Her maid put the finishing touches to the twist of copper hair, then glanced into the mirror and saw the expression on Elizabeth’s face. ‘You should tell me to be quiet,’ she said. ‘Here’s me chattering on and you must be worried to death about Master William.’
‘William will be fine, I’m sure. It’s just taking him a while to get back on his feet. But he’ll be at the church tomorrow. He wouldn’t miss seeing his favourite chauffeur get married.’
Ivy beamed. ‘It will be some wonderful to have you all there, and our work mates, too. Everyone we care about. It may be one of the last times we’ll all be together.’ She laid the hairbrush back on the dressing table and was suddenly very quiet.
‘There will be plenty of other times,’ Elizabeth rallied her. ‘And plenty of good things to come.’
‘I hope so. But Eddie hasn’t forgotten about signing up to fight, and I know it won’t be long before he’s off to Worthing. They’ve set up a recruiting office there.’
She was taken aback by the news. She’d known that Eddie Miller was keen on doing his bit for king and country, but if she’d thought about it at all, it was to imagine that once married, he would wait a while before volunteering. But then she remembered her father saying days ago that the trickle of volunteers making their way to the recruitment centres was not nearly enough. If the war continued after Christmas, conscription would be necessary.
‘He still means to fight?’
‘Yes.’ Ivy looked at the floor, but Elizabeth could see her lip trembling. ‘I can’t dissuade him. Not that I’d try. He says there’ll be a battle in France. Our chaps are heading for some place called Millhouse or mebbe it’s Mullhouse? They’re only a small force and likely it will go bad for them. The army will need new blood then.’
She shivered at the phrase. ‘I don’t suppose Eddie will be the only one to answer the call.’ It was supposed to sound comforting, but she rather feared it didn’t.
‘Joe is going, for sure. He’s signing up with Eddie, though his ma is dead against it. And the other men – Eddie says they all feel the same.’
Would Giles Audley be making his way to a recruitment centre, too? He had joked that he was too old to be conscripted, but now that his marriage plans had fallen apart, he might think to volunteer and rejoin the cavalry.
‘Summerhayes will look pretty odd if every man decides to enlist,’ she said a little shakily.
‘Not just Summerhayes, either. I reckon everywhere will look pretty odd. The war will change things.’
Ivy was right. It would change things. She had been so concerned with her own small drama that she’d barely registered what was happening in the wider world. She knew that Britain was at war, of course. The declaration had come the night of the fateful dinner party, but since then she had taken little heed of newspaper headlines. The world had continued to turn, men had continued to fight in countries not so very far away, and continued to die there, too. She’d known for a long time that the fingers of conflict were reaching towards them. Now, finally, they seemed to have arrived at Summerhayes and life would alter for them all.
‘I’m meeting Eddie tonight,’ Ivy confided, regaining a little of her former bounce. ‘He’s putting on his wedding outfit for me. I’ve to give it my blessing.’
‘Should he be doing that? Isn’t there some kind of taboo?’
‘That’s the bride. The bridegroom mustn’t see the bride in her dress before the wedding, but I think it’s different for a man. You don’t think it will be unlucky, do you?’ she added anxiously.
‘Don’t worry, I’m sure to have got it wrong. It’s sweet of Eddie that he wants you to approve. And stay as long as you like. I can see myself to bed.’
‘It’s silly really. He’s bound to look the cat’s whiskers. He’s got your – he’s got Mr Kellaway’s jacket – and the trousers his ma has made and sent up by carrier. And I’ve saved up and bought him a spanking new shirt and collar.’
‘He’ll look splendid.’
‘He will that,’ the girl said, entranced at the thought.
*
Ivy lingered beneath the rose arbour. The day had been very warm and the flowers, still in full bloom, filled the air with a drowsy scent. The entire garden seemed to be laying its beauty at her feet. That was silly, she knew, but she couldn’t help feel that the world was a wonderful place. She found herself tapping out a rhythm with her foot, unable to stop her body responding to the excitement within. Tomorrow. The day was coming at last. For two years, she and Eddie had been waiting for this, the very best moment of their lives. She would not think beyond the wedding, beyond the honeymoon. She would give herself to these next few hours and make them the happiest she had ever known.
