The Last Camellia: A Novel

by Sarah Jio

  I nodded to myself. “Yes, it is,” I said quietly.

  After I hung up, I decided to do more exploring in the house. Wednesday was the one day of the week when Mrs. Dilloway went into town. Mrs. Klein had said it was to get her hair done, but if you asked Mrs. Dilloway, she wouldn’t admit it. In any case, I knew her absence was the only way I could poke about the house undetected. Since the first day, when I’d noticed her slipping into a room upstairs, I’d been eager to have a look myself.

  After the car pulled out of the driveway, I walked up to the third floor, being sure that no one was following. The only other person at the manor that day that I knew of was John, a village boy Mrs. Dilloway had hired to trim the front hedges. The buzz of the electric trimmer hummed in the distance.

  At the top of the stairs, I looked around. Mrs. Dilloway was right, there wasn’t anything remarkable about this floor, except perhaps the closer view it provided of the mural on the domed ceiling. I squinted to make out the cherubs fluttering about the garden scene painted above. Up close, I could see the cobwebs that congregated along the edges. I walked toward a door ahead and turned the knob. Locked. I gave the door a push, hoping that the lock might be so old it would give way, but it didn’t yield. I sighed, sinking down onto the carpet, tucking my knees against my chest.

  I studied the print on the weave, worn and tattered from years of use. Surely my mother-in-law would be removing it soon. “Ghastly,” she’d call it. I wondered if there was hardwood below. I peeled back the carpet to find gleaming wood floors, which is when I noticed the glimmer of metal. I leaned in closer, picking up a small brass key. No, it couldn’t be. I stood up, quickly inserting it into the old lock. It stuck, but I jiggled it gently, and in an instant, the knob turned. I gasped, pulling the door open.

  I took a cautious step inside, marveling at the sight before me. A vast conservatory awaited, or what once was a conservatory. Sunlight beamed through the enormous glass roof. I realized that its position at the center of the house precluded its visibility from below. In awe, my heart beating wildly, I lingered in an arbor covered with bright pink bougainvillea, with a trunk so thick, it was larger than my waist. Most of it had died off, but a single healthy vine remained, and it burst with magenta blossoms. I could smell citrus warming in the sunlight, and I immediately noticed the source: an old potted lemon tree in the far corner. This must have been Lady Anna’s.

  I walked along the leaf-strewn pathway to a table that had clearly once showcased dozens of orchids. Now it was an orchid graveyard. Only their brown, shriveled stems remained, but I could imagine how they’d looked in their prime. I smiled when I picked up a tag from one of the pots. Lady Fiona Bixby. She must have given them her own names. Perhaps there hadn’t been anything sinister going on in the orchard, after all. Lady Anna was clearly a creative spirit, and maybe that played out in her gardens and the names she gave to her flowers and trees.

  I sat down on a bench by the window and thought about Flora, the nanny. Had she been here too? Did she love this place as much as Lady Anna? I picked up an old trowel, rusted at the edge. It triggered a memory I wished I could forget. I closed my eyes tightly, trying unsuccessfully to will it away.

  Fifteen Years Prior

  Jean glanced at the clock on the wall. “Is it already six? I’m late for my meeting.” She turned to me. “Honey, there’s a can of SpaghettiOs in the cupboard. Can you heat it up for Miles and you?”

  “Aren’t you forgetting someone?” Sean said, annoyed. “Last I checked, the government sends you a nice fat check on my behalf each month.”

  She scowled. “And most of it went to fix the wall you scorched last week.” She looked at me. “Keep an eye on Miles. I’ll be back by eight.”

  I stared ahead, frozen, as she bustled out the door.

  “AA,” Sean said. “She never misses a meeting; been sober for a year, at least that’s what she wants everyone to believe.” He walked to the kitchen and reached above a cabinet, pulling out a bottle of liquor. He unscrewed the cap and took a swig before offering it to me.

  I shook my head, frightened.

  “Go on, have some,” he said. “It’ll loosen you up.”

  “No,” I said quickly.

  Sean turned to the little boy in front of the TV. “Should we spike his bottle?”

