The Gardener of Aria Manor

by A. L. Duncan

  “I am an attaché to the Minister of Foreign Affairs.” Glancing into the crackling fire, he added, “Usually, that means making restitution on His Majesty’s behalf for blunders from individuals who would make very poor political decisions with the British coin. One would think veterans of the Great War, such as myself, would be better off to decline interest in Turkey all together than sinking any investments in her. Such a waste of time. Turkey is only one of several countries whose neutrality would be of any benefit to us if ever the world’s politics should demand another war.” A searing log made a popping sound. “I only recently acquired a desk job, as my war wound has played the devil in my old age.” The Major swallow the last of his brandy, the horror of war still clearly very much alive in his mind. Staring into the flames, he concluded somberly, “I suppose that’s the price of bravery.”

  Janie moved to stand beside him, recalling her own decision under fire. “Do you regret the choice you made?”

  “When one has every intention of living a life exactly in a manner he has planned, that’s when the great hand of Zeus reaches down and plucks him up, like a piece from a chess board, and deliberately places him where he feels one had absolutely no intention at all of being. I realized then, our mortal life is no more than a game, and the choices we make decide how easily or how painfully we move around the board.”

  “So, you believe in predestination?”

  “I believe everything has its time and place. It’s only when we try to change our destiny that we either ride the tiger or are caught within its clamped jaws.” He continued more lightly. “I should take you into Bristol or even London sometime, introduce you to a few compatriots of mine. I think, Miss Vaughn, you would likely hit it off well with a couple of fellows who are into art, as you are.”

  Ilene sighed. “Father, you should stop being the matchmaker.”

  “Sorry, Major,” Janie replied, her gaze steady on Ilene. “Not my type.”

  Ilene’s smile turned to astonishment as her eyes met Janie’s and then quickly flitted away as she realized Janie’s implication.

  The Major turned from his fireside musings. “Tell me, Miss Vaughn, do you hunt?”

  JANIE SAT AT the edge of her bed wearing just a white tank top and pajama pants, inhaling from her cigarette and reading the letter from Frank.

  Dear Janie,

  Your mother said she’s selling the house and moving to Pittsburgh to live with your Aunt Bess. Apparently your father owed the government quite a sum for not paying his taxes, and that took what inheritance she had received after your father’s death. I thought you should know. Write when you can.

  Frank.

  Janie lay back on the bed and stared at the ceiling. What was there to do? What could she do? She could send her mother money, maybe a little at a time so no one would wonder where it was coming from, but that would mean telling her mother the truth, and that would be risky. It was impossible to even consider contact with her old life. The mob was undoubtedly watching their doorstep day and night against such an eventuality. She couldn’t take the chance of risking another life, not her mother’s or Frank’s. And getting herself killed wouldn’t help matters either. All she could do, for now, was hope that Aunt Bess was well situated, at least until she could come up with a better idea.

  With great effort, Janie lifted herself from the bed and walked over to the ashtray. She set the letter on fire and watched her name turn to ash in the licking flames.

  THE NEXT MORNING the fields were shrouded in a thick blanket of fog, making the dips and sways look like Roman amphitheaters. The marshes teemed with wrens, meadowlarks, and blackbirds just awakening to sound out the day. The air was damp, yet refreshingly cool.

  Wearing a barn jacket and breeches borrowed from Ilene, Janie was walking alongside the Major, himself sporting a coat and tall mud boots. Janie was humored at the notion of such rare evidence that even ladies of the manor peddled about their lawns and property once in a while. Now more than ever, she felt determined to pull Ilene out into the sunshine again. They walked for some time in silence before he spoke.

  “I feel I must apologize to you, Miss Vaughn.”

  “For what?”

  “My un-cordial manner at our introduction last night at dinner was quite inappropriate. Forgive me if I caused you any distress.”

  “I just figured you didn’t care for the color of my shirt.”

  The Major smiled. “I was unprepared for something quite unexpected.” He halted and faced her squarely. “If I may be frank, Miss Vaughn, you bear a striking resemblance to someone I knew many years ago.”

