt oddly nervous, could feel her cheeks flushing. already been to the market and was leaving the hardware shop with a cardboard box full of candles and matches when she b.u.mped into Christian. It had been three days since they'd had supper at the pub-there'd been far too much rain to even contemplate returning to the hidden garden over the weekend-and she hadn't seen or spoken to him since. She felt oddly nervous, could feel her cheeks flushing.

"Going camping?"

"Sort of. A friend has come to visit and wants to spend a night in the cottage."

He raised his eyebrows. "Don't let the ghosts bite."

"I'll try."

"Or the rats." He gave a lopsided smile.

She smiled, too, then pressed her lips together. The silence drew out like a rubber band, threatened to snap back. She started shyly: "Hey, you know...You could come up and have a bite of dinner with us? Nothing fancy, but it'll be fun...if you're free, I mean? I know Ruby would love to meet you." Ca.s.sandra flushed and cursed the thread of query that had lifted the end of her sentences. "It'll be fun," she said again.

He nodded, seemed to be considering. "Yeah," he said. "Sure. Sounds good."

"Great." Ca.s.sandra felt a ripple beneath her skin. "Seven o'clock? And no need to bring anything-as you can see, I'm well stocked."

"Oh, hey, give me that." Christian took Ca.s.sandra's cardboard box. She shifted the handles of her plastic grocery bag from around her wrist and scratched the red imprints they'd made. "I'll give you a lift up the cliff walk," he said.

"I don't want to put you out."

"You're not. I was on my way to see you anyway, about Rose and her marks."

"Oh, I couldn't find anything else in the sc.r.a.p-"

"It doesn't matter, I know what they were and I know how she got them." He gestured towards his car. "Come on, we can talk while I drive."

Christian maneuvered his car out of the tight parking spot by the water's edge and drove along the main street.

"So what is it?" said Ca.s.sandra. "What did you find?"

The windows had fogged up, and Christian reached out to wipe the windscreen with his palm. "When you were telling me about Rose the other day there was something familiar. It was the doctor's name, Ebenezer Matthews. I couldn't for the life of me remember where I'd heard it, then early Sat.u.r.day morning it came to me. At university I took a course on medical ethics, and as part of the a.s.sessment we had to write a paper on historical uses of new technologies."

He slowed the car at a T-intersection and fiddled with the heating. "Sorry, it plays up sometimes. Should be warm in a minute." He pushed the dial from blue to red, indicated left and started up the steep cliff road. "One of the benefits of living back home is that I've got ready access to the boxes my life was packed into when my stepmum turned my room into a gym."

Ca.s.sandra smiled, remembering the boxes of embarra.s.sing high-school memorabilia she'd uncovered when she moved back in with Nell after the accident.

"Took me a while, but finally I found the essay, and sure enough there was his name, Ebenezer Matthews. I'd included him because he was from the same village I'd grown up in."

"And? Was there something in the essay about Rose?"

"Nothing like that, but after I realized who Rose's Dr. Matthews was, I e-mailed a friend up at Oxford who works in the medical library. She owed me a favor and agreed to send me anything she could on the doc's patients between 1889 and 1913. Rose's lifetime."

A friend. She. Ca.s.sandra pushed aside the unexpected surge of envy. "And?"

"Doc Matthews was quite a busy boy. Not at first: for someone who rose to such lofty heights, he came from humble beginnings. Doctor in a small town in Cornwall, doing all the things young doctors in small towns do. His big break, from what I can gather, was meeting Adeline Mountrachet of Blackhurst Manor. I don't know why she would have chosen a young doctor like him when her little girl was sick-aristocrats were much more likely to call upon the same old ghost who'd treated Great-uncle Kernow when he was a boy-but whatever the case, Ebenezer Matthews was summoned. He and Adeline must've hit it off, too, because after that first consultation he became Rose's regular doctor. Stayed that way all throughout her childhood, even after she was married."

"But how do you know? How did your friend find that sort of information?"

"A lot of doctors back then kept surgery logs. Records of the patients they saw, who owed them money, treatments they prescribed, articles they published, that sort of thing. Many of the logs wound up in libraries. They were donated, or sold, usually by the doctor's family."

They'd reached the end of the road where gravel gave way to gra.s.s and Christian pulled the car over onto the narrow parking strip by the lookout. Outside, the wind was buffeting the cliff and the tiny cliff birds huddled together glumly. He switched off the ignition, turned in his seat to face Ca.s.sandra. "In the last decade of the nineteenth century, Dr. Matthews began to make a bit of a name for himself. It seems he wasn't content with his lot as a country GP, even though his patient list was beginning to resemble a who's who of local society. He started publishing on various medical matters. It wasn't very difficult to cross-reference his publications with his log to find out that Rose appears as Miss RM. Miss RM. She becomes a frequent entry after 1897." She becomes a frequent entry after 1897."

