The Restoration Garden: A Novel - 5

Irene

The dinner party turned out to be as dull as I predicted. Fewer than a dozen guests had been invited, none of whom had any interest in conversing with me. The invasion of France was on everyone’s lips, setting a rather morose tone to the entire affair.

I had resigned myself to an evening of tedium and feigned politeness, but even that turned out to be too much to hope for. Lady Montgomery had seated me across from the one person certain to make the dinner as painful as possible: Deborah Howell. She might be my stepcousin, but I couldn’t stand her. Deborah and I had been in school together, and she’d always been a terrible bully, teasing me for my “unusual and funny-sounding” accent and making sure none of the other girls would dare befriend me for fear of incurring her wrath. But thanks to our familial connection and the fact our fathers were colleagues, any rare social event I attended always involved their presence. Lady Montgomery was convinced we would become friends if we only spent enough time together, as if a mongoose and viper might become good chums if thrown into the same box.

Even now, I could sense her unfavorable judgment of my lack of makeup and out-of-fashion dress. Her face was overly done up, which had as much to do with flaunting the rationing as it did with covering her hideousness, and her hair coiffed into a rigid updo. I ignored her as best as I could, though with Margaret and Charlie seated next to me, my options for a stimulating conversation were limited.

I caught the pair playing jacks during the soup course when the little red ball splattered hot broth across my arm.

“You need to behave,” I hissed. I snatched the ball away and tucked it against the fold of my skirt. Father and Lady Montgomery were too caught up in conversation at the far end of the impossibly long dining table to notice Margaret’s poor behavior, but more than a few of the guests—Deborah included—glanced at us with disdain.

Charlie, at least, had the grace to look ashamed of his behavior, but Margaret crossed her arms in an unseemly pout. “Why?”

“One day you will be lady of this house. You need to learn the rules of decorum.”

“When I’m lady of the house, there won’t be any rules. We’ll dance on the table if we feel like it and eat chocolate at every meal.”

It took all my composure not to growl in frustration, even though I secretly agreed the house would be infinitely more enjoyable if Margaret were in charge. But my sister still needed to learn how to fit into the world in which she was born.

“Why Aunt Mary insists on the presence of children at such a gathering, I will never know,” Deborah whispered to her sister, Pamela. My stepmother was too far away to hear the slight, but I wasn’t.

“Yes, it would have been much more enjoyable if the ill-tempered children had been left at home with their nannies instead of forcing them to ruin the evening with their whining,” I replied coolly, staring directly at her and Pamela.

Deborah shot me a withering look. “It’s a shame you were always so obsessed with your silly doodles of flowers instead of learning how to conduct yourself like a civilized member of society. Perhaps then you wouldn’t be stuck here in this house, dependent on your parents for attention.”

I balled up my fists beneath the table, unsure whether to be more offended at the insult or the claim that I counted Lady Montgomery among my parents.

“Irene’s drawings aren’t silly. They’re remarkable,” Margaret blustered. “She’s the most talented drawer you’ll ever meet.”

“Quite certainly,” Deborah said with a cruel smile. “Since I don’t spend much time around children anymore, I doubt I’ll be forced to encounter anyone’s drawings until Rupert’s and my children are in school.” She waved her left hand in front of her face, flashing an unmistakable cushion-cut diamond on her ring finger.

“Deborah and Rupert are engaged,” Pamela added fawningly.

“Congratulations,” I said through clenched teeth. It was no secret that I had once harbored a crush on Rupert. For a time it had seemed more than mutual. We used to sneak out to meet each other after dusk at the abandoned barn in the sugar beet fields across the fen. The last time we’d met was nearly eleven months ago, when he stole a kiss and told me I was the most beautiful girl he’d ever known. For weeks afterward, I’d fantasized that he would propose and take me away from this place, though I knew it would never happen. He had always been destined to marry someone like Deborah. Someone who was born in this world and truly belonged.

It didn’t matter how I looked or dressed, or even that I’d spent the better part of the past decade at Havenworth. I would always be the middle-class stepchild who did not fit in.

I set down my spoon, any sense of an appetite vanished and replaced with a burning pit of acid in my stomach. For the rest of the meal, I was forced to listen to Deborah and Pamela chatter about the upcoming wedding and how Rupert had insisted on proposing to her before he enlisted in the navy. Margaret and Charlie resumed their shenanigans, though with a bit more subterfuge this time. It seemed everyone had their place at this table except for me.

