The Dead Queen's Garden

by Nicola Slade

  She looked him straight in the eye. ‘Yes, Dr Perry. There can be no other explanation.’

  As a widow, albeit a young one, Charlotte was permitted to make long visits to the Abbey unchaperoned and untrammelled by the proprieties. After the first dreadful hours, which she had spent on the sofa in Oz’s bedroom, Charlotte deemed the stricken household able to cope with her absence and she stepped thankfully into the Brambrook carriage which was turned out for her next morning.

  First there was Gran to be comforted. ‘Oh my dear child,’ Lady Frampton kept repeating the words over and over, unable to say any more as tears ran down her round red face. ‘You could have been killed, dearie,’ she managed in the end. ‘Thank God it wasn’t you what tumbled off the tower, that’s all I can say.’

  After a few further broken words of thanks to Barnard and a surprisingly warm and tearful embrace from Lily, Charlotte made her way upstairs to see Sibella who had been packed off to bed the night before, but now professed herself quite fit and ready to go downstairs later.

  Their greeting was warm but subdued. The moments of utter terror that they had shared formed a bond between them and Charlotte was aware of a sense of friendship, something to explore when all this was behind them. She was conscious also that Sibella already seemed less bowed down now by her situation and the reason was soon forthcoming.

  ‘Only to you, dear Charlotte,’ she whispered, clasping the other girl’s hand. ‘Only to you can I admit to this feeling of relief, even though I feel guilty at the thought. I’d made a life for myself and managed well until Verena discovered my secret. Since then the burden has been intolerable, but I know now there is no chance of Lord Granville and – and Osbert, discovering the truth, for I can trust you with my life.’

  They drank the tea Lily had thoughtfully sent up and agreed, almost without a word spoken, that the events of the previous evening should never be mentioned to another living soul; Charlotte kissed her new friend and went to her own room.

  Refreshed by a few hours’ sleep, and after some discussion with Lily and Barnard, Charlotte returned briefly to Brambrook where she sought out Lord Granville.

  ‘Barnard wishes me to give you this note,’ she told him. ‘He asks, most pressingly, that you and Oz should come back with me to Finchbourne Manor for a few days. He and Lily feel it would spare him the initial strangeness and sadness of his home and that you and he might find it more comfortable to be with friends.’

  Lord Granville fell upon this idea, a wistful look on his usually rubicund face, but he could only accept on his son’s behalf, and not his own. With robust good sense he roused himself and nodded agreement to all her stratagems, saying:

  ‘Well, poor lad, that’s a good plan, let him be free of all this for now. I thank your brother for his kindness, indeed I do, most generous of him and his lady, but I’ll be better seeing to it all here. But aye, keep the sadness right away from the lad, d’ye see? You’ll bring him here for the funeral, of course? That’s good, that’s right and after that, I think I might take him up to London for a spell, get him away from these sad associations, what?’ He frowned as a sudden thought struck him. ‘Trouble is, my dear, that tutor of his has taken it upon himself to go and get married, so I’ll have no-one to keep an eye on the boy. Take some thinking about, hey?’

  Charlotte was inspired. ‘I wonder, Lord Granville,’ she suggested with a diffident smile. ‘I wonder if it might be better for Oz to have a governess for a while? I’m sure your housekeeper would prove a splendid chaperone and it would just be a temporary arrangement, of course. A woman’s company might help to soften the blow, and I think a puppy would be a comfort too.’

  He turned to her in astonishment. ‘Is there no end to your usefulness, my dear Charlotte, hey?’ He chuckled, then remembered hastily that levity was out of place, and took her hand in his own. ‘What a capital notion, why that’s just the thing, a pup and the woman’s touch, hey? But where are we to find such a lady at this short notice? Dare I hope that you would do it my dear?’

  ‘I’m afraid Barnard wouldn’t allow that,’ Charlotte shook her head, gently withdrawing her hand. ‘There is someone on our very doorstep, however. Miss Armstrong is without a situation at present, which is why she was at liberty to come to Winchester with her late sister. I am sure she would be happy to consent to help. She and Oz are already acquainted and having had a brother of her own, Miss Armstrong is well able to manage a boy and enter into his interests and pursuits. I’m sure they would deal delightfully.’