"Why? What happened then?" Ca.s.sandra realized she was holding her breath, her throat was tight.

"When Rose was eight she swallowed a sewing thimble."

"Why?"

"Well, I don't know, accident I expect, and it's beside the point. It wasn't a big deal-half the British currency has sat inside a child's stomach at one point or another. They pa.s.s through without too much difficulty if they're left alone."

Ca.s.sandra exhaled suddenly. "But it wasn't left alone. Dr. Matthews performed an operation."

Christian shook his head. "Worse than that."

Her stomach lurched. "What did he do?"

"He ordered an X-ray, a couple of X-rays, and then he published the pictures in the Lancet. Lancet." Christian reached to the backseat and pulled out a photocopied piece of paper, handed it to her.

She glanced at the article, shrugged. "I don't get it, what's the big deal?"

"It's not the X-ray itself, it's the exposure." He pointed to a line at the top of the page. "Dr. Matthews had the photographer take a sixty-minute exposure. I guess he wanted to be sure he got his picture."

Ca.s.sandra could feel the cold outside her gla.s.s window, shimmering against her cheek. "But what does it mean? A sixty-minute exposure?"

"X-rays are radiation-haven't you ever noticed the way your dentist sprints from the room before pushing the X-ray b.u.t.ton? An exposure of sixty minutes means that, between them, Dr. Matthews and the photographer fried her ovaries and everything inside them."

"Her ovaries?" Ca.s.sandra stared at him. "Then how did she conceive?"

"That's what I'm saying. She didn't, she couldn't. That is, she certainly couldn't have carried a healthy baby to term. As of 1897, Rose Mountrachet was, for all intents and purposes, infertile."

FORTY-ONE.

CLIFF C COTTAGE, 1975.

DESPITE a ten-day delay before contracts were due to be exchanged, young Julia Bennett had been most obliging. When Nell requested early access to the cottage, she'd handed over the key with a wave of her jewelry-laden wrist. "Doesn't worry me a bit," she'd said, bangles clacking, "you make yourself at home. Lord knows, the key's so heavy I'll be happy to have it off my hands!" a ten-day delay before contracts were due to be exchanged, young Julia Bennett had been most obliging. When Nell requested early access to the cottage, she'd handed over the key with a wave of her jewelry-laden wrist. "Doesn't worry me a bit," she'd said, bangles clacking, "you make yourself at home. Lord knows, the key's so heavy I'll be happy to have it off my hands!"

The key was was heavy. It was big and bra.s.s, with intricate swirls at one end, blunt teeth at the other. Nell looked at it, almost the length of her palm. She laid it on the wooden table in the kitchen. The kitchen of her cottage. Well, almost her cottage. Ten days to go. heavy. It was big and bra.s.s, with intricate swirls at one end, blunt teeth at the other. Nell looked at it, almost the length of her palm. She laid it on the wooden table in the kitchen. The kitchen of her cottage. Well, almost her cottage. Ten days to go.

Nell wouldn't be in Tregenna when they were exchanged. Her flight left London in four days' time and when she'd tried to change the booking she'd been told that such late alterations were possible only at exorbitant cost. So she'd decided to go home to Australia as planned. The local lawyers handling her purchase of Cliff Cottage were happy to hold the key for her until she returned. It wouldn't be long, she'd a.s.sured them, she just needed time to sort out her things and then she'd be back for good.

For Nell had decided she was going home to Brisbane for the last time. What had she there to keep her? A few friends, a daughter who didn't need her, sisters she perplexed. Her antiques shop she would miss, but perhaps she could start afresh here in Cornwall. And when she was here, with more time, Nell would get to the bottom of her mystery. She would learn why Eliza stole her and put her on the boat to Australia. All lives needed purpose, and this would be Nell's. For otherwise, how would she ever know herself?

Nell walked slowly about the kitchen, making a mental inventory. The first thing she intended to do when she got back was to give the cottage a thorough clean. Dirt and dust had long been allowed free rein and every surface was coated. There would be repairs to make, too: the baseboards would need replacing in sections, there was bound to be wood rot, the kitchen would have to be brought to working order...

Of course a village like Tregenna would have any number of local tradesmen available to help, but Nell balked at the idea of employing strangers to work in her cottage. Although made of stone and wood, it was more than a house to Nell. And just as she had tended Lil when she was dying, had refused to pa.s.s responsibility into the hands of a kindly stranger, Nell knew she must tend the cottage herself. Use the skills that Hugh had taught her all those years before when she was a little girl and wide-eyed with love for her dad.

Nell stopped by the rocking chair. A little shrine in the corner caught her attention. She went closer. A half-empty drink bottle, a packet of digestive biscuits, a comic called Whizzer and Chips Whizzer and Chips. They had certainly not been there when Nell made her purchasing inspection, which could only mean that someone had been in her cottage since. Nell flicked through the comic book: a young someone, by the looks of it.