I’d resigned myself to spending the rest of the evening digging my fingernails into my palms when I spied a motor vehicle pulling up to the house through the large bay window.

“That must be Michael,” Deborah said adoringly.

I didn’t even bother to look up as Albert, our butler, escorted Michael into the dining room moments later—at least not until he announced, “Michael Howell and guest.”

Michael stepped into the dining room along with a fellow uniformed man hobbling along on a pair of crutches.

Abandoning all decorum, Michael’s mother—Lady Montgomery’s cousin Gwen—rose to her feet to greet her son with a sobbing embrace.

“I hope you don’t mind I brought my friend along,” Michael said once he was finally released from his mother’s clutches. “James serves in the RAF with me, but the poor chap’s been banished to the nearby hospital for the last few weeks after his plane got clipped by a Messerschmitt. I thought an evening out to enjoy some of Ruth’s delicious cooking would cheer him up.”

“Not at all. The more the merrier,” my stepmother replied politely, though anyone as familiar with her as I was knew she didn’t appreciate last-minute changes unless she was the one orchestrating them.

I studied James as Albert arranged for an additional spot at the table. He was beautiful. There was no other word to describe him. He was tall, like Michael, but with dark hair parted fashionably on the side and slicked back with pomade, and eyes the deepest brown I had ever seen.

“Thank you so much for having me,” James said to Father and Lady Montgomery as he took his seat next to Michael at the middle of the long table. “Havenworth is absolutely lovely. I’ve never seen such an impressive garden.”

My stepmother blushed at the compliment. “That is very kind of you to say. We’re just glad for the chance to see Michael after such a long time.”

Michael took advantage of the mention of his name to break into a long description of his training schedule at the base, and the absolute thrill of flying a spitfire.

I pushed the boiled carrots around my plate with my fork; the sensation of being watched spread over my skin like flowing water. I looked up to see James staring at me. His smile was subtle—the kind that lifts only the corners of one’s lips—but the gleam in his eyes made my heart somersault inside my chest.

I jerked my gaze away, perhaps a little too obvious in my perturbation. He was strikingly attractive, but he was an officer in the RAF. The last thing this evening needed was even more talk of the war.

I reserved some hope for enjoying the rest of the evening when we retired to the parlor, but Father did not even pull out the wireless for music. The women sat in a tight huddle, discussing the latest gossip, while the men all stood next to the fireplace drinking brandy. Margaret and Charlie had been excused to their beds for the rest of the evening, though they were more likely to be roaming the grounds for sightings of rogue German bombers than under the covers.

Fortunately, that left me alone and without scrutiny next to the bar, which served me just fine. I poured myself a glass of brandy and tossed it back the way I imagined dashing men with Clark Gable mustaches at gentlemen’s clubs did. The cool liquid burst into flames inside my throat, scorching a trail to my stomach. I blinked away the rush of tears stinging my eyes and braced myself for another sip. After all, if I was going to develop a taste for such dreadful but necessary things in the real world, I needed to take advantage of every opportunity.

“The Germans were coming in hot and heavy, firing at us from all angles,” Michael boomed to a rapt audience. “We thought that was it when we were hit, but I managed to get us home on a busted engine. Landing was a little rough, but we made it, unlike so many others that night.”

His mother made a dramatic strangled sound.

“How daring and brave,” one of the older women fawned. “We’re so fortunate to have men like you defending our shores.”

“The RAF is strong, but we’re no match for the Luftwaffe,” Michael said with an uncharacteristic bitterness. “They have more planes, more technology, and they know how to find our weaknesses. If they decide to attack Britain with all their might, we won’t be able to stop them.”

I knocked back another glass of brandy to burn away all this talk of war from my brain. The way everyone went on and on about it, you would think they wanted the war to come to our doorstep.

“But surely Britain’s radar defense system will hold,” Lady Montgomery said to Father.

He nodded, his own glass of brandy still untouched in his hand. “The Chain Home is a crucial part of our defense, but Michael is right. There is much more work to be done if we are to retain our supremacy in the air.”

“You’re being rather humble,” Edward, Michael’s father, said. “The work of the committee to advance our radar capabilities is nothing short of astounding.”

Father cut him a sharp, silencing look. Everyone knew the work they did was highly classified, not to be repeated even among family. But alcohol had a funny way of loosening lips.

“Our radar developments are only one step forward,” Father said. “We need more funding. Ways to advance our agenda. Churchill’s refused to give us any real support. He’s focused entirely on arming the country for offense, not defense.”

