The Restoration Garden: A Novel - 19

Julia

I went to check on Sam and Margaret a little before lunch. Margaret’s nurse was just finishing testing her blood pressure when I walked into the orangery. Sam lay on the ground next to them, coloring on a blank piece of paper.

“Looking good today, Margaret,” the nurse said jovially as she packed the cuff back into her bag. She was somewhere in her forties, with long black hair pulled into a sensible braid and vivid purple scrubs that had monarch butterflies printed all over the top.

“Humph,” Margaret responded. “You say that every time, and yet you still insist I’m not allowed any sweets.”

“I’m only looking out for you,” the nurse said with a practiced mix of humor and rebuke. “I’ll be back tomorrow. Try to get some exercise today if you can. A short walk would do you good.”

“So would a chocolate biscuit now and again. It keeps the body young.”

The nurse laughed. “Make sure she doesn’t sit around all day,” she said to me as she walked out.

I put my hands up in defense when Margaret narrowed her eyes at me. “I won’t make you do anything you don’t want. Promise.”

Margaret lifted her chin. “I knew there was a reason I hired you.”

“Speaking of that, are you up for looking at more garden plans?”

She waved her hand. “Yes, yes. But first Sam and I need to finish our game.”

I looked at Sam. I had thought he was coloring, but despite all his scribbles, there was nothing on the white paper in front of him. In fact, the pen in his hand wasn’t actually a pen but rather some kind of long broach with a sparkly gemstone at the end. “What game is this?”

“You’ll have to wait and see,” Margaret said, sharing a sly glance with Sam.

I pressed my lips together, wondering whether I ought to say something about the safety of the pointy instrument in Sam’s fist, but he set it down a second later and lifted his paper triumphantly. “I’m done!”

“Pass me that book over there, will you?” Margaret said to me, gesturing to the large hardcover sitting on a small side table just out of her reach.

I picked up the book—a seventh edition of Experimental Physics —and handed it to her. She set it on her lap and placed Sam’s blank page over top. Then, with the edge of a sharpened pencil, she began shading over the page with a surprisingly precise hand. As she worked, a delighted smile overtook her.

“Wonderful, Sam. Just wonderful.”

Slowly, the graphite shadow was broken up by faint white lines where the pencil’s lead hadn’t reached. Margaret held up the paper to reveal what Sam had done. Using the brooch, he had made an indentation in the paper in the shape of a truck. Below it, he had carved his name in big, uneven letters, all of it hidden until Margaret had traced over the edge with the pencil.

“It’s a secret message,” Sam said, eager for my approval.

“That’s incredible,” I said. “Well done.”

“One of the evacuees taught me to do this. Charlie and I used to pass notes to each other when we were meant to be studying. It used to drive Irene mad . . .” Margaret’s voice trailed off, lost to a distant memory.

It was all I could do not to gasp at her mention of her half sister. She had said it so casually that I wondered whether she even realized it, but then a look of pain passed over her dark eyes. I pushed aside my disappointment. I wanted so desperately to ask her more about Irene. What she was like and how she’d become so fascinated by the language of flowers. Why did she leave? But the question that bothered me the most was how the florilegium ended up back at Havenworth.

Margaret cleared her throat, disrupting the charged silence. “It’s been ages since I’ve been able to teach anyone my tricks. I’m grateful Sam is such a keen pupil.”

The mention of secret messages made it impossible to tamp down the question that had been gnawing at me all week. “Margaret, have you ever heard of the language of flowers?”

“I’m ninety-two years old. There are few things in this world I haven’t heard of.”

“Did you ever use it? Or communicate that way?”

Her expression softened. “A long time ago. It was never something I had much interest in. Why do you ask such a thing?”

I wanted to tell her what I’d found in the florilegium, but my better judgment reined me in. This was something I needed to discuss with Andrew first. “Curiosity. That’s all. Can I show you some of the designs I’ve been working on?”

She didn’t believe my excuse. I could sense it in her narrowed eyes. “I suppose we can’t keep putting that off. Show me what you have.”

I knelt next to her and opened my laptop. “This is the parterre. The outer quadrants were carefully planted with distinct color schemes, but the inner circle that connected them was filled with white heritage roses. Parterres are typically very formal, but from what I can tell, the ones at Havenworth were done in a more free-flowing, meadow-like style. What do you think?”

Margaret nodded along, but there was no excitement or joy radiating from her, as I’d hoped.