  I gasped, shocked he would suggest such a thing.

  “I did that once at another home, to this little kid in Queens,” he said with a laugh. “It was hilarious.”

  “That’s awful,” I said.

  “All right, Goody Two-shoes.” He took another swig from the bottle, before screwing the cap back on and returning it to the top of the cabinet.

  I walked to the living room and sat beside little Miles. He turned to look up at me cautiously.

  “I’m Amanda,” I said to him.

  He smiled shyly and handed me his headless bear.

  “I bet we can fix this,” I said. “Do you know where the . . . head is?”

  The child pointed toward the fire escape near the kitchen. I nodded and walked over to it, peering out the open window. There, near a scraggly potted rosebush, the bear’s head lay on the metal grating, facedown. I picked it up, stopping briefly to admire a single blossom, deep orange, the color of a sunset. I touched the rose gently, looking out at the city around me. Horns honked, neon signs flashed. I clutched the railing and froze when I heard movement behind me. I noticed a rusty garden trowel, and I picked it up, instinctively.

  “Hey, don’t be so scared,” Sean said. I felt his hot hand on the small of my back. “What, did you think I was going to push you over the edge?” He reached out to pluck the orange rose. “You like flowers?” he asked. I cringed. Such a waste. “Ouch!” he cried. “This damn thing got me.” He held out his hand, displaying a few drops of fresh blood, before dropping the rose and wedging the heel of his boot against the delicate petals.

  I shook off the memory, trying so hard to focus on the beauty in front of me and let it outshine the ugliness of the past. I walked over to a potted tree near the arbor, plucking a tiny orange fruit from its branch. I smiled. Kumquats, of course. I took a bite, letting the tart juice enliven my senses, which is when I heard the door opening behind me. And footsteps. I clutched the old trowel and braced myself.

  CHAPTER 14

  Flora

  My heart beat wildly in my chest as I stared at the familiar face in the dim light. “What are you doing here?” I asked nervously. I didn’t expect to see him again, and there he stood, looking handsome in a gray suit while I stood on the stairs in my nightclothes.

  “I live here,” Desmond said, smiling up at me.

  “What do you mean, you live here?”

  “This is my home,” he said. “Well, my family’s home.” He shook his head, confused. “But you told me—”

  “I’m terribly sorry,” I said, cinching my robe tighter around my waist. “I wasn’t honest with you.” I felt flustered and hot as the words escaped my lips. “There is no job at the London Conservatory. The simple fact of the matter is that I am here as a nanny.” I bit my lip. “I understand you’ll want me to leave at once.” My stomach churned. How can I explain myself, my lie, without confessing the real reason I’m at the manor?

  “Please,” he said, reaching for my hand. “What are you talking about? Leaving? I won’t hear of it. You didn’t want me to know you were going to be in service. I understand. Everybody has an angle; no harm done.”

  “An angle?” I said, withdrawing my hand.

  “Yes,” he replied. “Not one of us is perfect.”

  “Well if you’re implying that I’m—”

  “I’m not implying anything.” He took a step closer. I took a step back.

  “It’s funny,” he continued. “I worried I’d never see you again, and here you turn up in my home, in your nightgown.” He grinned, extending his hand ag
ain. “Listen, can we start over? Hello, I’m Desmond Livingston.”

  I returned his smile, cautiously. “Hi, I’m Flora,” I said. “Flora Lewis.”

  April 15, 1940

  “Someone’s sleepy?” Mr. Humphrey teased at breakfast the next morning.

  “Sorry,” I said, trying my best to stifle another yawn. “I’m still having trouble adjusting to European time.” I didn’t say, of course, that I’d stayed up until after midnight talking to Desmond in the drawing room.

  Mr. Humphrey stood up and pulled his napkin from his lap. “Well, I need to be off. Driving his Lordship into town today.”

  “Oh?” Mrs. Dilloway said. “What is he doing in town?”

  The chauffeur looked at me and then back at Mrs. Dilloway. “I don’t keep his schedule, ma’am,” he said cryptically. “He pays me to do the driving, not the asking.”