“And what would you have us do?” another man asked. “England doesn’t have the capacity to scale up the design of any of our inventions to be effective.”

“America does,” Father said.

“What good does that do us?” Edward protested loudly.

The discussion had turned so heated that every other conversation in the room hushed.

“They’re our allies,” Father responded with a staunchness I recognized as anger.

“In name only. They’re not our friends. America hasn’t even joined the war.”

“Why should they?” I asked impulsively.

All eyes turned to me, and I regretted opening my mouth.

“What on earth could you possibly mean by that?” Deborah asked with feigned innocence.

I should have been smarter than to respond, but the brandy had loosened my tongue, and I’d never been very good at ignoring my nemesis when she goaded me on to begin with. “Why should they join a war that has nothing to do with them? Why send their men into battle to be slaughtered? Perhaps they’re simply learning from Britain’s mistake—that there is no value in joining another country’s war.”

“You can’t genuinely believe that,” Lady Montgomery cautioned.

“Why not? After all, what good has it done Britain to join a war on the Continent? We can’t drive anywhere. There’s barely any food in the stores. Half the men that should be in college or starting families are trading bullets with Germans in some field in France. And for what?”

“Irene, dear, it’s best not to speak on things you don’t understand,” Lady Montgomery said, as though I were a child not understanding the grown-ups’ conversation. “War is a complicated matter.”

My cheeks flushed with embarrassment. I drained the last of my brandy and made my exit, knowing well enough that I had overstayed my welcome anyway.

I took my sketchbook and coloring pencils to the moon garden, having no desire to spend the rest of the evening locked inside my room while the guests carried on about who was making the greater sacrifice to the gods of war. It was a special spot hidden away behind a round stone gate that only I seemed to ever appreciate.

The first buds on the hawthorn tree were beginning to unfurl, creating a mass of white that stood out against the dusky sky. There was something incredibly special about the grounds at twilight, when the plants and creatures that usually stayed hidden finally emerged from their hiding spots. The creeping phlox and jasmine, too delicate for notice in the daylight, sparkled like gemstones beneath the moon’s glow. On lucky evenings, I might even spot an adventurous doe nibbling on the hydrangeas, though Paul considered deer a menace worthy of a shotgun.

It wasn’t always this lovely, though. The moon garden had been all but abandoned when I’d first arrived. I’d begged Paul to let me help make it beautiful again. He let me choose all the flowers and plants, guiding me with gentle advice on how to ensure the garden would bloom all year round. When the early summer arrived, the white roses and lilies would put on a spectacular display. In winter, the snowdrops and white grape hyacinths would break through the gloom.

This was where I came when I wanted to feel close to my mother. It was she who had first taught me about moon gardens and the healing powers they possessed. Creating one at Havenworth allowed me to keep her memory here with me. Even at ten years old, I had known better than to tell my father and stepmother why it meant so much to me. My mother belonged to a past both of them preferred to leave behind.

But no matter how much time passed, I would never forget her. She smelled like jasmine and sewed the most beautiful dresses for me. But beneath her bright smile, she wasn’t always happy. Father’s long hours at the university left her lonely. Their marriage wasn’t a particularly happy one. Mother never felt comfortable in Father’s academic world, and I suspect she always knew she wasn’t the true love of his life. When I would wake up from a nightmare, I often found her already awake, sitting by her bedroom window, staring at the night sky. She would tell me the moonlight helped her clear her mind. At the time I didn’t understand what she meant, but I did now. There was a peace that could be found only in the quiet of the moonlight.

Drawing in the low light wasn’t ideal, but the challenge was a welcome distraction from all the thoughts and frustrations still coursing through me. I sketched out the wide trunk of the magnolia first, then the length of the stone wall behind it. Delicate lilies of the valley encircled the base of the tree like a fairy ring.

The tranquility of the moment shattered when my white coloring pencil failed to capture the iridescence of the tiny blooms. I set the pencil down on the stone bench next to me with a huff and held up the sketch to examine the results more closely. I felt a prickle of awareness along my skin, signaling the presence of someone on the path behind me. I turned with every intention of chastising whoever it was for not respecting my personal space. But the words drowned in my throat when I locked eyes with James.

“What are you doing here?”

He leaned casually on one of the crutches. “Searching for a little solitude. The same as you, I suspect.”

“Isn’t the point of attending a party to avoid solitude?”

“I suppose it is. But you’re the only person worth spending time with tonight.”

A blush fell across my cheeks. “I thought you were Michael’s friend.”

