The Garden of Little Rose

by Suzanne Snow

  Flora knelt to remove the lid from the second box and a thrill stole through her when she saw the packets of letters – some loose, others tied together – and books that she hoped might be diaries or journals, as well as ledgers.

  ‘You ought to know something more of the history.’ Mac was close as he dropped down beside her. ‘The island belonged to Fraser Campbell, who had inherited it from his uncle; it had been in their family for generations and they’d always farmed. Campbell also had a manufacturing business in Glasgow, where he lived most of the time. This house was designed to be a modern home where he brought his family on holiday. He’d travelled quite extensively as a young man and the differing styles he incorporated were inspired by what he had seen. There was a manor house on the site before, most of which was pulled down, although the old kitchen on the north side still remains.’

  Flora nodded, keen to hear more about the story of the house. The gardens she had worked in were always intimately attached to the buildings, and she loved learning their history and immersing herself in the details of other people’s lives.

  ‘Campbell was married, and had a son and daughter. The son left for university in London and didn’t return often; he wasn’t interested in the island or the manufacturing business. Eventually, the business was sold, and the Campbells moved here full time with their daughter. Campbell had included a clause in his will, allowing her to remain in the house for her lifetime but when his son died and the nephew inherited, the son’s will had made no such provision. The nephew probably saw an opportunity to get her out – he clearly didn’t want any dependants making life difficult and preventing him from doing what he liked with the house. Doesn’t sound like he was a nice guy, since he had no qualms evicting his own aunt from the home she was promised.’ Mac pointed to the boxes. ‘I’d love to think we might actually have stumbled on some more information about their lives in these. If you find anything you think is useful, let’s pile it on the desk and take photos, and then we can research it properly later.’

  They settled down in the chairs to begin work. Before long, she wriggled to the floor to make herself more comfortable, and it was only a few moments until Mac copied her. They sat near to each another, long legs stretched out, as gradually the contents of the boxes were emptied around them. They read through and photographed what they had found, enjoying a naturalness in the quiet that enveloped them. Flora separated everything she thought might be informative and after an hour or so, when the only sounds were the builders crashing about somewhere in the house behind them and the scrape of their feet as they repositioned sluggish limbs, she stretched her neck, placing a record book onto the growing pile of documents beside her.

  ‘Anything good?’ Mac asked, giving her a quick glance, before returning his attention to the ledger in his hands.

  ‘Possibly. Most of what I’ve seen so far is invoices and orders for the build – some of it includes materials for the garden, but nothing too personal yet. How about yours?’

  ‘Not really.’ He sounded frustrated as he put the ledger down. ‘It’s nearly all stuff relating to the management of the island and the crofts. I’m sure there’ll be more information somewhere in the house… I just have to find out where they hid it. Campbell’s study had been cleared long before I came here and I’m hoping the most important items were saved.’

  She rummaged around in her box and found several journals at the bottom; she picked one up carefully, lifting it past the business papers and a yellowed folder that surrounded it. Made from a red and now cracked leather, it was bound with a loose ribbon. Mac stood up as she untied it and she sensed his attention on her new find.

  ‘That might be interesting,’ he said idly and she agreed. They were both still for a moment and he looked away first. ‘I’ll make us some coffee.’ He sounded awkward as he turned away and she heard the door close behind him.

  Flora opened the journal and gasped as she saw the intricate and beautifully detailed watercolour painting of a faded pink rose on the first page. She couldn’t be certain, but it looked to her experienced eye like an Old Garden Rose and the image was exquisite. Even though she was itching to rush on, Flora quickly took a photo on her phone and slowly turned the page. It was only moments before she understood that she had stumbled on a very personal journal and realised she was holding her breath. The name inside read Rose Campbell in elegant handwriting and Flora carefully turned the yellowed pages one by one, her anticipation intensifying with every glimpse.

