The Forgotten Garden Part 17
As she waited for the water to boil, Ca.s.sandra thumbed the dog-eared edge of Nell's notebook. She'd had it out during much of the train trip, had imagined that her time could be well spent unraveling the next stage of Nell's journey, but she had been mistaken. The theory was sound, its practice not so easily accomplished. She'd been in company most of the trip with her own thoughts, had been so ever since the dinner with Ruby and Grey. Though Nick and Leo were never far from Ca.s.sandra's mind, having the fact of their deaths remarked upon so openly, so unexpectedly, had brought the fracturing moment crashing back.
It had been so sudden. She supposed such things always were. One moment she was a wife and mother, the next she was alone. And all for the sake of an uninterrupted hour in which to draw. She'd thrust a thumb-sucking Leo into Nick's arms and sent them to the shops for groceries they didn't need. Nick had grinned at her as he'd started the car down the driveway, and Leo had waved a chubby little hand, still clutching the silk pillowcase he'd taken to carrying everywhere. Ca.s.sandra had waved back absently, her mind already in her studio.
Worst of all was how much she'd relished the hour and a half before the knock came on her door. She hadn't even noticed how long they'd been gone...
Nell had been Ca.s.sandra's savior for a second time. She'd come straightaway, brought Ben with her. He'd been able to explain what had happened, the words that had made no sense from the policeman's lips: an accident, a swerving truck, a collision. A ghastly sequence of events so mundane, so ordinary, it was impossible to believe that they were happening to her.
Nell hadn't told Ca.s.sandra it would be all right. She'd understood better than that, had known that it would never, could never, be all right. She'd come armed instead with pills to help Ca.s.sandra sleep. To deliver a blessed blow to her racing mind and make it all disappear, if only for a few hours. And then she'd taken Ca.s.sandra home with her.
It was better back at Nell's; the ghosts weren't as comfortable there. Nell's place had its own set and the ones Ca.s.sandra brought didn't have quite the same free run.
Time afterwards was a haze. Of grief and horror and nightmares that couldn't be shed with the new day. She wasn't sure which were worse, the nights that Nick filled her thoughts, his ghost asking, over and over, why did you make us go? Why did you make me take Leo? Or the nights when he wouldn't come, when she was alone and the dark hours threatened to stretch interminably, the partial salvation of the dawn rushing away from her faster than she could ever hope to chase it. And then there was the dream. The hateful field with its promise of finding them.
During the days it was Leo who trailed her, the noise of his toys, a cry, a little hand grabbing at her skirt, begging to be lifted into her arms and held. Oh, the flicker of unabated joy in her heart, momentary, fractured, but real nonetheless. The split second in which she forgot. Then the thud of reality when she turned to scoop him up and he wasn't there.
She had tried going out, had thought she might escape them that way, but it hadn't worked. There'd been so many children everywhere she went. The parks, the schools, the shops. Had there always been so many? So she'd stayed home, spent the days in Nell's yard, lying on her back beneath the old mango tree and watching the clouds waft overhead. The perfect blue sky behind the frangipani leaves, the fluttering of the palm fronds, tiny star-shaped seeds dislocated by the breeze to rain over the path below.
Thinking of nothing. Trying to think of nothing. Thinking of everything.
That was where Nell had found her on an afternoon in April. The season had just begun to turn, summer's swelter had lifted and there was a hint of impending autumn in the air. Ca.s.sandra's eyes were closed.
The first she realized that Nell was standing nearby was by the loss of warmth from the skin on her arms and the slight darkening inside her eyelids.
Then a voice: "Thought I'd find you out here."
Ca.s.sandra said nothing.
"D'you think it might be time you started doing something, Ca.s.s?"
"Please, Nell. Leave it alone."
Slower, more clearly enunciated: "You need to start doing something."
"Please..." To pick up a pencil made her physically ill. As for opening one of her sketchbooks...How could she bear to risk glimpsing the swell of a plump cheek, the tip of an upturned nose, the arc of kissable baby lips...?
