The Kissing Garden

by Charlotte Bingham

  With the child wrapped in a rug and half unconscious in her arms, Amelia stole out of the house and back across lawns that were already stiff with frost. A hunting barn owl flew silently out of a tree by the gate as the two hurried by, back through the gateway, up the stone steps cut in the side of the mount and finally at last to the hidden garden, its dark yew hedges seemingly as impenetrable as the walls of a small fortress. Flakes of snow fell on Amelia’s dark hair and brushed her cheeks as she found the entrance and made her way within, where all was quiet and the ground unfrozen.

  For a moment Amelia stood, uncertain as to what to do, until she realized that no snow was falling within the little hidden garden. Everywhere around the rectangle a blizzard fell silently and swiftly from unseen clouds, yet on the dark green turf where they stood not a single flake fell.

  She knelt on the ground, laying her child on the still warm grass, one arm round the sleeping body, while in the four dark walls of the hedge, unseen by her, full blooms of the white rose closed back up into buds as from the darkest part of the hedgerow a black snake with bright emerald green eyes silently emerged to slide secretly towards the mother and her child.

  When it was at her feet the creature reared up, darting an arrowed tongue into the air and hissing the sound of a dry wind sweeping across a desert. All at once it stood up on its tail, straight as a stick, a stick which became a tree whose branches were of golden willow. Night turned to dawn and then midday with a sun high in the heavens, its warmth bathing the hidden garden with a power so profound that the grass grew up round the sleeping girl as the white rose reopened its blooms to drink in the light.

  Now, as suddenly as the sunshine, night fell on a million days, the million nights of the million days that rushed by in the blink of an eye, together making but a brief moment in the span of existence that is the universe. Centuries flew by in a cosmic blur, scattering things known and unknown from the past and the future, and time was all one moment.

  Then the tree became the snake once more, and as the creature slid away the clouds in the night sky closed overhead and the snow began to fall within the hidden garden.

  For one moment, as she awoke, Amelia had no idea where she was or why. She found herself at dead of night standing in the hidden garden, which was fast being blanketed by snow, alone except for Gwendolyn who was lying wrapped in a thick red wool rug asleep on the grass, so fast asleep that Amelia had to put her ear to the child’s face to see whether or not she was still breathing. To her relief she discovered the little girl was warm to her touch and sleeping peacefully. Covering her daughter’s face with the corner of the rug against the snow, Amelia hurried out of the hidden garden and back to the house.

  As soon as she realized that all she had on were her nightclothes, she became freezing cold, where she had been warm. Unsurprised, and with her shoes caked with snow, she picked her way across the lawns. Looking back for a second she saw that there were no tracks running in the opposite direction. She must have been in the Kissing Garden for as long as it had taken for inches of snow to fall. Yet she had no memory of leaving the house.

  I must have gone mad, she said to herself as she pushed the front door open. I must have had a brainstorm and lost all my sense. What in God’s name did I think I was doing?

  No-one heard them come back in, not even Clara, a self-proclaimed light sleeper. As Amelia gently returned the still sleeping Gwendolyn to her bed, she felt only relief that her moment of insanity would go unremarked. The little girl did not even open her eyes as Amelia tucked her back up, simply turning on her side and giving what sounded to Amelia like a contented sigh as she settled back in her bed. Amelia ran the back of her hand as lightly as could be over her daughter’s forehead, but it was as cool as it should be, with no sign of fever.

  Which meant that the colour in her cheeks just might be more than a simple result of the cold night air. Finding herself smiling for no apparent reason, Amelia bent down and kissed her daughter carefully on the temple, brushing back her hair before running her fingers down the little girl’s cheek.

  Having made one last adjustment to Gwendolyn’s bedclothes, Amelia went to the window and drew the curtains tightly before leaving the room. And the tiny insect hiding in her hair crept out onto her shoulder, spread its black gauze wings and flew swiftly and silently out of the landing window and into the new day’s dawn.

  Amelia slept in late for her. Since nowadays George invariably rose before her to put in an hour’s work before breakfast he did not find it even a little odd that Amelia had not come down to join him over coffee and toast. That was the way their life was now, with Amelia sometimes snatching some extra sleep when the house was quiet, particularly if they had both been working hard or, as in this case, enjoying a brief respite from worry.