“It should be straightforward enough to replace the laburnum tunnel that leads to the walled gardens in the back,” I continued, hoping something would spark in her. “The moon garden was the smallest one over here. Followed by the cottage garden, and the kitchen garden over here. I don’t have much information on the latter. Do you remember what vegetables your mother might have planted there?”

“I spent much of my childhood avoiding the mere mention of vegetables. I certainly wasn’t involved in planting them.”

Sam snickered.

I shook my head in mock disappointment. “We can leave the kitchen garden to another time. That won’t require the same kind of planning as the rest of it. There’s one last thing we need to discuss, though.”

Margaret looked at me shrewdly, no doubt sensing the hesitancy in my voice. “And what is that?”

“Most of the hardscaping in the garden is in relatively good shape. The garden walls will only need a small amount of repair, but there is the back wall exit to the woodlands that’s been bricked over. We could have that reopened if you like, but the folly—”

She uttered a soft, startled sound and pressed her hand to her lips. The sharpness faded from her brown eyes as she once again fell into the distant past. “I haven’t thought about the folly in so long. Charlie and I used to play inside it, even though it was terribly unsafe. We called it our fortress. The place that would keep us safe when the Germans came. Can you repair it?”

An ache entwined my heart. “No. That’s what I needed to tell you. I don’t think I can. The cost alone would be prohibitive, but finding an expert who can build that kind of thing would take a lot of time.”

She took in a sharp breath.

Instinctively, I inched closer to her. “Margaret, are you okay?”

She nodded slowly, a sad smile forming on her lips, and held out her hand. I took it in mine. She squeezed my hand with a tight grip. “I know you are doing everything you can. I’m not worried about the cost, or the time, even if I don’t have much of it left. Some things are more important than that. Do you know what I mean?”

I swallowed hard and willed myself to nod even though I wasn’t sure I understood at all.

“What are you doing? Put those scissors down right now!”

The screeching tone in Helen’s voice nearly made me accidentally slice off a chunk of my hair I hadn’t intended. With my nerves on edge, I set the scissors on the edge of the bathroom sink. “What are you doing here?”

“Looking for you. Were you really about to cut your hair with kitchen shears?”

“They were all I could find,” I admitted.

She crossed her arms in utter disgust. I probably should have felt a little bit of shame, but I had never cared too much about my looks. “Practical” was the most charitable word to describe my clothing, and my fingernails were perpetually lined with mud. I had neither the skill nor the patience to wear makeup regularly. The only time I made any real effort was when I needed to impress new clients.

“Wait here,” she instructed. “I’ll be right back.”

She disappeared down the hall as quickly as she first appeared, still not telling me why she had come looking for me in the first place. I was tempted to finish the job with the kitchen scissors while I waited for her return, but I was certain Helen would give me the kind of lecture that would make me regret it. Instead, I peered across the hallway at Sam. He was sitting on the bed, practicing the secret-message technique Margaret had taught him, utterly mesmerized by his new trick.

Helen reappeared a minute later with a small pair of scissors in hand and instructed me to sit on the edge of the claw-foot tub.

“What did you do to yourself?” she asked as she tucked a small hand towel around my neck.

“Tree sap,” I replied. “Peanut butter or rubbing alcohol can get it out, but it’s easier to hack it off.”

“You are utterly ridiculous. When’s the last time you had it cut properly at a salon?”

I shrugged. “Probably a couple years.”

“Stay still,” she admonished. “You have lovely hair. If you took better care of it, you might realize that.”

I did my best not to move or fidget while she snipped at my hair. Tufts of blond fell like snowflakes onto the tile below. I wondered, briefly, whether I ought to be nervous about letting her have free rein with my hair, but there was no hair disaster that couldn’t be solved with an elastic and a few bobby pins. “You never did tell me what you were doing up here.”

“Oh, I wanted to apologize for being late,” she said in a voice that lacked her usual buoyancy. “And to thank you for taking care of dinner.”

“It wasn’t a big deal. Margaret didn’t even complain about my cooking this time.”

She stretched out a length of my hair with a comb and snipped off another chunk. The amount of my hair covering the floor had reached a terrifying level now. “You won’t tell Andrew, will you?”