  ‘I have acted as deus ex machina, Elaine,’ Charlotte said airily. ‘I have delivered the mother to be companion and I hope, trusted friend, to the son. Lord Granville’s eyes nearly popped out of his head but I was all innocence and explained that Sibella is now alone in the world and urgently in need of employment. He took a turn or two around the room as he harrumphed a little and peered at me from under his brows, and then he agreed with my suggestion without a murmur. I believe Miss Nightingale has it right and his disposition is sanguine enough to dismiss the old story and march on with the new. Sibella is willing, so who knows? Propinquity, combined with the former affection, may do its work and as soon as it is decent, Oz may have a stepmother who is more closely related to him than he or his father will ever know.’ A thought struck her. ‘Speaking of Miss Nightingale, I must write to decline her flattering offer once and for all, and I shan’t now be recommending Sibella to her.’

  ‘How do you do it, Char?’ Elaine Knightley had received her friend in her room, too frail to undergo the ordeal of being dressed and carried downstairs after the illness of the past few days. Her voice was weak but she was bearing up surprisingly well.

  ‘You seem to be a magnet, attracting desperate characters and untimely accidents; only recollect our visit to Bath last summer. No,’ she smiled slightly. ‘I absolve you this time, you could not help becoming embroiled in Lady Granville’s drastic attempts to maintain her secret, and I am only too thankful to know you and the young boy are safe. As for your prediction, I’m sure you’re right. His lordship is by nature a cheerful man who likes his comforts and I suspect Miss Armstrong will keep him from straying, so they will settle down to a happy family life.

  ‘It seems beyond belief that he knew nothing of Sibella’s pregnancy or his wife’s lack of one,’ she smiled with a flash of her old impishness. ‘But my experience of men is that they are the most unobservant of creatures, to which we may add that the Granvilles met infrequently in those days, though as you say, her ladyship, poor woman, seems to have been certain that they had encountered each other at least once somewhere near the appropriate date.’

  She glanced at Charlotte’s pale, drawn face and settled herself comfortably to distracting her visitor, her own needs typically set aside. ‘Are you at liberty to give me any details, Char? You know I will be as silent as the grave.’

  At Charlotte’s gasp, Elaine gave the ghost of her mischievous grin. ‘Oh my dear, I beg your pardon, but you must allow me a few moments of amusement, however inappropriate. Don’t be afraid, I’ll compose myself now and indulge in no further shocking behaviour.’ She held out a hand. ‘There now, am I forgiven? Then tell me all the details that must otherwise be concealed for ever, beginning with why in the world Lady Granville and Miss Armstrong were up on the tower on such a winter’s night?’

  Charlotte squeezed her hand and laughed. ‘You’re incorrigible,’ she said, and they both ignored the sob in her voice as she continued, ‘I managed to have a private conversation this morning with Sibella and we routed out all the secrets and, as you say, agreed that the subject must never again be mentioned.’

  ‘I told you, did I not, that the Granvilles were very kind to us all?’ Sibella had begun, as they took refuge in Charlotte’s room at the manor, knowing that Oz was recovering sufficiently from his shock and grief to go for a ride with Barnard.

  ‘My brother was received almost as a son, so great was their affection and trust in him, which was wha
t made his behaviour such a betrayal.’ She bit her lip. ‘What I did not mention earlier was that Lord Granville paid me particular attentions. I was lonely and his kindness made my misery less dreary, so that gradually we slipped into an affair that would have grieved my parents, though I did feel a sincere affection for his lordship and, I believe, his feeling for me was similarly warm.’

  She bowed her head for a moment and Charlotte silently refilled her glass. ‘I had no idea that I was with child until the day after my brother’s treachery was discovered, when I called on Lady Granville to see whether she knew of Edward’s whereabouts. All I knew was that he had left town in a great hurry, leaving no forwarding address and not even a note of explanation to me.

  ‘Lady Granville received me very angrily and regaled me with the whole history of Edward’s perfidy, and I was so shocked by the discovery that I fainted. Her maid was summoned and finding me in a sad state, made some very personal enquiries. In the end Lady Granville came to me and told me that they believed I was with child and that, from her own observations, the father of the child was none other than her own husband.’