  When she finally awoke, the first thing Amelia did was hurry to her daughter’s room to see whether or not Gwendolyn was suffering any ill effects from the night’s adventure. She was stopped by Clara at the nursery bedroom door.

  ‘She’s sleeping that peacefully, Mrs Dashwood. I haven’t seen her so quiet in an age, and no sign of a fever or any discomfort at all.’

  Amelia eased the door open to look for herself, and sure enough Gwendolyn was lying fast asleep on her side with her teddy bear beside her on the pillow.

  ‘I think we should leave her to sleep for as long as she feels like it, don’t you, Clara?’ she whispered, closing the bedroom door. ‘She hasn’t slept without waking or wanting something for days now.’

  ‘They do say sleep’s the great healer, don’t they?’ Clara agreed with a nod as she followed Amelia down the corridor. ‘And did you notice what else, Mrs Dashwood?’

  ‘Such as, Clara? What should I have noticed?’

  ‘Her colour. She’s got a lot of her old colour back, bless her.’

  Amelia smiled and looked out on her gardens, which now lay beneath a good six inches of snow, snow that had gone on falling long after their return to the house, removing all traces of her steps from the lawns.

  ‘Give me a call the minute she wakes, Clara,’ she said, turning to go downstairs. ‘I shan’t be far away.’

  For the rest of the morning Amelia kept Peter in her charge so that Clara could be at hand in the nursery when Gwendolyn did finally wake up. George, who knew nothing about the growing feeling of optimism on the nursery floor, worked in his study all morning, joining Amelia for a glass of sherry before lunch. When they had discussed the sudden and dramatic change in the weather, inevitably the talk turned to Gwendolyn.

  ‘She’s slept now without waking for the best part of seventeen hours, George. I mean proper sleep – there’s no need to look anxious. She hasn’t fallen into a coma or anything.’

  ‘Seventeen hours? Are you sure?’

  ‘Perfectly. She’s sleeping the way only a child can. And wait till you see her – she even has some colour back in her cheeks.’

  ‘Perhaps Edward’s funny old diet is working after all. Although I don’t think it is all that funny really. It makes a lot of sense when you think about it. There’s an enormous amount of goodness in liver and green vegetables.’

  ‘I don’t know what it is,’ Amelia replied carefully, even though she had more than a slight suspicion. ‘And it’s still early days, so although I am more hopeful it’s only guarded. Very guarded, in fact.’

  ‘Can I go up and see her, do you think?’

  ‘Of course. But whatever you do don’t wake her.’

  They let her sleep right through until mid-afternoon. Indeed Amelia would have let her go on sleeping if George had not become quite so worried.

  ‘I really don’t think she should sleep this long, Amelia,’ he said, shaking his head in concern as he paced the drawing room floor. ‘It really isn’t natural.’

  ‘Perhaps if I telephoned Edward,’ Amelia suggested. ‘Just in case.’

  ‘Yes. Edward will know well enough how long a child’s meant to sleep. Go ahead.’

  ‘You
think she’s dying, don’t you, George?’ Amelia asked him, telephone receiver in hand. ‘And I know she isn’t.’

  ‘How do you know?’ George groaned. ‘You’re her mother, dearest girl. Not a doctor.’

  ‘And that’s exactly why I know she isn’t dying, George,’ Amelia replied, beginning to dial the doctor’s number. ‘Because I’m her mother.’

  ‘All I know is that Dr McAllister said—’ George stopped and closed his eyes, putting a hand to his mouth. ‘It doesn’t matter what McAllister said. Just speak to Edward, will you?’

  Having assured Amelia on the telephone that there was nothing to get anxious about as long as they were sure the child was just sleeping, none the less Edward called round shortly after tea, as he was finishing his rounds.

  By now even Amelia was becoming anxious, since, according to Clara, Gwendolyn had barely stirred at all since morning. Yet whenever any of them went to check on her condition the child seemed to be sleeping deeply and without distress, breathing regularly, not tossing or turning. At one point during the vigil George consulted a medical encyclopedia in order to find out how much sleep a person could take, and was comforted to discover several case histories where the victims of deep shock slept uninterrupted for two or three days at a time, particularly young children.