I looked up to study her, but she immediately tilted my head back to a neutral position. “I would feel better keeping a secret from your brother if I knew the reason.” Tonight wasn’t the first time Helen hadn’t shown up when she promised she would. When we first met, I had pegged her as a little flighty. Well meaning but perpetually disorganized. But that didn’t sit right now that I’d gotten to know her better. She was the kind of person who looked you directly in the eye when asking how you were doing. I had never seen her be anything but conscientious of others, especially with Margaret. The only thing flighty about her was her tendency to be late.

She sighed. “I started taking classes after work, and it’s been difficult getting home on time to help with Margaret and all the things I promised to do.”

“Is that it? I was expecting something a little more scandalous. Why would Andrew have a problem with that? He seems like the kind of person who supports education.”

She pulled two strands of hair from either side of my face toward her, comparing their length before slicing off another inch. “Not this kind of education.”

I twisted to look at her, wondering whether she was actually hiding something scandalous. She threw her hands up in frustration at my sudden movement. “Helen. You can tell me. I promise I won’t say anything.”

She guided my head back in line with my spine. “I’m studying to be a hairstylist.”

I laughed, more with relief than anything. “I kind of wish you had mentioned that before I let you have a go at my hair. But I still don’t get why you’re worried about Andrew finding out.”

“He won’t be happy about it. It’s something I’ve always wanted to do, but Andrew insisted I go to uni instead. He said we’re incredibly fortunate to have Margaret looking out for us, and it would be a dishonor to her if we didn’t pursue a proper career.”

I winced on her behalf, imagining too easily Andrew delivering that lecture. My parents had been the same way, refusing to help me with college unless I enrolled in a practical degree that promised a lucrative future. When I landed my job with Hartwell & Sons, I was so proud that I had proved them wrong. My debts and successes were entirely my own.

But I couldn’t help but hear the thread of truth in their warnings. Big dreams came with even bigger risks. I had lost my job, my reputation, and my life savings. I had no other skills to fall back on. “It’s hard being an older sibling. I’m sure he just wants to protect you as best he can.”

“Spoken like an eldest.”

My smile was tight. “We can’t help it. It’s in our nature to be absolute know-it-alls. But even I know no one can tell you how to find happiness. You have to make your own choices because you’re the one that has to live with them.”

She sighed. “Of course you had to be sensible. Couldn’t you have said something outrageously out of touch that would solidify my belief that no one understands me?”

“I wouldn’t dare say anything like that when you’re holding my hair hostage.”

“Wise woman. The thing is, I know Andrew’s right. Most children don’t have a fairy godmother like Margaret. It would be wrong to waste that kind of opportunity. I ended up in accounting because I was always good at maths and numbers. I tried so hard to convince myself this was the right path for me, but no matter how hard I try, I wake up every day dreading it.”

“Margaret doesn’t seem like the kind of person who would be mad at you for following your heart.”

Helen set the scissors down and sat beside me on the edge of the tub. “She’s only ever wanted our happiness. But I don’t think I could deal with Andrew’s disappointment.”

“Why don’t you talk to him? If you told him how you really feel, he might surprise you.”

She shook her head. “He won’t understand. Duty is everything to him. Anyway, I’ve been talking too much about myself. You’re all done. Tell me what you think.”

I stood up and inspected myself in the mirror. The change was more drastic than I had anticipated. My once-long hair now sat just below my shoulders, with gentle layers framing my face.

“Please say you don’t hate it.”

It was different and different had always been bad. I hated change. And yet I couldn’t find a single thing to dislike. The shorter length made me look younger, and the layers brought attention to my cheekbones. “You did great. Thank you. I can see why you want to be a stylist.”

“You won’t tell Andrew, will you? I don’t think I’m ready for that conversation yet.”

The idea of keeping another secret from him didn’t sit well, but I was smart enough not to wade into a sibling disagreement. “I won’t bring it up. But you are going to have to talk to him at some point.”

“I know,” she said with a resigned sigh. “Just not yet.”

My phone, which I’d left on the edge of the sink, buzzed with an incoming text. I reached for it, but not before Helen caught sight of the message preview that flashed over the screen.

Please call me. I know you’re upset but it’s important.

“Who’s Ryan?”

“No one.”

“That didn’t look like no one.”

For the briefest moment, I wondered what it would be like to share my secrets with Helen the way she had with me. How would it feel to confess all the terrible mistakes I’d made? Trusting Rebecca. Believing I knew best how to help. Putting my entire career and reputation on the line to help her, when the only thing I did was lose her forever.

I deleted the message without reading the rest. “It’s nothing.”