  It was the diary of a young girl who was very much in love for the first time. Begun in 1908, when Rose was twelve, she described her excitement about the new house on the island and especially the garden, which she was longing to make her own. Scattered into hurried passages with some gaps in between, Rose had written of long summers on the island with friends, mostly left to their own devices and allowed a freedom that would probably have been unthinkable anywhere else. Flora was wholly captivated as she tracked Rose through the seasons and the development of the garden, and she didn’t hear Mac return until he nudged her leg with his foot. Startled from the world set out in the pages on her lap, she tried to drag her mind away from the lives and escapades in this place over a hundred years ago. She watched as he set their mugs down on the floor and settled next to her once again.

  ‘Sorry it took so long.’ He pointed to the mugs. ‘The builders needed me for a decision and then it took ages to make drinks for them, too, with only one working kettle between us.’ His eyes searched hers with a keenness that she was becoming used to, as though he saw her more thoroughly than anyone ever had before. ‘What have you found? I can see from your face that you’ve got something useful.’

  ‘They’re Rose Campbell’s journals,’ she told him jubilantly, unable to disguise the exhilaration she felt at her discovery. ‘Written over several years but there’s so much detail about her life here. I’ve only managed to read one from beginning to end so far, but I’ve glanced at the others. Exploring the old manor house and its grounds before this one was built, helping to choose plants for the garden, sailing around the coast, picnics and playing out until the light had gone every day and sleeping in tents… It’s extraordinary, and in places she’s sketched pictures or painted tiny watercolours of things that caught her eye.’

  ‘But I don’t know who Rose is,’ Mac told her, his brow furrowing. ‘The daughter was called Caroline and, as far as I know, she lived here with her parents until the nephew turfed her out.’

  ‘She must be Campbell’s daughter – there’s too much in here for her to be just a friend or more distant family member. There’s even a sketch of the house, look.’

  Mac leant closer as Flora passed the journal across and she felt the weight of his arm against her side. His thigh was close to hers as they peered at the book together and, effortlessly, she remembered their unforgettable kiss and the sensation of being held in his arms. The thought was distracting and she blushed as she tried to wrench her concentration back to the journal.

  ‘Maybe there was another child, another girl?’

  ‘Possibly, but I would expect we’d have come across her name by now. There were three boys who visited the island regularly and the eldest was the same age as Rose; he was called Archie and they more or less grew up together. I’m guessing they were friends of the family or perhaps distant cousins. I skipped ahead to one of the other journals and it starts with her turning eighteen. She and Archie fell in love as they became older and got engaged on Rose’s eighteenth birthday; she wrote about the party and who was there, and she talks about a guest called Rupert. I wondered if he might be Lassiter. It was in the summer before the start of the First World War, and then there are a few lines about Archie joining up and being sent away for training. There are fewer entries after that, mostly to do with the garden and their letters to each other, and then it stops, in May 1915.’

  Flora’s voice had dropped in sadness as she imagined Rose and Archie tearing around the island
as teenagers, and exploring the beautiful new house and garden, only dreaming of the future as an extension of childhood fun and endless games. In those days, Flora imagined, summer must have seemed endless and everything possible, until calamitous events in the world reached even here and brought disaster long before they were ready to understand it.

  Mac whistled as he scanned through what Flora had already read, propping the book so it fell across their legs. He grinned then, something carefree lighting up his face – a look which would have her follow him anywhere. She shoved away the thought, feeling his fingertips skimming her thigh as he turned the pages.

  ‘She must have been a very talented artist, judging by these little sketches and drawings.’

  Flora hummed in agreement, happy to share in Mac’s progress through the journals as she tried to glimpse details she might have missed the first time. He seemed oblivious to his fingers brushing her leg and gradually she relaxed, unwilling to draw away from the intimacy they had unthinkingly created. They read on and it was almost another thirty minutes before they reached the end. Flora laughed when she saw their coffee, forgotten and cold, still on the floor, and Mac’s chuckle was wry.

  ‘Sorry. I’ll make some more.’