  “Oh, Mr. Humphrey,” I said, reaching into my dress pocket, where I pulled out the letter I’d written to my parents. “If there’s a chance you’ll pass a post office, would you mind taking this in?” I gave him a few coins for postage. “Here, this should cover it.”

  “Of course,” he said, stuffing it into his shirt pocket.

  “Thank you.”

  “How are you getting on here, Miss Lewis?” Mr. Beardsley asked from the head of the table, where he alternately ate breakfast and attended to an open notebook before him.

  “Just fine, sir,” I said. “It’s quite a house.”

  “It is,” he agreed, making a mark in the notebook, without looking up.

  “It’s just that, sir, I wondered if I could take the children out to the gardens today—after their lessons, of course.”

  Mr. Beardsley looked up at Mrs. Dilloway, then at me. “The gardens?”

  “Yes,” I said. “I’d love to see them, and the children seem so cooped up in the house. I’d like to take them on a walk. To the camellia orchard, if I may.”

  “I wouldn’t advise it,” Mr. Beardsley said quickly.

  “But, sir,” I pleaded. “I promise not to keep them out long. Surely his Lordship wouldn’t mind a supervised walk?”

  “Well,” he said, closing his notebook and turning to look at me again, “don’t stray too far. The orchard is very large, and when the fog rolls through . . . well, it isn’t an ideal place for children.”

  “We’ll be careful,” I said. “I promise.”

  “And be sure you return home by two, when Mr. Humphrey will have his Lordship home,” Mr. Beardsley added.

  “Yes, sir,” I said.

  While the children ate breakfast, I watched as Katherine stabbed her scrambled eggs with calculating precision and a heavy heart. I knew it was going to take much time and patience to understand her secrets, her sadness.

  “Children,” I said, breaking the morning silence, “after your lessons this morning, how would you like to go out to the gardens with me, to explore?” Desmond had left that morning to attend to business in town, and for whatever reason, he wanted to keep his visit to the house a secret, one I’d promised to keep.

  Abbott sat up higher in his chair. “Really? Can we?”

  Nicholas made a swinging motion as if he held a sword in his hand. “I’ll protect us from the evil spirits.”

  Abbott elbowed him. “You ninny.”

  “Me too?” Janie said, attempting to crawl up onto the table. I scooped her into my arms and planted a kiss on her cheek. “You too, Miss Janie.”

  Katherine looked up at me and smirked. “You do know that Father will dismiss you if he finds out that you suggested such a—”

  “What?” I sparred back. “If I suggest that you children get a little fresh air? Rubbish! Children need to be outdoors! I don’t see anything wrong with taking a walk to the orchard. Besides, Mrs. Dilloway and Mr. Beardsley gave their permission.”

  “They did?” Katherine asked.

  “Indeed,” I said, nestling Janie back in her seat and turning back to Katherine. “So, will you join us?” I smiled when her eyes met mine. “That is, if you’re not too busy.”

  She shrugged.

  “All right, then, it’s settled,” I said, standing up. “Janie and I will spend the rest of the morning in the nursery. We’ll meet you all there at eleven, and we can walk out to the terrace together.”

  Janie’s eyes got heavy at half past nine, and while she dozed in her bed, I decided to tidy the nursery. First, I realigned the train tracks, mending the bridge that Nicholas had fussed over the day before. He’d be glad to see it in working order. I folded the doll clothes in a neat stack and tucked them into the little white bureau near the dollhouse. Abbott’s comic books got a proper sorting too; I organized them by type, then walked to the bookshelf to tuck them away. I climbed up onto the ladder so I could see the upper shelf. It had looked empty from below, but upon closer inspection, I noticed a small cedar box pushed back into the corner of the shelf. I reached up to collect it, marveling at the thick layer of dust that Mrs. Dilloway would have been embarrassed to know she’d missed. I climbed down the ladder and knelt down on the floor to inspect the contents of the box. I lifted the lid. Inside was an envelope addressed to Desmond in swirly feminine handwriting. I eyed the return address: Vivien Wainwright. Who is she? As much as I wanted to lift the flap of the envelope and inspect the contents, I willed myself to set it back and instead retrieved a stack of old photos bound together with a wrinkled white ribbon. I untied the ribbon and thumbed through the images, at once noticing a photograph of Lord Livingston with an attractive woman at his side. Her eyes looked away from the camera. Could this be Lady Anna?

