The Restoration Garden: A Novel - 13

Irene

I packed my suitcase while the others were still at church, taking only the few items I couldn’t live without. The necklace that once belonged to my mother. My coloring pencils. My florilegium. I made sure to leave enough of my clothing behind that no one would immediately suspect anything.

I just needed money. I crept into my father and stepmother’s bedroom next. Lady Montgomery kept a small stash of money in her otherwise unused jewelry box. A brief moment of guilt invaded my mind as I pilfered a handful of bills. In all the years I’d known about the money, I’d never been tempted to steal like this before. I had never wanted for material things at Havenworth. The holes in my heart were burrowed entirely by loneliness and rejection.

I took only the amount I needed to see myself safely to London and left the rest. If there was a god judging my sins, I would have to hope it was a forgiving deity that understood my reasons. The family would be better off without me. Their black sheep would be off to a different pasture, where I would no longer embarrass them with my unwanted opinions and lack of intelligence. They could finally be the perfect happy family, something Lady Montgomery would no doubt willingly pay more than a few quid for if given the choice.

I scanned the room for anything else I might need, and my eyes caught on something atop Father’s nightstand. A folder that looked like it belonged in Father’s office rather than a bedroom—though given his office had been taken over as a spare bedroom for the cadre of nurses still residing at Havenworth, it made sense an important document would be here instead. The folder was tucked beneath a stack of books. Instinct told me to pull it out and peer inside. There were no top-secret markings or special committee designations, but I knew the moment I opened it and saw the contents that it was important.

Operation Josephine.

There were no details as to what that meant. Only a travel itinerary.

Tuesday, October 15, 1940—London to Liverpool via train.

Thursday, October 17, 1940—Liverpool to New York via ocean steamer.

The tickets were attached to the itinerary, each one bearing the name John Clarke.

My father was going to America. After all his warnings and recriminations about my desire to go, too. He was going and he wasn’t taking me with him.

A white-hot rage lit inside me, burning away any lingering doubts or fears I had about leaving Havenworth.

I left my suitcase in the garden, tucked out of sight behind the wych elm. When the following morning arrived, I sneaked out before anyone else had awoken to retrieve it so I could make my way to the train station before anyone knew I had left.

I felt no guilt leaving my father and stepmother without a word, but I dreaded leaving Margaret and Charlie the same way. I wrote a note for my sister before I left. Not one anyone else would be able to read. Using a hairpin, I scratched the invisible words into the page the way she had taught me.

Dear Margaret,

I’m sorry I’ve run away. One day you will understand. I have to follow my heart. James and I are in love and he has asked me to go with him to London. Take care of Charlie. I promise to write to you soon.

Love always,

Irene

On the other side, I drew a daisy for Margaret.

Daisies always reminded me of Margaret. Not just because of her name—“Marguerite” being the French word for the flower—but also because of the meaning it carried: childhood innocence. There was no one more innocent and pure than my sister. I hoped it would be enough.

It had to be enough.

I slid the paper through the small crack of space under her door. I brushed away my tears and quickly made my way down the stairs and out the door. My suitcase was exactly where I’d left it, undisturbed. I gave the gardens one last glance. Even in their dissolved state, they were truly spectacular. Would I ever see them again?

With a heavy sigh, I dragged my suitcase down the pathway toward the road.

“Where are you going?”

My breath hitched at the unexpected sound of Margaret’s voice. I turned around to see her standing in her nightgown, her dark hair in a tangle of curls around her face. My note was clutched in her tiny hand.

There was no point in lying to her when she already knew. “I’m going to London with James.”

“But you can’t go!”

“I know you’re upset, but it’s for the best. I’m an adult now. I’m supposed to leave and follow my own path. One day you will, too.”

She threw herself at me, wrapping her arms around my waist. “But who will take care of me and teach me to be a lady?”

The ache in my chest was almost unbearable as she sobbed into my skirt. I set my hands on her narrow shoulders. “Listen to me. You are going to be just fine. You are so smart and capable and strong. Do not let anyone tell you otherwise.”