“I’ve known Michael since we were seven years old and made to share a room at boarding school. Now that we’re stationed at Duxford together, I know more about him than anyone should ever know about a friend. Besides, he has a captive audience for all his tales of bravery and daring. He’ll be fine without me for a while.”

“I didn’t think anyone was immune to his charms.”

“Personally, I’m more drawn to beauty and intelligence. Would you mind if I join you?”

Flattered, I inched over to make room for him on the stone bench.

He sat down, not touching me but close enough that I could smell the faint trace of bergamot from his aftershave. An easy quiet settled between us, letting the crickets fill the night air.

“This is a lovely spot,” he finally said.

“It’s a moon garden. Many of the flowers, like the angel’s-trumpet, don’t reveal themselves until after nightfall.” I inhaled the intoxicating scent, unable to stop myself from the indulgence despite how silly I probably appeared.

“Is that why you came out here to draw?”

I pressed my sketchbook to my chest, hiding the drawing even though he’d already seen it. “It’s not my best. These coloring pencils aren’t any good for drawing, but Father refuses to let me use my Faber-Castells since they’re German-made.”

He shook his head. “Even with poor instruments, it’s clear you have an incredible talent.”

Another blush came over me. “Do you really think so?”

He nodded. “I would love to see more if you’re willing to show me.”

I bit my lip. No one had ever asked to see my drawings before, and the idea of it made me feel as vulnerable as if he’d asked me to shed my clothing. Slowly, I opened my book to reveal the hastily drawn sketch.

“Incredible.”

I handed him my sketchbook and allowed him to flip through the pages, a fresh wave of nerves spilling over me with each image he inspected. “Have you considered selling your work for commissions?”

The question ought to have filled me with joy. Instead, it reminded me that a career in art would always be out of reach as long as Father refused to allow me to attend art school. “No. As I said, it’s only a hobby.”

I took the book back and closed it firmly, but that did not deter him at all. “Talent such as this shouldn’t be wasted.”

“There isn’t any room for art when there’s a war going on, no matter how far away it is.”

“On the contrary. There is always room for art. After all, what are we fighting for if not that?”

“I’m surprised to hear an RAF pilot say that.”

“We’re not all warmongers and brutes.”

“Then why did you enlist?”

I immediately regretted the question, fearing it might offend him. He stared out at the garden for a long time. Finally, he said, “I wish I could give you a proper answer that made me seem brave and honorable. The truth is, I signed up because of pride. All my mates were signing up. We thought it would be some great adventure. Flying planes and conducting raids all over the continent. I don’t think any of us truly understood what we would be doing. The danger of it all feels rather far away until you’re flying over the Channel with a dozen Messerschmitts firing on you.”

“Was it terrifying when you were hit?”

“I was too preoccupied making sure I landed the plane safely to be terrified. It’s the long nights in the hospital that have been the most difficult. Knowing I’m lying there useless while everyone else is doing their part.”

“Will you go back?”

“If the surgeons clear me. Whether they allow me to fly again is still to be seen. To be honest, I’d volunteer for latrine duty just to get out of the hospital. But enough of my woes. I want to know how you’ve come to know so much about flowers.”

I shrugged so as not to seem overly eager in my answer. “My mother was a florist. We used to visit gardens together all the time.”

He furrowed his brow with the faint recognition of those who understood too well. “She died?”

I nodded. “From tuberculosis when I was ten.”

“I’m sorry. I lost my parents, too. They were in a car crash last year while they were visiting Vienna.”

I wrapped my arms around my waist, fighting the instinct to reach for him and offer the comfort I craved whenever I thought of Mother. Despite our easy rapport, he was a stranger. I couldn’t let myself forget that. “You must miss them terribly.”

He looked away, hiding whatever emotions came over him in that moment. “It’s not easy to talk about, is it?”

“Who says we need to talk? Perhaps we can simply enjoy each other’s company in silence for a little while.”

“That sounds like a wonderful plan, save for one thing.”

“What is that?”

He flashed a wry smile. “How am I to charm you without speaking?”

I sucked in a breath. “I suppose you’ll just have to try even harder.”

“How about this?” He cupped my cheek, drawing my face close to his. A flutter of anticipation danced in my stomach, like a million rose petals tumbling all at once. He was a stranger, and yet everything about this moment felt so perfect. So utterly right.

I closed my eyes, waiting for the press of his lips to mine. But there was no kiss. Only the sudden wail of an air raid siren erupting in the distance.