  Gradually, they moved apart and Mac climbed to his feet. He raised his arms above his head to stretch, the gesture casually lifting his polo shirt above the waistband of his jeans and revealing the hard stomach muscles beneath.

  Flora reluctantly wrenched her eyes away. She glanced at her watch as she stood up, too, realising that most of the afternoon had passed and she hadn’t achieved what she had planned to get done in the garden. ‘I’d better get going; I’d like to finish up outside before it gets late. Thanks anyway.’

  ‘Flora? Before you go, I wanted to thank you for going to look at the school garden. Maggie was thrilled with your visit; I’ve heard she’s arranging a volunteers’ day tomorrow to start clearing up and that you’ve agreed to run it.’

  ‘Well, I’ll just be helping with work on the day so we can get as much done as possible in a short time. Maggie’s hopefully going to get enough people along to help; it’s not much notice but she said that word gets around and some will come, as it’s a Saturday. I can sort out which areas to focus on first and what can be recycled or stored for later.’ Flora retied the ribbon around the first journal and placed it carefully on top of one of the armchairs – a precious find indeed from their afternoon together.

  ‘I just wanted to say thank you, too, for what you did with Tamsin.’ Mac’s voice had dropped, and Flora was astonished by his words. ‘I heard that she spoke to you.’

  ‘Wow, news certainly travels fast on this island!’ The thought of the little girl brought a sad smile to Flora’s lips. ‘She was adorable, and I really didn’t do anything.’

  ‘Well, it wasn’t nothing.’ Mac was staring at Flora, as though trying to decipher exactly what had occurred between her and the small, blonde girl. ‘Whatever you did, you managed to capture her interest enough to enable her to speak to you and that’s quite an achievement.’

  ‘How do you know about Tamsin?’

  ‘She’s my god-daughter. Her father, Angus, was my best friend before he died.’

  Chapter Thirteen

  The sweet pea seedlings for Tamsin had arrived when Flora reached the hotel in the early evening. She usually felt a bit self-conscious, marching through reception in her working clothes, but the staff were used to her now and greeted her cheerfully each time she returned. One or two liked to enquire about the garden and ask how she was getting on.

  The island shop was closed until tomorrow so all she could do was stand the small plastic cases of seedlings in a little water in her luxurious bathtub. She hoped the plants would survive their journey, and was pleased to see that they looked healthy and strong, with the growing tips to encourage more flowers already pinched out. She emailed her colleagues at Middlebrook to thank them and received a cheery reply in return. When she thought of the garden at work back in England, she realised she hadn’t really missed it yet, caught up as she was with Róisín and its history, thoughts of Mac and Tamsin, and now the school garden to try to untangle before she had to leave the island next week.

  * * *

  The shop was open early on Saturday so Flora popped in and collected some supplies to repot Tamsin’s little plants. It took her longer than she expected to get away, as the chap behind the counter, as well as a couple of customers, remembered her from the ceilidh and wanted to know how the garden at Róisín was progressing. She was happy to answer all their questions, before saying goodbye and dashing back to her car. She was thrilled when she arrived at the school to discover around a dozen helpers and some extra tools, plus children and a particularly useful-looking flatbed truck. There was a mist hovering below the hills and Flora was hopeful, as she got out of her car, that it would soon clear to reveal a lovely, sunny day.

  Sheep were bleating in the field beyond the school and a couple of curious Highland cattle had stuck their heads over the wall to see what was going on, making Flora smile when she spotted their hairy, ginger heads. Maggie had done wonders in gathering help in such a short space of time and Flora went to search her out, saying hello to everyone she passed. She found Maggie in the polytunnel, which in the cool of the morning was usefully doubling up as a canteen.