  ‘There was a case in Italy not so long ago after a volcanic explosion where a child the same age as Gwennie was pulled alive out of the debris where she’d been buried for three days,’ Edward informed them after he had taken an initial look at the patient and announced that he was of the same opinion as Amelia. ‘The doctors never thought the child would survive the shock she must have suffered, particularly when she fell into what they assumed was a coma for nearly four days. Whereupon blow me, suddenly up she sat, rubbed her eyes and asked for her parents – both of whom, as luck would have it, were still alive.’

  ‘What would happen, do you think, if we tried to wake her?’

  ‘Funnily enough this report covered that very aspect, old chap. The Italian MOs wondered the very same thing, but fortunately as it happened none of them tried. Just as well, it seems, because when some boffin arrived from Milan to see the child, chap whose main study was the effect of sleep and comas, he said that if anyone had tried to wake the child she could jolly well have died from the shock of it. So there you are. Let sleeping dogs – and in this case children – lie, obviously. Eh?’

  ‘I agree.’ Amelia nodded. ‘Who knows what our bodies can do? Or our minds?’

  ‘Who indeed,’ Edward echoed.

  ‘But you have to admit, it really is most peculiar. I mean – why? Why in heaven’s name should Gwennie sleep like this? Since she’s been ill, as you know, Edward, she’s been sleeping more and more badly. Recently the longest she’s slept has been about four or five hours. So why this change, do you think?’

  ‘I have no idea, old boy.’

  ‘Amelia? Have you any idea?’

  Amelia looked up at him and shook her head. ‘No, George, I have no idea at all. Not one that makes any sense, certainly.’ And before George could ask her more, which to judge from the expression on his face he was just about to do, she excused herself and, wrapping herself up warmly, took herself out into the wintry landscape to try to make some sense of it herself.

  ‘Won’t she want something to eat?’ Peter enquired as he sat with his parents before bedtime. ‘I couldn’t go that long without having something to eat.’

  ‘You can’t eat in your sleep, Peter,’ George replied, smiling at his son.

  ‘I could.’

  ‘Yes, I imagine you could,’ Amelia agreed. ‘I expect you could eat under water.’

  ‘Don’t try that though, will you?’

  ‘No, Daddy.’ Peter frowned and thought for a moment. ‘How long do you think Gwennie will sleep for, Mummy? I hope she doesn’t sleep as long as Rip Van Winkle.’

  ‘She won’t, darling,’ Amelia told him. ‘Gwennie’s not going to sleep for ever.’

  ‘I hope you’re right,’ George said quietly.

  ‘Yes. So do I.’

  Amelia was convinced she woke up the moment Gwendolyn did. Even before she got out of bed to turn on the light in the room she was sharing with her daughter, she knew Gwendolyn had come to, and sure enough there she was, sitting up in her bed, yawning profoundly and rubbing her eyes, tousle-haired and pink in the cheeks and looking better than Amelia had seen her since she had become so obviously ill.

  ‘Well, well,’ she said softly, sitting on her daughter’s bed and giving her a hug. ‘What a long zizz. You all right?’

  Gwendolyn stared at her mother, then behind her at what was after all her brother’s bed.

  ‘Why you sleeping here, Mummy?’

  ‘Just to make sure you were all right, darling. You haven’t been very well, if you remember.’

  Gwendolyn thought for a moment.

  ‘Haven’t I?’

  ‘Not really. Don’t you remember?’

  ‘Sort of.’ Gwendolyn yawned again, deeply and luxuriously, as only those who have slept well for an age can. ‘I’m thirsty, Mummy. Can I have a drink?’

  ‘Of course. There’s some all ready for you. For the moment you woke up.’ Amelia got up and fetched the jug of fresh squash that she had asked Clara to prepare. ‘How are you feeling, sweetheart?’

  ‘I feel fine, Mummy,’ Gwendolyn replied, taking the proffered glass and holding it two-handed. ‘Much better for sleeping.’

  ‘Do you remember how you felt before?’