“Take me with you! Don’t leave me here by myself.”

I brushed my hand along her hair. “I would love nothing more, but Havenworth is your home. Your mother and father would miss you terribly. So would Charlie. This is where you belong. One day you will be the lady of this house.”

“I don’t want to be here without you.”

Tears of my own tracked down my cheeks. “Promise me something, okay? Promise me that when you are lady of this house, you will take care of this garden. That no matter what happens, you will make sure it remains as beautiful as it is today. If you promise me that, then I promise you I will return someday.”

She nodded solemnly. “I promise.”

I hugged her tightly, then grabbed my suitcase and walked out the front gates, knowing that despite my promise to Margaret, I would never return.

James was already at the train station when I arrived. He didn’t notice me at first. Butterflies danced in my belly as I walked across the platform toward the bench where he sat with his nose buried in the pages of a newspaper. The headline Hitler Orders the Surrender of Britain splashed across the front page. We were almost toe to toe by the time he lowered the paper and noticed me.

“Irene! You came?”

His reaction startled me. “Of course I came. I promised I would.”

He rose to his feet, erasing my worries with the heat of his touch. “You seemed so hesitant on the telephone. I was afraid you might change your mind.”

I let myself surrender to his warmth, my breath hitching against his chest as I exhaled my relief. “It wasn’t easy. I had to sneak away. Father would have locked me in my room for a year if he knew I was leaving. He told me if I left Havenworth, I was never coming back, but I don’t care. I’m tired of letting him control everything. I want to make my own decisions.”

James traced his hand along my back. “You’re going to love London.”

I was really doing this. I was running away to London to follow my passion with the man of my dreams. The thought sent a rush of exhilaration and desire through me, leaving me breathless and giddy with anticipation.

The train pulled up to the station shortly after. Once we settled into our seats, James looked at me with a rather serious expression. “There’s something I need to ask you.”

I frowned. “What?”

“There are implications for a young woman like yourself running off with a man like me. I want to make sure you have no regrets.”

“Of course I won’t,” I insisted, despite the tiny thread of doubt creeping through me as the train began pulling away from the station. I had never done something so bold. So daring. And as the familiar sights of Cambridge grew distant in the window, the weight of my decision sank into me. I had promised Margaret I would return to her one day, but it was a lie. Father would never forgive me for running off. I would never be welcomed back to Havenworth.

“Good, because I don’t want to wait any longer to do this.” He reached into his pocket and pulled out a small box. “Irene Clarke, will you do me the greatest honor of becoming my wife?”

I gasped as he opened the box to reveal a stunning diamond-encrusted band.

“I promise I’ll replace the ring with something better soon. It’s all I was able to acquire on short notice.”

“No,” I said fervently. “It’s perfect. Of course I’ll marry you.”

He slipped the ring on my finger. It fit perfectly. In a fit of boldness, I kissed him. Fellow travelers cheered, but I ignored them. This was my and James’s moment.

The rest of the train ride passed in a blur. James suggested we elope immediately after arriving in London, so that there would be no time for anyone—least of all my father—to interfere. I didn’t have the strength to admit out loud that my father wouldn’t care. He did not issue empty threats. The moment I’d left Havenworth, I had ceased to exist as his daughter.

But the fact I was only eighteen was a problem. I was not yet old enough to marry without my father’s consent. Just as I couldn’t go to school or do anything else without his permission.

“An unfortunate complication, but not one that will defeat us. Trust me,” James promised.

I did trust him. That was why I didn’t ask him how he would find a way around the law. It was easier to lose myself in his assurances and the excitement of my newfound engagement. James promised me a real ceremony later, when I’d had the chance to settle in, but if we were married in the eyes of the law, I would be free.

Despite the lingering limp from his injury, he insisted on carrying my suitcase when we arrived in London. Almost immediately, I noticed a shift in him, as subtle as a gentle breeze that flutters the leaves on the trees while still too light to feel on the skin. His energy was different here. An undercurrent of excitement that matched the faster pace of London flowed through him.