"You need to do something."
Nell was just trying to help and yet there was a part of Ca.s.sandra that wanted to scream and shake her grandmother, punish her for this failure to understand. Instead, she sighed. Her lids, still closed, fluttered a little. "I hear it enough from Dr. Harvey. I don't need it from you, too."
"I don't mean therapeutically, Ca.s.s." A brief hesitation before Nell continued. "I mean you need to start contributing."
Ca.s.sandra's eyes opened, she lifted a hand to block the glare. "What?"
"I'm not a spring chicken, my love. I need some help. Around the house, in the shop, financially."
The offending sentences shimmered in the bright air, sharp edges refusing to dissipate. How could Nell be so cold? So thoughtless? Ca.s.sandra shivered. "My family is gone," she managed finally, her throat aching with the effort. "I'm grieving."
"I know that," said Nell, easing herself down to sit by Ca.s.sandra. She reached out and clutched her hand. "I know that, my darling girl. But it's been six months. And you you are not dead." are not dead."
Ca.s.sandra was crying now. It was saying the words out loud that did it.
"You are here," said Nell softly, squeezing Ca.s.sandra's hand, "and I need help."
"I can't."
"You can."
"No-" Her head was throbbing; she was tired, so tired. "I mean I can't can't. I have nothing to give."
"I don't need you to give me anything. I just need you to come with me and do as I ask. You can hold a polishing cloth, can't you?"
Nell had reached out then to stroke Ca.s.sandra's hair from her cheeks, sticky with tears. Her voice was low, unexpectedly steely. "You'll beat this. I know it doesn't feel like it, but you will. You're a survivor."
"I don't want to survive it."
"I know that, too," Nell had said. "And it's fair enough. But sometimes we don't have a choice..."
The hotel kettle switched itself off with a triumphant click click and Ca.s.sandra poured water over the tea bag, hand shaking a little. Stood for a moment as it drew. She realized now that Nell really had understood, that she knew all too well the sudden, blinding emptiness of having one's ties cut. and Ca.s.sandra poured water over the tea bag, hand shaking a little. Stood for a moment as it drew. She realized now that Nell really had understood, that she knew all too well the sudden, blinding emptiness of having one's ties cut.
She stirred her tea and sighed quietly as Nick and Leo retreated once more. Forced herself to focus on the present. She was at the Blackhurst Hotel in Tregenna, Cornwall, listening as the waves of an unfamiliar ocean crashed upon the sands of an unfamiliar beach.
Beyond the dark heads of the tallest trees, a lone bird cut black across an inky sky and moonlight rippled on the faraway ocean surface. Tiny lights winked at the sh.o.r.e. Fishing boats, Ca.s.sandra figured. Tregenna was a fishing village, after all. Strange, in this modern world it was a surprise to find a pocket where things were still done in the old way, on a small scale, as they had been done for generations.
Ca.s.sandra took a sip and exhaled warmly. She was in Cornwall, just as Nell had been before her. Rose and Nathaniel and Eliza Makepeace before that. As she whispered their names to herself, she felt an odd tingling beneath her skin. Like tiny threads all being pulled at the same time. She had a purpose here, and it was not to wallow in her own past.
"Here I am, Nell," she said softly. "Is this what you wanted me to do?"
TWENTY-THREE.
BLACKHURST M MANOR, 1900.
WHEN Eliza woke the next morning, it took her a moment to remember where she was. She seemed to be lying in a huge wooden sleigh with a deep blue canopy suspended above. Her nightdress was of the type to have Mrs. Swindell rubbing her hands together with glee and Sammy's dirty clothing was bunched beneath her head. Then she remembered: the do-gooders, Mr. Newton, the carriage ride, the Bad Man. She was at her uncle and aunt's house, there had been a storm, lightning, thunder and rain. Sammy's face in the window. Eliza woke the next morning, it took her a moment to remember where she was. She seemed to be lying in a huge wooden sleigh with a deep blue canopy suspended above. Her nightdress was of the type to have Mrs. Swindell rubbing her hands together with glee and Sammy's dirty clothing was bunched beneath her head. Then she remembered: the do-gooders, Mr. Newton, the carriage ride, the Bad Man. She was at her uncle and aunt's house, there had been a storm, lightning, thunder and rain. Sammy's face in the window.