She’d slipped away as soon as the men began to clear dinner. Ripley had given her the nod. He was being unusually kind. All the staff were excited about tomorrow, even the stately Ripley. She looked back along the pergola. Eddie should be here at any moment. When she’d left the house, the kitchen timepiece had shown just after nine o’ clock. That was when they’d agreed to meet and he should be here. Perhaps he was having difficulty with the new clothes. More likely he’d found a fault with the motor car. He’d been working on it off and on all day, wanting to make sure it was in tip-top condition for their journey to Chichester. She imagined how it would be when they left the Horse and Groom, ribbons and shoes tied to the bumper – there wouldn’t be any banging pots, Mr Summer wouldn’t like that. But then her bouquet thrown to the crowd and she and Eddie covered in confetti.
The air was cooling and she wore only her thin maid’s uniform; she paced up and down the gravel path to keep warm. Should she go to Eddie’s apartment? No, he’d said he wanted to carry her over the threshold, and she mustn’t anticipate the moment. It was another treat to look forward to. She might walk down the garden a little. The pergola was where they usually met but perhaps he’d arrived early and walked on. Or perhaps she’d got it wrong and he’d told her a different spot. What with one thing and another, her head had been all over the place these last few days. She walked slowly through the archway and into the vegetable garden. It was looking magnificent. There was enough food to feed an army here, she thought, then deliberately pushed the word ‘army’ out of her mind and kept walking. Past the fruit wall and into what Mr Summer called his Exotic Garden. She rarely ventured this far. It was too wild for her liking and it was unlikely Eddie would have said to meet her here. Then she knew. A sudden illumination. Eddie was in the Italian Garden. Of course, that’s where he’d be. He’d wanted her to see the new temple. Proper smart, he’d said. We should meet there sometime.
She ran past what seemed an acre of dense vegetation. In the gloom, the path was difficult to make out, but she ran on regardless, eager to reach her destination. He must be wondering where on earth she’d got to. Now she was through the laurel arch. The garden here was darker, the surrounding trees cutting out what light there was from a thickly clouded sky. A splash sounded straight ahead. Fish. She knew Mr Harris had stocked the lake though no one had fished there yet. The sound echoed eerily across the empty water and she didn’t like it. There was no sign of Eddie, but she was sure now that this was their meeting place and she would wait. He would come.
The minutes ticked by and still no Eddie. The breeze had picked up and was whispering through the trees. They looked very tall, very dark, against the skyline. She didn’t like the sound of their whispering either. It was as though they were telling her something she didn’t want to hear. At length, she turned homewards. He wasn’t coming. Somehow she’d made a mess of the arrangements, and she had to get back to the house or she’d be locked out. Ripley locked the doors at ten o’clock sharp and she risked being stranded in a garden that had begun to feel strangely threatening.
As quickly as she could, she retraced her steps and whisked through the servants’ door just as Ripley appeared with a large brass key.
‘You lovebirds,’ he chided. ‘Never know when to
stop talking. It was talking, I take it?’
She smiled but said nothing. It was going to be all right, she told herself, making her way to the small, narrow bedroom she shared with the second housemaid. Eddie had been delayed or she had got the meeting place completely wrong. Or he’d changed his mind and gone off with some mates for the evening and forgot to leave her a message. His last night of freedom, she could hear him joke. It was going to be all right. She’d see him tomorrow and he’d explain. She’d see him tomorrow for the very best day of her life.
Chapter Thirty-Four
It was very early the next day when Oliver crept out of the side door, earlier even than usual. He’d not been able to sleep and had spent most of the night tossing in his bed. He wasn’t sure why exactly he was fearful, but a nagging concern for William was giving him little rest. Now he was up and dressed, he felt a great deal better. He ran across the terrace and jumped down the circular steps onto the lawn. It was wet and spongy from the night-time dew, its freshness filling the air as he trod across to the rose arbour. He loved this time of day and he loved these gardens. He’d never known anything like them. His house and garden in London were super smart, he supposed, but their cold elegance left him unmoved. Summerhayes was different. It was an enchanted world, a fantasy far removed from the streets of Mayfair, and when he wandered through the gardens alone, he could think that this was his very own kingdom.