  When I heard footsteps in the hallway, I quickly tucked the box back up onto the shelf, just as the children ran through the doorway. “Hello,” I said, a bit flustered.

  Katherine approached, followed by Nicholas and Abbott. “What are you doing?” she asked.

  “I was tidying the nursery,” I said. “See?” I said quickly. “I found this box on the shelf.” I searched the children’s faces. “Now,” I said, clasping my hands together. “Would you all still like to go out walking with me?”

  “Yes!” cried Nicholas. The late morning light from the window illuminated the dark lashes that framed his eyes.

  “All right, put your coats on, and let’s get your baby sister up.”

  “A perfect day for exploring,” I said, marveling at the sunshine. Birds chirped in the trees all around. “I imagine that you know the property inside and out.”

  “We used to,” Nicholas said, planting his foot in a patch of mud and marveling at the squishy sound his feet made, “before Mum died. Now Father won’t allow us out much, except for riding lessons.”

  Katherine rolled her eyes. “Don’t act so tortured,” she said. “At least you get to go riding. You’re too young to appreciate that.”

  “Children,” I said, “please, let’s not spoil this beautiful day.”

  The boys ran ahead, and Katherine and I walked in silence before I broke the ice.

  “I just wanted to say that, well, if you ever want to talk, about anything, I’m here. You must miss your mother, terribly, and, well—”

  “You don’t know anything about me or Mother,” she said dismissively, walking on.

  I sighed, eyeing the dark clouds rolling in. Mrs. Dilloway wouldn’t be pleased if we got caught in the rain. I pulled Janie’s hood over her blond curls and made sure her coat was buttoned. Thankfully, I’d had all the children put on their coats, despite Abbott’s protests. I looked up, just as a raven swooped in and landed in a maple tree nearby. The bird pecked at the bark on the branch, then cawed at me as if to say, Do not walk a step further. Or else. I shivered. Mama always said that ravens were smarter than given credit for, and cunning. For instance, they knew the precise moment when Papa emptied the rubbish bin in the alley behind the bakery. They would let out a caw o
f disapproval when there wasn’t a stale loaf of pumpernickel, their favorite.

  Maybe we should turn back. “Boys,” I shouted, “don’t run too far ahead!” With Janie on my hip, I couldn’t keep pace with the older children.

  “We’re right here,” Abbott called out, running back toward me.

  “Boo!” Nicholas said, poking his head out from behind a fir tree.

  I felt a raindrop on my wrist. “Looks like storm clouds are moving in,” I said. “I think we should continue our adventure tomorrow.”

  “Aw,” Abbott whined, “but we only just left the house.” He pointed to the sky. “We’re not afraid of a little rain. Besides, there’s something we want to show you.”

  I eyed the clouds skeptically, but the camellia orchard was just ahead, beckoning me. What would be the harm in walking just a little farther, especially when the Middlebury Pink could be near? Mr. Price had hoped I could find it and report back before summer’s end. I pulled my coat around Janie, tucking her closer to my chest to keep her warm. “All right,” I conceded. “But we should turn back soon.”

  “Goody!” Nicholas squealed.

  The wind picked up as we walked down a grassy hillside dotted with purple and light pink wildflowers. “It’s a bit overgrown out here,” Abbott explained. “Papa would just as well let it all turn to weeds.”

  “These are not weeds,” Katherine interjected. “Can’t you see the phlox Mum planted? Look, they’re here in the grass.”

  “Well they look like weeds to me,” Abbott said. “I’m twelve years old, and I know a great deal more than you do.”

  “Now, Abbott,” I said, trying to keep the peace, “find what you’d like to show us, and then we must get back, before we’re absolutely drenched.”

  The boy nodded. “All right, it’s not much farther now.”