Eliza scrambled onto the window seat and looked outside. Was forced to squint. The rain and thunder of the night before had been rolled away by the dawn, and the light, the air, all was washed clean. Leaves and branches lay strewn across the lawn and a garden seat directly beneath the window had been blown over.
Her attention was drawn to a distant corner of the garden. Someone, a man, moved among the greenery. He had a black beard and was dressed in overalls, a strange little green hat and black galoshes.
A noise from behind and Eliza turned. The door to the room was open and a young maid with emphatically curly hair was placing a tray on the bedside table. It was the same maid who'd received a scolding the night before.
"Morning, miss," she said. "My name's Mary and I've brought you some breakfast. Mrs. Hopkins said you could have it in your room this morning on account of the long journey you took these past days."
Eliza hurried to sit at the little table. Her eyes widened as she took in the contents of the tray: hot bread rolls with lashings of melting b.u.t.ter, white pots filled to the brim with the fruitiest conserves she had ever seen, a pair of kippers, a pile of fluffy egg, a fat, glistening sausage. Her heart sang.
"That were quite a storm you brought with you last night," said Mary, strapping the curtains back. "I almost didn't make it home. Thought for a time I were going to need to stay here the night!"
Eliza swallowed a lump of bread. "You don't live here?"
Mary laughed. "No fear. Might be all right for the rest of them but I shouldn't like to live-" She glanced at Eliza, a pink glow warming her cheeks. "That is, I live in the village. With my ma and pa and my brothers and sister."
"You have a brother?" As Eliza thought of Sammy the emptiness yawned inside her.
"Oh yes, indeed, three of them. Two older and one younger, though Patrick, the eldest, don't live at home no more. Still works on the fishing boats with my pa, though. He, Will and Pa go out every day, whatever the weather. The younger, Roly, he's only three, he stays at home with my ma and little May." She plumped the cushions on the window seat. "We Martins have always worked on the sea. My great-grandfather were one of the Tregenna pirates."
"The what?"
"The Tregenna pirates," said Mary, eyes widening with incredulity. "Have you not heard of them?"
Eliza shook her head.
"The Tregenna pirates were the most fearsome bunch you'd ever find. They ruled the seas in their time, bringing back whisky and pepper when the folk at home couldn't get them otherwise. Only ever took from the rich, mind you. Just like what's-his-name, except on the ocean, not in the forest. There's pa.s.sages winding right the way through these hills. One or two reach all the way to the sea."
"Where is the sea, Mary?" said Eliza. "Is it near?"
Mary looked at her strangely again. "Well, of course it is, poppet! Can't you hear it?"
Eliza paused and listened. Could she hear the sea?
"Listen," said Mary. "Whoosha...whoosha...whoosha...That there's the sea. Breathing in and out as it always does. Could you really not hear it?"
"I could hear it," said Eliza. "I just didn't know it was the sea."
"Didn't know it was the sea?" Mary grinned. "What on G.o.d's earth did you think it was?"
"I thought it was a train."
"A train!" Mary erupted into laughter. "You are the ticket. The station's a way off from here. Thought the sea were a train, indeed. Just you wait until I tell my brothers."
Eliza thought of the few stories Mother had told about sand and silver shingles and wind that smelled like salt. "Could I go and look at the sea, Mary?"
"I reckon you could. So long as you make sure and be back when Cook rings the luncheon bell. The mistress is out visiting this morning, so she won't be here to notice." A cloud came across Mary's cheerful face when she mentioned the mistress. "Just you mind you're back before she is, you hear? She's one for rules and order, and not to be crossed."