This morning, though, he was not alone, despite the early hour. A young boy appeared from the bothy, slow and sleepy-eyed. Oliver had once poked his head into the small two-storey building. He’d been curious to see how the men lived when they attended the night-time servicing of the garden. Upstairs, he’d found a bare-boarded room. In one corner, a truckle bed with a mattress made of straw and covered in sacking and, in the other, a hurricane lamp. That was it. Below the room was an even smaller space, a dark cramped hole of a place – the thunderbox he’d heard the men call it. Its use became clear when he saw the cement fillet with a wooden seat on top and a bucket below. He guessed that was emptied straight on to the garden as manure. Moss or dock leaves were piled to one side and it had taken him a minute before he realised they were used as paper. There were pencil scrawls on the plaster walls, where someone had doodled while at his business. The room had stunk and he’d quickly backed out into the fresh air, but it was a glimpse into the world of those who made and maintained the paradise he enjoyed.
The young gardener had opened the tool shed and was trundling a huge hand roller towards the lawn. Oliver gave him a chirpy ‘Hello’ and skipped on his way. It was going to be another perfect day. The sun had just appeared over the horizon and the sky was shading from the wispy grey of dawn to the palest blue. The garden itself was still full of dark shapes. Across the vegetable plot, cane pyramids, smothered in runner beans, threw their shadows slantwise, like rows of black and slightly tipsy soldiers. As he slipped through the archway of warm brick and into the Wilderness, he heard other voices. The gardeners were arriving for their morning’s work and would soon be swarming over the vegetable garden and in and out of the greenhouses, eager to finish in time for the wedding. He wanted to put some distance between them. He wanted to be quiet and to think. He would go to the Italian Garden.
He was worried about William. He’d left his friend sleeping but that wasn’t concerning. William wasn’t the early riser he was. His friend, though, seemed to be sleeping a good deal more these days. Of course, he’d had that dreadful bout of sickness and he was still feeling tired from it. But yesterday, when they’d played baby games with the toy soldiers, it hadn’t been long before William had shaken his head to playing any more. He’d shaken his head again when Olly had suggested that instead they work on his nature collection. He’d taken up a book, but after a few minutes had put that aside too. Gone was the boy who had raced around the gardens with him early in the holidays. That seemed another time altogether.
He paused on the path through the Wilderness and looked across at the spread of ferns and palms and bamboos. They’d had fun building a retreat; then he remembered its collapse. There was no doubt that bad things had happened to his friend this summer and William hadn’t coped well. And now there was trouble over his sister. He didn’t really understand what was going on, but he knew that his friend was fearful that Elizabeth might leave Summerhayes. When he’d taken William’s hand last night, he’d felt the rough, torn skin around his fingernails. The boy was literally tearing himself to pieces. He’d held him tight but he hadn’t kissed him again, not on the lips, though he’d wanted to, and more. He thought that maybe William wanted it too, but his friend was in such a bad state that he couldn’t risk making matters worse. It seemed unlikely Elizabeth would leave, but he suspected she had her own plans and they didn’t include William.
He wanted so much to protect him, to help him back to being the boy he’d known only a few weeks ago. He just didn’t know how. And in as many weeks, they would both be back at Highgrove. How would he protect him in that brutal environment? A gang of boys had made William’s life a misery from the moment he’d arrived in the school, pinching and punching him, cutting up his clothes, destroying his books, calling him vile names. The teachers never intervened. They seemed to take a sadistic pleasure in letting the weaker boys sink or swim. Presumably, they’d suffered the same treatment in the past and stayed afloat. Or perhaps it was because William was trade, and though his money was good enough, he wasn’t. So far, Olly had managed to keep the boys at bay by dint of a good left jab and a foot that could kick in the right places, but he feared that wouldn’t always do the trick. And then what? All he could hope was that their tormentors would get bored and leave them alone.