  ‘Hi, Maggie,’ Flora called cheerfully, moving a couple of pots holding small trees to one side, ready for inspection later. They looked almost dead, but she would make sure before they were scrapped for good. Her hair was still loose, and she quickly wound it into a plait that ought to keep it from getting in her way whilst they worked. She noticed Maggie’s terrier securely tied up out of harm’s way and looking miserable about it, whining when he spotted Flora. ‘This all looks brilliant; you’ve managed to find so many people to come along at such short notice.’

  Maggie grinned, adding a lid to the large teapot balanced on a section of wooden staging. She was wearing a pair of green overalls and practical shoes, and her long dark hair was swept off her face by a scarf; the style suiting her perfectly.

  ‘Yes, they’ve all been marvellous, especially as it’s the start of a bank holiday weekend. I asked everyone to bring as many tools as they could, too, as some of ours seem to have got broken or disappeared altogether, I’ve no idea why. Thanks so much, Flora, for doing this; I know you must be busy at Mac’s new place.’

  ‘It’s my pleasure. Any excuse to work in a garden, especially when it will make a difference to the lives of children and encourage them to learn about horticulture.’

  ‘How do you want to organise everything?’

  ‘Let’s get everyone together and then we can chat over a cup of tea in here.’

  Maggie set off to round people up and gradually they made their way inside, where Flora was pouring drinks into mismatched mugs and handing them out. Her eyes searched the group, who were chatting excitedly, hoping to find Tamsin. She was not surprised, but simply disappointed when she couldn’t find her amongst the others. Maggie was distributing biscuits and just when Flora thought everyone was settled, she saw Mac walking through the garden towards them.

  To her delight, Tamsin was at his side, their hands tightly linked, and Flora’s heart tilted with a feeling of such tenderness that she almost gasped. Mac was wearing jeans, a dark hoodie that emphasised his wide shoulders, and boots, and Flora knew her face was flaming at his unexpected appearance. She smiled brightly at Tamsin, not anticipating a response, but her spirits lifted again when the little girl’s lips twitched shyly. It was enough for Flora and she was so looking forward to telling Tamsin all about her new pink-flowering plants whenever the opportunity arose. Mac was greeting people cheerfully as they made their way over, while still keeping an eye on Tamsin, and then he pointed at the tray in Flora’s hands.

  ‘Morning. Hope we’re not too late for one of those.’

  ‘Of course not, there’s plenty. Maggie has biscuits and there’s
hot chocolate for anyone who wants it. Hello, Tamsin, how lovely that you came today.’

  ‘Thanks.’ Mac lifted a mug from the tray and Flora watched surreptitiously as he smiled at Tamsin again, his voice gentle. ‘Glass of milk?’ Tamsin nodded, her blue eyes looking up at him. ‘Come on then, let’s go find you one.’

  Flora busied herself with emptying the teapot. She had barely been able to stop thinking about Tamsin or the fact that Mac was her godfather. She hoped that by the end of the day she would have shown the little girl just how special creating and nurturing a garden could be. She had made rough plans for the work they would be carrying out and, as Maggie shushed everyone, Flora stood ready to explain her strategy, enjoying the sense of excitement building. She had quickly assessed people as she had been moving amongst them, recognising some faces from the ceilidh.

  They all listened as she offered an enthusiastic welcome and divided them efficiently into three teams: one to begin clearing the rubbish outside and sorting it into piles for removal, a second team to carefully turn over the soil and remove weeds, and a third to repair the sorry-looking raised beds. She asked the children to join her in the polytunnel and set them to sorting out pots into sizes, throwing away those which could not be salvaged, with Maggie to supervise.

  When everyone had dispersed into the relevant groups and begun to work, Flora headed into the garden. She wanted to look over the ground and see what sort of perennial weeds were lurking beneath the soil, ready to erupt, and her eyes automatically sought out Mac amongst the others. She had set him to work with a small group, and she noticed that Tamsin had not joined the other children but was outside with Mac. He was still holding her hand but talking to another man, their arms resting idly on their spades. The others in the group were already hard at it, their backs to Mac, and Flora made her way over, lips twitching at the scene before her.