The Rose Garden

by Susanna Kearsley

  My anger returned in full force when I saw the effects of his search. Daniel’s books lay strewn across the study floor, and in the bedrooms there were drawers pulled out and mattresses askew with no attempt made to return the rooms to order. He’d had the time to search and leave no sign of it, I thought, but it was obvious he’d wanted to let Daniel know he’d been here. Why, I didn’t know. If I felt this much anger simply looking at the things that had been tainted by the presence of the constable, it stood to reason Daniel would be furious.

  Unless that was the purpose of it all, provoking Daniel to retaliate, because, although I didn’t know the laws of this time, surely there would be a nasty penalty for challenging the king’s own loyal constable. Arrest, at least. And maybe more.

  I fought my anger down, lit more candles to bring light into the rooms, and started tidying, returning books to their neat rows and righting chairs and trying hard to make things look the way they had before. I took the greatest care in the small room that had been Daniel’s wife’s, because to me the very thought the constable had been in here among her things seemed unforgivable, an act of violation.

  And he had been here. He’d rifled through the clothing in the long box at the foot of the bed, leaving petticoat edges and sleeves hanging out. I restored them to order as best I could, smoothing the dresses in folds with as much care as if they’d belonged to Katrina. ‘I’m sorry,’ I told her, and closed the box gently.

  And then I remembered. ‘Oh, Christ,’ I breathed, feeling the drop in the pit of my stomach. Because when I’d changed out of my own clothes into this gown, I had hidden my things at the bottom of one of the boxes that sat by the wall in my bedroom, and if he had taken the time to search this one, then …

  ‘Dammit.’ I yanked the door open between the two rooms and went through with a feeling of dread.

  Both the boxes were closed. And the first one, the one where I’d hidden my clothes, appeared just as it had been before when I opened the lid. On the top were a few white shirts, fine to the touch, and below them two brocaded waistcoats, and then below them were my own things, still folded, with no indication that they’d been disturbed.

  It appeared, from a glance round the room, that the constable’s focus in here had been on the small writing desk, to the exclusion of everything else. He had sat at the chair, for it was in a different position than it had been earlier, and when he’d closed the lid part of a paper had caught in the hinge.

  I crossed over and opened the lid to release it, to put it back into the tidily organised pile where it had been. It was a short statement of household accounts, written in a strong and heavy hand. Nothing of interest to the constable, apparently, or else he wouldn’t have looked so frustrated when he’d finished with his search.

  He’d been looking for something specific, I sensed, and I could feel a bit of satisfaction knowing that he hadn’t found it.

  I made very certain the doors were all bolted that night, having forced down a bit of the porridge I’d made and left the rest to cool beside the hearth. It was too much to hope that there’d be anything left of the fire in the morning, in spite of my amateurish efforts to bank it, so I took one of the tall glass chimneys from the sitting room and used it at my bedside as a shield for the one candle I left burning there, in hopes I might be able to use that to start a fire on the hearth if it were necessary.

  I took off the bodice and skirt of the gown that had been Daniel’s wife’s, but I left on the simple chemise underneath in an effort to conjure up some of her courage – for it must have taken courage to have slept in this big house with all its shadows when the men were off at sea.

  When Katrina had died I’d gone through all her closets as Bill had requested, and sorted a lot of her clothes to be given to charity, but I’d kept the comfort clothes, the ones that she’d most often worn, and in those moments when I missed her most I still found putting on her favourite flowered shirt could bring her close to me.

  As I drifted with eyes closed, the voice of the constable asked me again, ‘Do you know why he gives you that gown? To give life to a ghost.’

  I could have used that ghost for company right now, and so I huddled deeper in the blankets, hugging the chemise all the tighter around me and trying to work the same magic, alone in the dark.

  Something clattered downstairs in the kitchen and brought me awake. I had slept through the sunrise, although not by much, for the shadows were still sharply angled across the floor, cast by the daylight that came through the east windows flanking the fireplace.

  I sat up to listen.