  The revelation took Janie by surprise. “Really?” She hurried to keep pace with his long stride.

  “Of course, I soon realized just how foolish I was being. You, like Ilene, would have been a small child at that time, if you had even been born.”

  “September twenty-sixth, 1903,” Janie supplied.

  Again he stopped and peered at her features. “The likeness is uncanny. Although I suppose such things happen in this world, eh? A daughter can, at times, be the mirror image of her mother. Ilene is the perfect example.” He sighed with longing. “I’m afraid she is the only remaining image, except for the portrait.”

  Janie was puzzled by his reference. “Do you mean the portrait in the sitting room?”

  “Yes.”

  She swallowed hard, recalling the strange feeling that had washed over her when she first gazed at the portrait. “Are you telling me that’s not a painting of Ilene?”

  “The portrait in the sitting room is of Miriam, my wife and Ilene’s mother.”

  Janie struggled to catch hold of the images that raced through her consciousness like a series of camera flashes. And there had been visages in her dreams that reappeared time and again. Shadowed faces. Of likeness. Of familiarity. What did it all mean?

  A hand touched her arm to steady her. “Are you all right?” the Major asked, concern evident in his voice.

  “Fine,” she breathed, though still shaken.

  “You see? That was my very reaction. I finally settled to the idea that this is the way the gods play tricks on us.”

  She snort. “They need to get out more.” Continuing through field and puddle, she held her rifle loosely in the crook of her arm. “So, what exactly are we out here to hunt?”

  “Whatever happens to flush out,” he quipped. “I am of the whole-hearted belief that hunting is, as Oscar Wilde pointed out, the unspeakable in full pursuit of the uneatable.”

  Sensing something different in his body language, Janie glanced at him from the corner of her eye. “You didn’t bring me out here to hunt, did you?”

  He cocked his head at her sharp intuition. “Not the foremost reason, no.” He was awkward, cautiously stepping over words to a subject difficult for him to express. “You see, Ilene has had a really tough go of it since she lost Richard. I’d hoped she’d sort it all out and get beyond losing him. Oh, mind you, not in the sense of forgetting him. She loved him too much for that, I believe. And, indeed, Richard Eldridge was a fine chap, a young commander on a fleet vessel. However, there comes a time in one’s life when they must carry on.

  “I was greatly pained when Miriam died. It was almost more than I could bear. I had no idea how I could live my life without her. Yet, I did. I took it on the chin and carried on. She would have wanted it that way, I think. Besides, I had three children to raise. Oliver was ten, old enough to keep himself busy. Ilene was eight, scarcely able to care for herself, let alone watch over Teddy, still a baby. They depended on me to carry them through, and I did. Although my daughter hasn’t any children to push her onward, she must realize she, too, must move on.

  “I know you’ve only been here a short while, but I feel in some way you’ve already had an impact on her. Getting her out to market the other day like you did was quite a remarkable achievement, Miss Vaughn.”

  “Remarkable achievement? I just wanted some company going into town.”

>   The Major smiled. “That’s more than anyone else has succeeded at, I’m afraid. I believe last night was the first time since Richard’s death that I’ve seen a smile on her face, much less heard her laugh. You’re a woman.” After a hesitation, he continued. “You have that intuition that creates a subtle rapport. She seems quite fond of you. We both respect your credentials, your work. And you seem like a good sport about everything. A good head on your shoulders. Common sense, and all that. I suppose,” he added hesitantly, “what I’m trying to say is—”

  “You’re asking me to be a friend to your daughter,” Janie suggested. “Is that what you’re saying?”

  “You have a keen perception, Miss Vaughn.” He beamed. “I admire that about you.”

  “Carolyn. Please.”

  “I may call you Carolyn?”

  “I wish you would.”

  “Then you ought to call me Denys.”

  Janie raised an eyebrow. “Isn’t that going a bit far? I mean, I am hired help, after all.”