  ‘Sort of. I was a bit tired.’

  ‘That’s right. And now?’

  The little girl frowned deeply, wrinkling her nose. ‘I don’t feel tired any more. Can I have a biscuit?’

  Amelia got up again and fetched a plate covered with a napkin from the top of the chest of drawers. Just then Clara appeared at the nursery door, doing up her dressing gown.

  ‘Oh,’ she said with delight. ‘We’re awake, are we? My, that is a sight for sore eyes.’

  ‘Nanny – I just want one moment, if you don’t mind,’ Amelia said, turning her back on Gwendolyn and dropping her voice. ‘She seems absolutely fine, but I just want a moment.’

  ‘Of course, Mrs Dashwood,’ Clara agreed, going back out. ‘I’ll be right here on the other side.’ She closed the door.

  ‘Do you remember anything else about being unwell, Gwennie?’ Amelia whispered, sitting on her daughter’s bed. ‘Anything funny? Or unusual? Anything say that happened just before you had that great long sleep?’

  Again Gwendolyn pulled a little face and shrugged. ‘No,’ she said happily through a mouthful of biscuit.

  ‘Nothing at all. Really?’

  ‘Yes. Nothing at all. These biscuits are soft.’

  ‘That’s because they’ve been up here for—’ Amelia stopped herself just in time. ‘I’ll bring you up some new ones. Those ones must have come from the bottom of Nanny’s tin.’

  ‘Can I come downstairs, Mummy?’

  ‘What? At midnight?’ Amelia laughed, and tousled her daughter’s dark hair. ‘No you most certainly cannot, young lady.’

  ‘I’m not tired.’

  ‘I’m very glad to hear it. How’s your horrid headache? Has it gone?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘Tummy all right? And those beastly aches and pains?’

  ‘All gone. Please please can I come downstairs?’

  ‘No, darling. But tell you what – you can come and sit in Mummy and Daddy’s bed.’ Amelia lifted up her daughter and hugged her to her, careful not to make too much fuss. ‘As soon as Nanny’s put you into some fresh night things, I’ll have her bring you along the corridor straight away.’

  ‘Can I sleep there all night, Mummy?’

  ‘If you’re good.’ Amelia smiled. ‘And don’t snore.’

  * * *

  With Edward Lydford in constant attendance the three of them carefully monitored Gwendolyn’s state of health over the next weeks, all the time looking for the slighte
st sign of relapse, but by the time winter was at last in retreat and the March winds began to herald the advent of spring Gwendolyn was apparently so much better it was if she had never been ill. To all intents and purposes she was the same healthy and happy little girl she had been before she had first become sick, full of energy and fun.

  She had in fact recovered so quickly that she had been able to enjoy the second heavy snowfall of winter which arrived in mid-January. In the glorious winter sunshine which followed hard on the blizzards she was busy building snowmen with her brother and tobogganing on a tin tray down the sides of the long garden banks.

  ‘How will we know?’ George had cautiously asked Edward that day as with Amelia they stood watching the children putting the finishing touches to their snowman. ‘How will we ever know if she really has recovered? Isn’t it true that those who suffer these sorts of illnesses often have periods when they seem to be perfectly all right, only for the sickness to strike again?’

  ‘Yes and no, old boy.’ Edward paused while ferreting for his pipe in a coat pocket. ‘Things can come and go, certainly. But then, on the other hand, sometimes things can go altogether.’

  ‘Alternatively she might have been misdiagnosed,’ Amelia said, even though she did not actually believe it. ‘It is possible, Edward, isn’t it? For even the best doctors and specialists to get things wrong?’

  ‘Absolutely, old girl. Happens every day of the week somewhere or other. Particularly, I have to say, with kids. They can’t tell you as much as we old fogeys, you see. Particularly the nippers. So a lot of it, while not guesswork exactly, just ain’t exact, do you see? One does wear a blindfold over one eye much of the time, if you like.’

  ‘When I see how well Gwennie is now, Edward,’ George said, wiping the condensation off the inside of the French door with the back of a hand, ‘how much energy she has, and the way her appetite has returned, I have to believe she’s well again. By that I mean completely well.’