A moist breeze brushed Nell's face and she looked to the back of the kitchen. The window was missing a pane of gla.s.s from one of its four square frames. Making a mental note to bring plastic and tape to mask it before she left Tregenna, Nell peered through. A huge hedge ran parallel to the house, blunt and even, almost like a wall. A flash of color and Nell thought she saw movement at the corner of her vision. When she looked again there was nothing. A bird, probably, or a squirrel.

Nell had noticed on the map sent to her by the lawyer that the property extended quite a way beyond the house. That meant, presumably, that whatever lay on the other side of the tall, thick hedge was hers, too. She decided to take a look.

The path that wound around the side of the house was narrow, and dim from lack of sun. Nell went cautiously, pushing long weeds aside as she went. At the back of the cottage, brambles had grown between the house and the hedge and Nell had to pick her way through the tangle.

Midway along, she sensed movement again, right by her. Nell looked at the ground. A pair of shoe-clad feet and skinny legs protruded from beneath the wall. Either the wall had fallen from the sky, a la Wizard of Oz, Wizard of Oz, and crushed some poor unfortunate Cornish dwarf, or she had found the small person who'd been trespa.s.sing in her cottage. and crushed some poor unfortunate Cornish dwarf, or she had found the small person who'd been trespa.s.sing in her cottage.

Nell grabbed hold of the skinny ankle. The legs froze. "Come on, then," she said. "Out with you."

Another moment of stillness, then the legs began scrambling backwards. The boy they were attached to looked to be about ten, though Nell had never been particularly good at guessing the ages of children. He was a sc.r.a.p of a lad with sandy brown hair and k.n.o.bbly knees. Bruises up and down his bony shins.

"I presume you're the young monkey who's been making free with my cottage?"

The boy blinked dark brown eyes at Nell before looking to the ground at her feet.

"What's your name, then? Out with it."

"Christian."

So soft she almost hadn't heard.

"Christian who?"

"Christian Blake. Only I wasn't doing any harm. My dad works over at the big estate, and sometimes I just like to come and visit the walled-your walled garden." walled garden."

Nell glanced at the bramble-covered wall. "So that's a garden behind there, is it? I had wondered." She looked back at the boy. "And tell me, Christian, does your mother know where you are?"

The boy's shoulders slumped. "I haven't got a mother."

Nell's eyebrows raised.

"She went away to hospital in the summer, and then..."

The heat of Nell's ill temper cooled on a sigh. "I see. Well. And what are you, nine? Ten?"

"Nearly eleven." Healthy indignation sent his hands into his pockets, his elbows out to the side.

"Of course, I see that now. I have a granddaughter about your age."

"Does she like gardens, too?"

Nell blinked at him. "I'm not sure."

Christian tilted his head to the side, frowned at her answer.

"That is, I imagine she does." Nell found herself skirting apology. Chastised herself. She needn't feel contrite just because she didn't know Lesley's daughter's mind. "I don't see her often."

"Does she live a long way from you?"

"Not really, no."

"Then why don't you see her much?"

Nell eyed the boy, trying to decide whether his impertinence was charming or not. "Sometimes that's just the way things are."

By the look on the boy's face, this explanation sounded as weak to him as it did to her. But there were some things that didn't need explanation, especially to strange little boys trespa.s.sing on one's property.

Nell reminded herself that the little scamp was newly motherless. There were none immune to poor judgment when their certainties had been pulled from under them, Nell knew that as well as anyone. Life could be so b.l.o.o.d.y cruel. Why should this boy grow up motherless? Why should some poor woman go to an early grave, leaving her lad to make his way in the world without her? Looking at the boy's skinny limbs, Nell felt something inside her tighten. Her voice was gruff but kind: "What is it you said you were doing in my garden anyway?"

"I wasn't doing any harm, honest. I just like to sit inside."

"And this is how you get in? Under the bricks?"

He nodded.

Nell eyed the hole. "I don't think I'll fit beneath there. Where's the gate?"

"There isn't one. At least, not on this wall."

Nell frowned. "I have a garden with no entrance?"

He nodded again. "There used to be one, you can see from inside where it was patched up."

"Why would anyone patch up the entrance?"

The boy shrugged and Nell made an addition to her mental list of necessary improvements. "Perhaps you can tell me what I'm missing, then," she said. "Seeing as I'm not going to be able to take a look myself. What it is that brings you all the way up here?"

"It's my favorite place in the whole world." Christian blinked his earnest brown eyes. "I like to sit inside and talk to my mum. She loved gardens, she loved your walled garden specially. She's the one who showed me how to get inside. We were going to try and fix it up. Then she got sick."

Nell pressed her lips together. "I'm going home to Australia in a couple of days but I'll be back in a month or two. I wonder whether you might not keep an eye on my garden for me, Christian?"

He nodded gravely. "I can do that."

"I'll be glad to know I've left it in capable hands."