The sirens had never rung over Havenworth before. It was such a bizarre, unexpected sound that I didn’t realize what it meant until James took my hand and urged me to my feet. He moved with surprising speed on his crutches, so that I had to run to keep up as we raced down the footpath.

James stopped abruptly as we approached the house and placed his hands on my shoulders, forcing me to look him in the eyes. “Irene, where’s your shelter?”

It took me a moment to process the question amid the noise. “I don’t . . . we don’t have one. No, wait, we’re supposed to go to the cellar.”

He nodded grimly. “That will have to do.”

Father was shuffling the rest of the guests into the cellar when we arrived. There were few lights in this part of Havenworth, and a frenzied energy took hold of the women as they stepped carefully down the dark staircase.

“Are we going to be attacked?” Lady Gwen cried out as she descended the stairs, clutching her husband’s arm.

“We’ll be just fine,” Father responded calmly, placing his hand on Lady Montgomery’s back to follow behind. “As long as we all hurry along.”

Somehow the mix of hysteria and reason was even less reassuring than if everyone had been screaming in panic. I didn’t know whose reaction to trust.

Charlie was shaking terribly, streams of tears along his cheeks.

I knelt next to him. “You’ll be just fine. I promise. But you must go inside.”

“Maybe you can help me,” James said to Charlie, setting aside his crutches. “I’m not sure I can make it down the stairs by myself. We could be brave together.”

To my relief, Charlie took his hand and disappeared with him into the darkness.

Finally, there was no one left but me.

The sirens still rattled my blood as I hesitated at the top of the stairs. Something wasn’t right.

“Irene? Are you coming?” It was James, reappearing at the base of the stairs. “Everyone else is down already.”

Not everyone. I gasped as the realization hit me. “Margaret! Where’s Margaret?”

I didn’t wait for an answer. I had to find her. The bedrooms were the first place I thought to look. I threw each door open, calling for her, but there was no answer. Panic grew inside me with each passing second. She wasn’t in any of the rooms inside the house.

Because she wasn’t in the house, I realized, cursing myself for my foolishness. There was only one place she would go.

I ran back outside, glancing up at the indigo sky for only a moment before taking off down the path that led to the forbidden garden folly. There were no planes overhead, and no signs of an attack. So why had the siren rung?

It was an error. A mistake.

At least that was what I told myself as I frantically called Margaret’s name. There was no light to guide my way as I ran down the curving gravel path. It wasn’t the first time I’d navigated the gardens at night. This place had always been my solace, and I knew them as intimately as my own thoughts. But could I say the same for my sister?

I slipped past the secret gate into the wilds of the forest. “Margaret? It’s me—”

Something hard and heavy thwacked into my knee. I let out a shrill cry and bent over to clutch the aching joint.

“Irene? Oh no! I’m so sorry!” Margaret appeared before me, holding a heavy stick. “I didn’t know it was you! Please don’t be mad at me!”

“What on earth are you doing?” I asked, despite barely having any breath left in me.

“I thought you were the Germans.”

I winced, pain still coursing along my knee. “And what would you have done if it were the Germans?”

She straightened her shoulders and raised her chin. “Defend Havenworth.”

“Oh, Margaret. You’re just a child.”

“It’s my responsibility. I’m going to be lady of the house one day.”

This blasted war. A seven-year-old child should not have to feel this afraid all the time. “Come on. We need to get you to the basement.”

“No! We can’t leave! Who will protect Havenworth?” Her chin wobbled, fear lacing every trembling word.

“Listen to me. There is nothing to fear. No one is coming to attack us.”

“But the sirens—”

“It’s probably a false alarm.”

“You don’t know that,” she said, doubt weakening her bravado.

“This war is nothing but a sham. A phony war meant to scare us all into submission. Mark my words. The all-clear signal will be rung in no time, and we’ll all have a great big laugh about how much we panicked for no reason.”

“You’re certain?”

“Absolutely,” I said with all the conviction I could muster. Still, I couldn’t take any chances when it came to Margaret’s safety. “But your parents don’t understand that, and we don’t want to worry them. That’s why you need to go back to the cellar and let them know you’re okay.”

“All right.”

On a whim, I plucked a rogue Astrantia flower from the ground. “Here, this flower means courage. Hold on to it and it will help you be brave.”

She clutched the small starburst bloom to her chest. “Will it keep us safe?”

I swallowed hard. “Of course it will. I promise.”

As soon as the words left my mouth, a silence fell over the night. The sirens stopped. A moment later, the all-clear signal rang out.