"How do I get there?"
Mary beckoned Eliza towards the window. "Come over here, poppet, and I'll show you."
THE AIR was different here, and the sky. It seemed brighter and further away. Not like the grey lid that hung low over London, threatening, always threatening, to close upon it. This sky was lifted high by sea breezes, like a great white sheet on laundering day, with the air caught beneath it, billowing higher and higher. was different here, and the sky. It seemed brighter and further away. Not like the grey lid that hung low over London, threatening, always threatening, to close upon it. This sky was lifted high by sea breezes, like a great white sheet on laundering day, with the air caught beneath it, billowing higher and higher.
Eliza stood at cliff's edge looking out across the cove towards the deep blue sea. The very same sea her father had sailed upon, the beach her mother had known when she was a girl.
The storm of the night before had left driftwood scattered across the pale sh.o.r.e. Elegant white branches, gnarled and polished by time, emerged from the pebbles like the antlers of some great ghostly beast.
Eliza could taste salt in the air, just as Mother had always said. Out of the confines of the strange house she felt suddenly light and free. She took a deep breath and started down the wooden steps, scuttling faster and faster, eager to be at the bottom.
Once she reached the sh.o.r.e, she sat on a smooth rock and unlaced her boots, fingers tripping over themselves to complete the task. She rolled the hems of Sammy's breeches so that they sat above her knees, then she picked her way towards the water's edge. Stones, smooth and spiky alike, were warm beneath her feet. She stood for a moment, observing as the great blue ma.s.s heaved in and out, in and out.
Then, with a deep, salty breath, she skipped forward so that her toes, her ankles, her knees were wet. She followed the sh.o.r.eline, laughing at the cool bubbles between her toes, picking up sh.e.l.ls that took her fancy and, once, a piece of sea debris shaped like a star.
It was a small cove with a deep curve and it didn't take long for Eliza to travel the entire length of its sh.o.r.e. When she reached the end, proximity gave a third dimension to what had seemed, at a distance, a mere dark patch. A huge black crag emerged from the bluff and charged into the sea. It was shaped like a mighty puff of angry black smoke that had been frozen in time, cursed to an eternal solidity. Properly part of neither land nor sea nor air.
The black rock was slippery but Eliza found a ledge at its rim just deep enough to stand on. She hunted out jagged footholds and scrambled up the rock's side, didn't stop until she'd made it to the very top. She was so high, she couldn't look down without feeling that her head was filled with bubbles. On hands and knees, she inched forward. It became narrower and narrower until finally she was at the furthest point. She sat on the rock's raised fist and laughed, breathlessly.
It was like being at the top of a great ship. Beneath her, the white froth of duelling waves; before her, the open sea. The sun had set hundreds of lights to shimmering on its surface, rising and rippling with the breeze, all the way towards the clear unbroken horizon. Directly in front, she knew, was France. Beyond Europe was the East-India, Egypt, Persia and the other exotic places she'd heard humming on the lips of the Thames rivermen. Beyond even that was the Far East, the other side of the earth. Watching the vast ocean, the flickering sunlight, thinking of distant lands, Eliza was enveloped by a feeling quite unlike any she'd experienced before. A warmth, a glimpse of possibility, an absence of wariness- She leaned forward and squinted. The horizon was unbroken no more. Something had appeared: a big black ship with full sails, balanced on the line where sea met sky, as if about to slip over the rim of the world. Eliza blinked and when her eyes opened again the ship was gone. It had disappeared; into the distance, she supposed. How swiftly ships must move in the open sea, how strong their wide white sails. That was the sort of ship her father would have sailed upon, she thought.
Eliza allowed her attention to drift skywards. A gull was circling above, calling out, camouflaged against the white sky. She followed its path until something on the cliff top caught her eye. There was a cottage, almost hidden by trees. She could just make out its roof and a funny little window that stuck out on top. She wondered what it would be like to live in such a place, right on the edge of the world like that. Would it always feel as if you were about to topple over and slide into the ocean?