  And then I heard whistling, and booted feet climbing the stairs, and the whistle altered from a tune into a sharper blast, the way Mark whistled up the dogs when they were running wild, and from the hall a stranger’s voice called, ‘Are you yet in bed? You’ve let the fire go nearly out. And why the devil did you lock the doors?’ He had grabbed the handle of my own door now, and swung it open as he talked. ‘’Tis hard to think that my own brother is now turning into an old …’ Then he saw me sitting up in Daniel Butler’s bed, so that his last word, ‘… woman,’ trailed away unsure.

  Jack Butler – because from the look of him and what he’d said he could be no one else – shifted in the doorway to a steadier position, his expression changing gradually from pure surprise to something that reminded me of how a man might look when he had seen a friend perform a feat that he had thought impossible. With a slight shake of his head he flashed a quick lopsided smile and said, ‘Good morrow to you, mistress.’

  I was not supposed to talk, I knew. According to the plan that Daniel Butler had decided on with Fergal, Jack was meant to think that I was Fergal’s sister, too. I could still hear Fergal saying, ‘Jack can never keep his mouth shut, and he’ll never be convinced she came the way she says she did.’ So I just nodded in reply.

  ‘And is my brother in the house?’

  I shook my head.

  ‘Can you not speak?’ He asked that jokingly, as though the situation still amused him.

  When I shook my head again he looked surprised at first, since it was not the answer he’d expected, then the faintest light of envy touched his eyes. ‘A woman with no voice.’ He swore a cheerful oath and said, ‘My brother always had the better fortune.’

  He leant one shoulder on the door jamb, not as tall as his brother, nor to my eyes as good-looking, but with an easy charm that made it plain to me why all the mothers of Polgelly locked up their daughters whenever Jack came home. ‘Well then, can you cook? For on my way here I did stumble on some mutton that was longing to come join me for my dinner, though I’ve no idea myself what I should do with it. Do you?’

  My nod was somewhat less than certain, but it satisfied him. ‘Good. Then let me give you back your privacy. Unless you do intend to wear that today? No? A shame, in my opinion.’ And he left me with a friendly nod and one last smile.

  Alone, I closed my eyes and raised both hands to hold my forehead for support as I exhaled a sigh. I may not have been relishing the thought of spending one more day alone here at Trelowarth, and having Jack Butler around would indeed make my life that much easier, but he wasn’t quite the kind of company I’d wished for. He was going to be another complication.

  Dressing quickly, I went downstairs where I found the joint of mutton waiting for me in the kitchen, on the table by the window that Jack Butler had apparently come in by. He had knocked a chair down in the process, and I set it upright while I tried to figure out how people in this time cooked mutton. I had no clue. In the end the only thing that I could think of was to roast it in the same way I’d seen Fergal roasting fowl, though forcing the spit through the mutton proved harder than I would have thought, and the spit and meat together were a heavy, awkward burden to try hanging in the hearth.

  But at least Jack had got the fire going again, and set new wood on top of it, and in the cupboard that the constable had smashed open I found the tin of honey I’d seen Fergal use before, and if
I copied Fergal’s trick of basting roasting meat with honey, then I couldn’t go far wrong.

  And since Jack had also left a bunch of carrots on the table with the soil still clinging to them, I decided I could add them to the porridge I’d already made and thin it down to something that approximated Fergal’s vegetable and barley broth, if I could find some water.

  That problem solved itself a moment later when Jack Butler came in through the back door with a sloshing pair of buckets. ‘We’ve no water in the house at all,’ he said, as though I wouldn’t know it. ‘So I went and fetched us some.’ He set the buckets down and took a seat himself, with an approving glance towards the mutton. ‘’Tis as well that you were here. That would have gone to waste had I attempted it.’ And then he said, ‘I did not mean to hurry you.’

  He must have seen I didn’t understand, because he made a gesture at his own head and explained, ‘Your hair. You could have taken time to dress it, I would not have minded. You’ll find me not so difficult,’ he promised, ‘as my brother.’