  “Nonsense,” he growled. “In fact, I welcome it. You are the Superintendent of Gardens. A sort of Empress of the Flowers.” They laughed. “You carry the prestige that no ordinary hired help does. This change should be a refreshing improvement, a house guest that just happens to command the gardens.” He paused and pondered. “The fact is, I, too, could use a confidant. What do you say?”

  She gazed deeply into his earnest eyes and responded to his persistent smile with a grin of her own. “I’d be honored, Denys.”

  “Brilliant!”

  His exuberant shout flushed a hare from its grassy nook. The Major spied it at once. “Ah ha!”

  With the quickness of the hare itself, he drew the rifle to his shoulder and fired, hitting his target like only a true marksman could. After a successful morning, the two headed back to the manor, the Major trotting along victoriously with six rabbits strung over his shoulder like saddlebags. Janie walked beside him, enjoying the white clouds and a sky that was as blue as a cornflower. She made a sound with her lips.

  “What’s that?”

  “Oh, I was just thinking about something Gil told me yesterday. He said it was going to rain today.”

  By the time they reached the lawns, rain pelted down in a downpour. Gil stood at the doors to the carriage house, his arms crossed over his chest. His steady gaze followed a sodden Janie as she trudged past with a resentful scowl for his foreknowledge of ill weather. From that day on, she accepted Gil’s uncanny ability to predict the weather. It came in very handy to schedule work and gardening by.

  JANIE, GIL, AND Peanut were working in the south garden. Peanut, smiling with her ever-present joy, clipped the oriental grass and gold box hedges around a large ornate urn, the centerpiece of the garden. Janie was trimming back the English ivy that had overgrown the brick on the garden wall, when she found herself distracted by a beautiful melody coming from the open sitting room window above. Ilene was playing Chopin’s Fantasie-Impromptu, the very same piece of music Janie had heard on an album on the Victrola in Carolyn Vaughn’s apartment. This place is just full of coincidences, she mused.

  How mesmerizing and sensual was the playing. Ilene clearly put her talent and emotion into each note. How the music danced, slowly, softly, like kisses. How it roused the senses, like the entrancing movement of lovemaking, lingering and making the head swim. Janie shook her head at her fantasies. She realized she was being seduced by her thoughts of Ilene, not the music.

  Peanut leaned against the wall next to Janie and began swaying as if she was conducting an orchestra, then she wafted out onto the lawn, dancing like a petite fairy godmother. Janie laughed as Peanut flung rose petals into the air in time with her less than balanced ballet. Gil rolled his eyes in silent agitation, obviously not as impressed.

  As Ilene played the final notes, Janie tossed a pebble that struck the upper pane of glass in the window. Janie pulled the garden hat off her head and wiped the sweat from her brow with the swipe of a sleeve. Ilene laid hands on the sill and craned her head out the window, meeting Janie’s smile.

  “I could use a break,” Janie said. “I understand you have a beach.”

  A tender turn of the lip spread into a full smile as Ilene nodded excitedly. “I’ll be right down.”

  ANNA WAS STARTLED when Ilene burst through the kitchen door and announced brightly, “Anna, I’m going out.”

  Anna paused in the kneading of her bread and eyed her visitor inquisitively. Never had she seen the mistress so lighthearted since she was a schoolgirl.

  “Do you suppose I could trouble you to fix Carolyn and me a small picnic?”

  Anna folded floured hands and gave her with a warm smile. “Why, I’d be delighted, Missus.”

  With a quick nod Ilene was gone, leaving Anna and Liz standing in wide-eyed surprise.

  BRITTLE SHELLS CRUNCHED under bare feet as the tide combed the shore with misty spray and rushing water splashed against jutting rock. Janie wasn’t as graceful as Ilene walking on the uncomfortable surface, and she stopped now and again in pain.

  “I don’t see how you can walk in this stuff,” Janie grunted, wincing.

  Ilene laughed. “You’re just a tenderfoot.”

  Janie decided it best to wade in the ebbs to ease her feet in training. “Ah, that’s much better.” She did not fail to notice that Ilene suppressed a snicker. After a moment of silence, Janie added, “You play beautifully.”