  She raised tear-drenched blue eyes to Charlotte, who took her hand in a warm, companionable clasp. ‘You can imagine my sentiments. I was mortified and frightened and so ashamed but Lady Granville, having left me to recover for an hour or so, became brisk and informed me that if I consented to do exactly as she ordered, nobody would ever know of my shame. Situated as I was, I had no option but to obey so shortly afterwards I was sent down to Bournemouth, to a small house she had taken. In my ignorance I was already well into my fifth month, so Lady Granville told her husband that she was once again with child and had concealed the news until she felt that this time she had some confidence of reaching term. In due course she arrived to take up residence in Bournemouth.

  ‘When I was confined I was allowed a month to recover then I was taken to France by Miss Cole who had lately joined the household. I was placed in an impoverished but noble household, to teach English to the children, while improving my own French. I believe Miss Cole was empowered by her employer, to whom she was distantly related, to pay my way for six months, after which time I found further employment in France.’

  ‘So Miss Cole actually knew you?’ Charlotte was intrigued. ‘But there, Lady Granville said as much up there on – on the battlements. It was Miss Cole who recognised you and heard that you were to attend little Algy’s christening, that she told Lady Granville, who then decided to make away with you. It’s the most fantastic tale.’

  ‘I know,’ Sibella looked brighter, clearly relieved by her confession and in finding only sympathy and friendship from Charlotte. ‘But we both heard her say it, didn’t we – that she knew the centrepiece of the party was to be the Finchbourne wassail brew. And that gave her the idea that it might prove the way to – to dispose of me. Her plans were thwarted when my sister drank the cup that was intended for me.’

  ‘So there you are, dearest Elaine.’ Charlotte sat back with a sigh of relief. ‘I believe Lady Granville succumbed to a moment’s temptation when she pushed at Sibella in the church doorway, though she cannot have hoped it would end with more than a broken leg, but she recovered quickly and pulled the wool over everyone’s eyes.’

  ‘And this morning was that other poor young woman’s funeral?’

  Charlotte nodded. ‘Verena? Yes, it was simpler to bury her in the churchyard here in Finchbourne and her husband made no difficulty. In fact, I think he was quite touched. It was very quiet, of course, but Percy conducted the service beautifully and Sibella was glad to be amongst friends.’ She shook her head. ‘Oh, I didn’t tell you, did I? Melicent, poor soul, was carried home that night in a shocking state, suffering from severe chills and after a day of high fever has no recollection whatsoever of how she came to be found half way up the ruined tower.’ She shrugged. ‘I told everyone that she’d been invited to join Lady Granville and Sibella but had slipped on the stairs. It was easy enough to persuade Melicent herself of this, as it chimed so well with what she wanted to believe. As for the dreadful accident, I told the truth: that Lady Granville was afraid of the cat and backed away from it, obviously forgetting that there was a break in the battlements just there.’

  She gave a wry smile, slightly shamefaced. ‘Sibella is proving kind as well as sensible and made no difficulty about putting out this version of the proceedings so Melicent is able to feel herself something of a heroine, though I did have a few awkward moments when she asked how her leg had become detached from its harness.’

  ‘I’m glad,’ was all Elaine said, then she reached out a frail and languid hand to the small table at her side. ‘I must not forget, my dear, here is your birthday present. I want you to take it now, rather than wait until Saturday. I might not be here to give it to you then.’

  Charlotte’s gasp rang out in the sudden stillness of the room and she put out her hand in an involuntary gesture of protest. ‘No, no….’ The cry was bitten off abruptly and she raised her head to look her dearest friend in the eye.

  Elaine took the younger girl’s shaking hand and cradled it in her own slender, wasted ones. ‘Thank you, dearest Char,’ she whispered and when Charlotte looked up again, a question in the hazel eyes that were swimming with tears, Elaine nodded. ‘Why thanks? For letting me be honest with you,’ she answered. ‘For allowing me, just this once, to share the knowledge with you that I am truly dying. Kit cannot bear to speak of it or even to think of it and for his sake, even now, I go along with his wishes. But you have been so much my friend – my sister, my child – all of these things, and I’m glad that it should be you who shares with me this last gift. The gift of honesty.’