  He was definitely chattier. Some people might have found it awkward spending time with somebody who didn’t speak, but not Jack Butler. While I cooked he rocked his chair back on two legs and, shoulders to the wall, kept up a mostly single-sided conversation, asking questions that he answered for himself. ‘So did he tell you all about me, then? Of course he did, or else you would have feared me as a stranger, though I doubt he would have thought I would be home before him.’

  From the track his conversation took I gathered he’d concluded that his brother was still off aboard the Sally, which to me made perfect sense. It explained, too, why the constable had seemed so sure that no one would be in the house.

  ‘And so you’ve been here all this time and on your own?’ He would have answered that himself as well, I think, except he saw my face. He stopped. ‘Have you then had a visitor?’

  I nodded, once.

  His chair came down, but slowly and controlled, and when he spoke again his voice had changed, no longer lightly teasing but more serious. ‘A welcome one?’

  I shook my head, and knew from how his eyes had altered that he didn’t need to be told who, any more than he needed to have anything spelt out for him when I showed him the smashed cabinet lock in the scullery.

  He was quick enough putting the pieces together.

  ‘The constable came on his own? Did he search the whole house? Did he find anything?’

  Here, instead of a nod, I was happily able to shake my head ‘no’.

  Jack Butler said, ‘That must have spoilt his temper.’ He seemed pleased by that, until another realisation crossed his mind and he looked down at me. ‘Did he then do you harm?’

  I shook my head, but he had seen my moment’s hesitation.

  ‘Are you certain?’ He was looking at me clinically, not trusting what I’d told him, when I saw his face change once again, as though he’d just this minute noticed what gown I was wearing.

  Though he obviously recognised it, he did nothing more than raise his gaze to mine a moment before going on without a comment, ‘Good, for Daniel would have gutted him.’

  I hadn’t thought of that. I had forgotten that in this age men still felt an obligation to defend a woman’s honour. Having lived so long where men were more likely to push their way past me than open a door for me, I hadn’t even considered the fact that if I had been harmed, Daniel Butler might well have responded with violence. I gave silent thanks that the constable had only struck me with words, not his hands, even though I felt sure that he’d wanted to.

  Thinking of it now, I wasn’t certain what had stopped him, since it would have been another way to try provoking Daniel into action, if that had in fact been what he had intended. I remembered how the constable’s dark gaze had raked my gown. It made me wonder if he’d seen a ghost himself when he had looked at me, and she had stayed his hand.

  Whatever the reason, I was thankful for it, just as I was glad I’d taken time last night to tidy up the rooms before Jack had a chance to see them, for I knew there was no chance of keeping anything from Daniel if Jack knew it. Fergal might have been exaggerating when he’d said Jack Butler couldn’t keep a secret – after all, a man who made his living smuggling had to keep a secret now and then – but I could understand what Fergal had been getting at. Jack Butler liked to talk.

  About himself, mainly, but he was good-natured about it and, in spite of my earlier misgivings, after being alone in the house I found him welcome company. Besides, I felt better with someone around for protection, and I had a feeling Jack Butler was good in a fight. Not as good as his brother, I guessed, because Jack seemed like someone who didn’t have much self-control, but he likely fought dirtier.

  Still, he was not without manners. The mutton I’d roasted came out a bit charred, and my barley and carrot broth didn’t have even a bit of the flavour that Fergal’s had had, but Jack ate them without a complaint, and then ate them a second time, cold, for his supper.

  It was not until afterwards, when twilight settled outside on the hills and Jack lit the candles on the table and the atmosphere inside the kitchen grew close, that he showed a small flash of his mischievous nature.

  ‘So, mistress,’ he asked, ‘shall I help you to bed?’

  I probably wouldn’t have dignified that with an answer in any event, whether spoken or otherwise, but as it turned out I didn’t have to give him a reply. The answer came out of the dimness behind us, surprising us both.

  ‘’Tis a kind offer, Jack.’ Daniel Butler had settled himself in the doorway that led to the corridor, arms folded over his chest. ‘But I think that would be my prerogative.’