Eliza started as cold water sprayed her face. She looked down at the swirling sea. The tide was coming in, the water rising quickly. The ledge she had first stepped upon was underwater now.
She crawled back along the ridge of the rock and went carefully down, keeping to the deepest edge so she could wrap her fingers around the craggy side.
When she was almost at water level she paused. From this angle she could see that the rock wasn't solid. It was as if someone had carved out a great hole.
A cave, that's what it was. Eliza thought of Mary's Tregenna pirates, their tunnels. That's what this cave was, she was sure of it. Hadn't Mary said the pirates used to traffic their loot through a series of caves that ran beneath the cliffs?
Eliza shimmied around the front of the rock and scrambled onto the flattish platform. She took a few steps inside: it was dark and moist. "h.e.l.lo-o-o-o-o?" she called out. Her voice echoed pleasingly, lapped against the walls before fading to nothing.
She couldn't see far beyond but felt a thrill of excitement. Her very own cave. She would come back here one day, she determined, with a lantern so that she could see what lay inside- A thudding sound, distant but drawing near. Ker-thud, ker-thud, ker-thud Ker-thud, ker-thud, ker-thud...
Eliza's first thought was that it issued from within the cave. Fear glued her feet to the spot, as she wondered what sort of sea monster was coming for her.
Ker-thud, ker-thud, ker-thud...Louder now.
She backed away slowly, started picking her way to the side of the rock.
Then, tearing along the ridge of the cliff, she saw a pair of shiny black horses dragging a carriage behind them. Not a sea monster after all, but Newton and his carriage on the cliff road, the sound amplified as it bounced between the rock walls of the cove.
She remembered Mary's warning. The aunt had gone out for the morning but was expected back for luncheon; Eliza was not to be late.
She clambered along the rock and jumped clear onto the pebbly sh.o.r.e. Ran through the shallow water, then back up the beach. Eliza laced her boots and bounded up the steps. The bottom of her breeches were wet, and the hems slapped heavily against her ankles as she wound her way back along the track between the trees. The sun had shifted since she'd come down to the cove, and now the path was dim and cool. It was like being in a burrow, a secret bramble burrow, home to fairies and goblins and elves. They were hiding, watching her as she tiptoed through their world. She scrutinized the underbrush as she went, tried not to blink, in the hopes she might catch one unawares. For everybody knew, a fairy glimpsed was bound to grant her finder's wishes.
A noise and Eliza froze. Held her breath. In the clearing before her was a man, a real live man. The one with the black beard whom she'd seen from her bedroom window that morning. He was sitting on a log, unwrapping a checked piece of cloth. Inside was a meaty wedge of pastry.
Eliza drew herself to the side of the path and watched him. The tips of tiny naked branches caught the ends of her short hair as she climbed cautiously onto a low bough, all the better to observe. The man had a barrow beside him, full of earth. Or so it seemed. Eliza knew that was a mere ruse, that beneath the earth he had his treasures stored. For he was a pirate king, of course. One of the Tregenna pirates, or the ghost of a Tregenna pirate. An undead seafarer, waiting to take revenge for the deaths of his comrades. A ghost with unfinished business, waiting in his lair to capture little girls to take home for his wife to bake into pies. That was the ship she'd seen out at sea, the big black ship that had disappeared in the blink of an eye. It was a ghost ship, and he- The branch she was perched upon snapped and Eliza tumbled to the ground, landed in a mound of moist leaves.
The bearded man barely moved a muscle. His right eyeball seemed to swivel slightly in Eliza's direction as he continued to chew his pastry.
Eliza stood, rubbed at her knee, then straightened. Pulled a dry leaf from her hair.
"You're the new little lady," he said slowly, masticated pastry turning to glue inside his mouth. "I heard talk you'd come. Though if you don't mind me saying, you don't look much of a lady. What with those lad's clothes and your hair all torn up like that."