  With a slight shake of her head, Elaine changed the subject and urged Charlotte to open the parcel she indicated on the side table. ‘Come along, Char, let me see how you like it.’

  With fingers that shook, Charlotte untied the silver ribbon and unwrapped the complete works of Miss Jane Austen. The books were not new and inside each cover was the inscription: ‘To my dearest Elaine on her 17th birthday, from her loving Mother.’ Below this, Elaine had written her own message: ‘For my dear Charlotte, with love and gratitude for friendship so generously given.’

  ‘Yes,’ Elaine would brook no argument. ‘Take them, Char. My mother gave the books to me because she had loved them so and I’ve loved them dearly in my turn. It gives me great happiness to know that they are safe in your hands and that you will cherish them too.’

  New Year’s Eve, 1858.

  The afternoon

  CHARLOTTE AND Lady Frampton had been back at Rowan Lodge for a day when the summons to Knightley Hall came in the middle of Friday afternoon. She could barely speak in acknowledgment of the butler’s tearful greeting, so sore was her distress and the effort to maintain her composure. With a nod she followed him up the wide Jacobean staircase and along the oak-panelled landing to where Jackson, Elaine’s maid, was in urgent conversation with one of the other servants.

  ‘You bring up the Madeira this instant,’ Jackson was sternly issuing orders. ‘And plenty of glasses. Madam….’ Her voice cracked for an instant but a ferocious scowl helped her resume command of herself. ‘Madam frets that the master won’t leave her bedside and the doctor is expected to call soon, so to make sure she’ll rest easy I want you bring up wine and cakes and tea, as well. Bring it every hour, on the hour, come what may. I won’t have her upset for a single moment….’ She turned at Charlotte’s trembling approach.

  ‘Ah, Miss Char, Mrs Richmond I should say.’ An imperious wave dismissed the waiting servant, whose face was blubbered with tears as she hastened to do Jackson’s bidding. ‘Come right in at once, Miss Char, she’s that anxious to see you.’ The woman bit back a sob and added, in a whisper, ‘The doctor has been giving her morphia for the pain, my dear, so she keeps drifting off to sleep. Best thing for her, and I know you’ll sit quietly with her.’

  Elaine’s bedroom was painted in delicate pastel sha
des and filled with flowers sent in by sympathetic neighbours. Charlotte’s face quivered at the sight. Elaine was so passionately fond of flowers so Charlotte had tied ribbon round some of the stalks of lavender she had dried in the summer and kept in a vase in her own room. A fire burned brightly in the grate and the room was warm and welcoming, with no hint of the desolation that hovered at hand.

  Kit Knightley sat in a chair close beside the bed, his wife’s hand lying in his own and his head bent. He looked defeated, more than ten years older, and Charlotte felt her courage fail. If Kit could despair so, all must indeed be lost. At Charlotte’s quiet approach, urged thereto by Jackson, Elaine’s beloved old nurse and now her personal maid, the frail woman in the bed turned her head very slightly and summoned up the ghost of a smile.

  ‘Char?’ It was a whisper, no more. Charlotte could tell only too clearly how great was any effort at speech and she knelt beside her friend, holding back the anguished tears that smarted behind her eyelids. Kit Knightley raised a ravaged, grieving face but it was plain that he could not trust himself to speak.

  ‘Dearest Elaine.’ Charlotte took the thin, beautiful fingers in her own warm, sturdy clasp then she laid her head for just a moment on the pillow beside that of her friend. ‘Don’t try to talk, just let me stay here with you for a while, quite quietly.’

  ‘Need to tell you….’ Elaine ignored the younger girl’s whispered words and struggled to speak, gasping on every breath and frowning at Kit and her nurse as they tried to intervene. She lay back against her pillows but with the desperate courage that was such a feature of her character, she continued, ‘Dearest Char, so much love.…’ Charlotte’s tears were falling now, unheeded and unchecked, as she laid the tiny spray of lavender, the scent still discernible, in Elaine’s hand and bent to kiss her delicate cheek. The dying woman gave a faint, loving smile in acknowledgement. ‘Your birthday tomorrow, dearest…. Be happy. You shall have my most precious gift by and by….’