  CHAPTER FIFTEEN

  Fergal was having none of it. Shouldering his way past Daniel Butler he said drily, ‘You can both of you behave yourselves, or do you need reminding in the way of it? My sister has the wit to see herself to bed without the aid of either of you.’

  I heard Jack say in surprise, ‘Your sister?’ and I was aware that Fergal answered him, but the bulk of my attention was still focused on the tall man in the doorway and the warmth within his eyes.

  He looked as pleased to see me there as I was glad to have him back, and if we’d been alone I would have told him so, but I could only let my smile speak for me.

  ‘… and that will be my only warning to you, so you pay it heed and mind your manners,’ Fergal finished off, to Jack.

  ‘Would I do otherwise?’ Jack’s voice was mild. He’d turned to look at us. ‘And I do fear you may be warning the wrong Butler in this instance.’

  ‘Ay, I’ve said the same to him and all,’ said Fergal. He had noticed the remains of what I’d cooked, an eyebrow lifting at the blackened meat. ‘Where did you find this mutton?’

  ‘I did meet with it upon the road on my way home,’ said Jack, ‘and in so sad a circumstance that pity moved my hand to see it liberated.’

  Fergal’s sideways glance was dry. ‘And what else did you liberate?’

  ‘Only the mutton. ’Twas all I could carry.’

  Daniel, lounging comfortably within the doorway, asked, ‘And who now has gone hungry by your hand?’

  ‘None but a lazy merchant who was fool enough to leave his wagon unattended while he slept.’

  ‘You’ll try your luck one time too often,’ was his brother’s comment. ‘You are fortunate you did not meet the constable upon the road. He would have had you taken for a thief.’

  Jack shrugged. ‘I am well liked by juries in these parts, they would have voted me my freedom. And in any case, the constable had other things to occupy his time.’ His tone had sobered. ‘He was here. He searched the house.’

  I saw the narrowing of Daniel’s eyes as Fergal, who’d been tearing off small chunks of mutton, tasting what I’d done with it, turned round with sudden fierceness. ‘Christ’s blood, Jack, and did you never think to stop him?’

  ‘I had not the opportunity, he came and went before I did arrive. Your sister could not tell m
e what occurred, of course, but it appears she faced him on her own, and even had she had a voice she would have had no chance of stopping him herself. He must have been in a rare temper, from the treatment he did give that cupboard standing in the scullery.’

  While Fergal went to check the cupboard, Daniel studied me with quiet calm, the kind of calm that sometimes silences the winds before the weather takes a turning for the worse, and it appeared to be a warning sign to Jack who quickly said, ‘I asked her if the blackguard used her ill, and she assured me in her way that he did not.’

  Daniel said nothing, but his eyes moved briefly past me as behind me Fergal stepped out of the scullery and said, ‘He used the axe.’

  The calm of Daniel’s face grew deeper, settling over his whole frame, and Fergal said, ‘Jack, come and help me take a look around the stables, will you? God alone knows what he might have done out there.’

  ‘But—’

  ‘Shift yer arse.’ The terse instruction left no room for argument, and Jack made none.

  Daniel moved from the doorway to let them go past, but he waited until they’d gone out to the yard and the back door had swung shut behind them and they had moved well out of hearing before he asked quietly, ‘Are you all right?’

  ‘He didn’t lay a hand on me.’

  ‘That was not what I asked.’

  ‘I’m fine.’ I half-turned away from those steady eyes that I suspected saw more than I wanted them to. ‘It rattled me a bit, that’s all. I mean, I’d just come back and all of you were gone, and it was raining, and I couldn’t start a fire, and then I turned around and there he was …’

  ‘You did not let him in?’

  ‘He let himself in. I don’t think he expected to find anybody here. He seemed to know you were away.’ I paused, and glanced back. ‘Were you off on your ship?’

  ‘Yes.’ He didn’t elaborate. ‘What did he do when he found you at home?’