The lake looked beautiful this morning. A beam of sunlight had found its way through the clustering trees and was flooding the temple with light. The shadow of its classical pillars waved long across the surface of the water. He thought the temple truly magnificent. He went to sit down on the bench in the summerhouse and for a long time gazed across at its white marble. That man – Kellaway, he thought his name was – he’d worked here and then disappeared quite suddenly. He’d thought him sweet on William’s sister but then the man had left with barely a word to her. Or it seemed that way. He supposed he shouldn’t be surprised. It was something to do with her being a girl. He didn’t understand girls and he didn’t want to.
But this Kellaway had been a clever chap, there was no doubting that. Perhaps one day he could build something as brilliant. He’d like that, to see the pencil marks on rolls of paper become this grand structure of smooth marble, and to know that he had created it. He’d have to get qualified, but perhaps William and he could work together – he would do the building, and William could do the paperwork. His friend was good at organising and it wouldn’t tax his strength too much. He closed his eyes and the sun was warm on his face. He was travelling through a fantasy in which he and William shared a beautiful home – by a river, he thought – and when they weren’t there, they planned exquisite buildings for very rich people.
The sun was beginning to feel warm and the sky look very blue. Cerulean blue, he remembered, from the morning in Elizabeth’s studio. That’s where she’d found Beatrice hiding. Now not even Beatty could make William give more than a half-hearted smile, and he went days without visiting her, though Olly continued to open her hutch every morning and smother her in cuddles. He would go and find her on his way back to the house. He could sense the sun gathering strength and the enclosed space begin to feel hot and sticky. When he ran a finger around his collar, it was wet to his touch. It was time to move. He opened his eyes and the water’s sparkle danced hotly across his sight. And then he saw the log. A log right in the middle of the lake. The gardeners couldn’t have worked here recently, or they would have removed it before their master could find fault. Joshua Summer wouldn’t like it at all, the way it spoilt the beauty of this, his favourite part of the gardens.
But it was strange that it had fall
en plump into the middle of the lake. The trees surrounding the garden were ancient and very large, but they did not overhang the water. So someone must have thrown the log into the lake. He began to feel uneasy. He knew there had been a lot of trouble about this garden and wondered if this was something to do with it. But that would mean another intruder, and nothing or no one could get in now, could they?
He looked again at the log, estimating how hard it would be for the gardeners to pull it out. Then he got up and walked towards the lake’s edge. At closer quarters, he saw that it wasn’t a log, in fact. It was a bundle of clothes floating on the surface of the water. He bent down and leant in, peering intently. What he saw made him totter to his feet, hardly able to breathe. The clothes had a body attached to them. There was a man floating face down in the lake.
*
Oliver saw Joe look up in surprise as he came racing towards the gardener, waving frantic arms and yelling at the top of his voice. But Joe didn’t seem to hear what he was saying until he’d pulled nearly level. He was badly winded and bent double. He took some time to find sufficient breath to croak hoarsely, ‘Body… in the lake.’ Joe’s face was uncomprehending and he had to rasp again, ‘Body, lake.’
The gardener took off his cap and scratched his head. ‘You mebbe got a touch of the sunstroke, Master Oliver. Better go indoors and lie down.’
But he lunged out and grabbed Joe by the arm, his grip like iron. He kept repeating over and over again, ‘Body, body.’
By now, several of the men had downed tools and sauntered over to them. In answer to their questions, Joe said, ‘Summat’s got the boy in a pucker. We’m better take a look, lads.’
In single file the men trooped down through the gardens and he followed close behind. Now he’d delivered his message, he couldn’t quite believe what he had seen. He could have been mistaken and he had to make sure. He would feel a complete idiot if it had been a log. But when the little band reached the lakeside, it was clear he had not been mistaken. The body had floated a little nearer the middle of the lake now, bumping up against the statue of the dolphin. The face had turned slightly to the side and the features were unmistakable.
The Buttonmaker’s daughter Page 24