We headed directly to a registry office, where James found a simple solution to our problems: money. The registrant was more than happy to overlook my age and our lack of appropriate paperwork for a few pounds.

There was nothing fancy or formal about the ceremony, but I was too giddy with excitement to care. Instead of a grand white gown, I was dressed in a simple blue skirt and blouse, my face bare of any cosmetics and my hair a mess from the train ride. Dozens of people were queued around us at the long wooden service desk of the registry office when we signed the certificate of marriage. The clerk—an older man with a pinched nose and small round glasses that sat low on his nose—quietly pocketed another stash of pounds before declaring us officially wed.

I was no longer Irene Clarke—the simple girl from Havenworth who never did anything exciting or daring. I was Irene Atherton. A married woman with my entire life ahead of me.

James took my hand as we walked out of the registry office. He paused at the top of the steps, turning me to look at him. “How do you feel, Mrs. Atherton?”

I wrapped my arms around his neck. “Like the luckiest woman in the world.”

He kissed me and it felt like the entire world disappeared.

“What do we do now?” I asked when he released me.

He smiled. “We go home.”

Home . What a wonderful thought.

His flat in Mayfair was just a short tube ride from the registry office. I couldn’t help but gasp as we approached the large white stone building. The stunning Edwardian architecture stood out like a centerpiece among the rest of the buildings on the street.

The inside of his flat was just as luxurious as the outside, with high ceilings, marble floors, and dark wood furniture.

“It’s a little dusty,” he said sheepishly as he set my suitcase down on the floor.

“I’m not afraid of a little dust,” I said. “And I do remember how to use a duster.”

“I would never ask you to do such a thing. You are my wife, not my housekeeper. This is now your home as much as it is mine.”

It wasn’t that I wasn’t accustomed to such opulence—Havenworth was, after all, the epitome of excess. But I had spent the first decade of my life in a cramped one-bedroom apartment where spiders were frequent visitors and water stains tarnished the cracked walls. I expected James’s place to be similarly modest. There was nothing in our time together to suggest he possessed this kind of wealth. A part of me was greatly relieved that I hadn’t impulsively rendered myself destitute, but I couldn’t shake the uncomfortable feeling that I had just married a man I didn’t know all that well.

I pushed those fears and doubts aside. I had made my choice—rash as it was—and there was no turning back.

I excused myself to the bathroom to freshen up while James put the kettle on for tea. The space was equally elegant to the rest of the flat, with a large claw-foot tub and porcelain pedestal sink. I splashed water onto my face and brushed my hair.

This wasn’t just where I would be living now. It was where I would be sleeping, too. Next to James. It was something I had been thinking about nonstop for the last twenty-four hours—mostly with excitement. But now that I was here, the thought filled me with anxiety.

“You’re a married woman,” I scolded myself. “It’s fine.”

The girl staring back at me in the mirror looked less convinced. She was young and naive and afraid.

I decided a hot bath was exactly what I needed to calm my nerves.

It was only once the warm water hit my shoulders that I realized how tired I was. The train ride from Cambridge was less than two hours, but it felt like I had traveled a thousand miles.

When I finally emerged, clean and fresh from my bath, I found James in the bedroom with my empty suitcase on the bed, my florilegium in his hands, opened to a drawing of daisies I had done last year.

“What are you doing?” I asked nervously.

He looked up with a rueful smile. “My apologies. I didn’t mean to snoop. I thought I would help unpack your things to make you feel more at home.”

It was a sweet gesture, but one that made me feel exposed. “That is very kind of you.” I took my florilegium back and shoved it in my suitcase.

“Is everything all right?”

“Of course,” I said in my cheeriest voice. “It’s just that the sketch you’re looking at reminds me of my sister. She was quite angry when I left this morning. I’m not sure she’ll ever forgive me for leaving the way I did.”

“She will one day. I’m certain of it. But there’s no point dwelling on things we can’t change. Especially not when we have plans.”

I raised my eyebrows. “We do?”

He nodded. “We cannot waste your first night in London. I suggest you put on your best dress.”

“Where are we going?”

“To celebrate our wedding, of course.”