  “Thank you. Actually, you should probably compliment my mother. She was horribly insistent I learn the piano. Old school, you know. At least, that’s what Father said. When she delivered a girl, he knew that a pianist was born.”

  “Is that right?”

  Ilene groaned. “All Vanderholt women were pianists. You might say, when my brother Oliver was the firstborn, it was actually a disappointment. In time it seemed he grew into that disappointment. But that’s another story.”

  “What made you choose to play that particular piece?”

  “It was my mother’s favorite. Father likes for me to play it when he’s home.”

  “Interesting. And what’s your favorite?”

  “Hmm. I’d have to say Delibes’s Coppelia Waltz.”

  “A Delibes fan.” Janie noted Ilene’s sheepish grin. “I would have guessed you to be more of a lover of Bach, or even Debussy.”

  “Do you know the piece?”

  “Can’t say I do.”

  “I shall play it for you sometime. So beautifully gay. It reminds me of the time Father took me to a circus in Paris when I was a little girl.” She grinned, slightly embarrassed at having mentioned such a childish memory. “That was the happiest time of my life.”

  “Ow, shit!” Janie hopped around clasping a wounded foot, then lost her balance and plopped onto the beach on her butt. “Ah,” she seethed, shell edges poking her. Janie rubbed her aching foot and glared.

  “You make me laugh more than I’ve ever laughed,” Ilene confessed.

  “I’m so glad my pain amuses you.”

  Ilene helped her up. “You really ought to wear shoes.”

  Janie raised her head. “Good idea.”

  Ilene almost pulled Janie off her feet. “Come on. We’re almost there.”

  Stumbling, Janie struggled against Ilene’s enthusiasm. “Wait a minute, I’m...trying to get my other shoe on...”

  ILENE LED JANIE into a large-mouthed cave, her voice echoing through the still coolness.

  “They say it was once Merlin’s cave. But then again, if you ask the locals of any village, their cave is Merlin’s cave.”

  Janie eyed the damp, jagged walls. “Who are ‘they’?”

  Ilene shrugged. “Oh, I don’t know. People who believe in myths, I suppose.” She knelt to light a small lantern that she had pulled from the picnic basket. “Legend has it that Merlin is still in a cave somewhere. Shut away, keeping an eye on England.”

  Janie took the lantern from Ilene and panned it around. The farther they progressed into the cave, the
more muffled the sea sounded, almost like a calm wind.

  “I think the only thing anybody’s going to find in this place is more rock,” Janie observed.

  “When we were younger, my brother Teddy and I used to come here all the time. Once we found human bones. A skeleton. Father said it was a pile of old pirate bones. I wonder if it’s still in here.”

  “So, you have two brothers?”

  “Yes. Oliver’s the oldest, then me, then Teddy. Sometimes we’d sleep together, and there he’d be, snuggled in my arms like a little teddy bear. From then on, he was my Teddy. I suppose he’ll always be my little Teddy,” Ilene remarked after a reflective pause. “What about you, Carolyn? Any brothers or sisters?”

  Janie’s mind reeled at the thought. She had never even considered the possibility. “I was raised as an only child, but I guess I wouldn’t put it past my father to have other children out there somewhere.”

  Ilene grimaced. “I often wish my father had remarried, though he seemed so caught up with his work, and with us children. I suppose he was content enough. He never seemed to have much time to be lonely.”

  “Maybe he wished not to have the time. It’s usually when one has too much idle time that one reflects.”

  “Yes,” Ilene breathed finally. “I guess you’re right.”

  The passage ended in a small nook. Janie’s brow furrowed as she scrutinized something chalky white that was reflecting the lantern’s glow.

  “Bring it closer,” Ilene requested, stepping ahead of her. “Shine the lamp over here. This is what I wanted to show you.”

  As Janie neared, she was startled to see a skeleton lying against a crumbling rock.

  “It’s all right,” Ilene reassured her. “This is the pirate I told you about. Isn’t it something?”