The Moonlit Garden

by Bomann, Corina

  “Are you sure?” she replied a little hesitantly. “You must have seen a lot of the world.”

  “I have indeed, but I’ve never been involved in research work like this. It’s simply wonderful to be discovering a part of the history of my country. You must know that Sumatra is still of great interest to the Dutch. There are even museums dedicated to it. I visited one once, but it’s another matter entirely to be in direct contact with the history like this.” He gestured toward the box. “Anyway, it’s great fun, and I’m delighted that I got talking to you at the airport.”

  Did he really mean that? Of course it was fun to be looking through the boxes, but wasn’t he overreacting a bit? Probably not, Lilly thought. It’s just his way.

  “I’m also glad to have met you,” she replied, smiling now. “I doubt I’d have gotten this far without you.”

  “Of course you would have!” Verheugen replied, but he seemed visibly pleased that she appreciated what he had done for her. “Let’s see if we can find anything more before it gets dark. I don’t think the electricity supply has reached here yet, and I’m sure the custodian will want to be finishing work.”

  Lilly agreed with a laugh and returned to her work. She was now consumed with impatience. Whatever else happened, that night she would have the chance to read about the guilt Rose wanted to atone for in her diary.

  26

  Padang, 1910

  During the month following the earthquake, life in Padang slowly got back to normal. The sea murmured as it always had, the wind sang, and the cries of the monkeys resounded from the mountains down into the city.

  The residents cleared the rubble and buried their dead. Some had been impossible to identify, and their graves were marked with a plain cross in the hope that at some stage someone who was missing them, or at least knew them, would make themselves known.

  Helen practiced the violin with determination, never letting the instrument out of her sight. It was with her at mealtimes, during her lessons, and when she went to bed. Any moment when she found that she had nothing to do she would whisk out the violin and play songs that Miss Hadeland had not taught her—simple songs that sounded all the prettier for it. Sometimes Helen noticed her mother looking at her with concern, but she said nothing.

  One day, her mother appeared in the music room. She was accompanied by a woman who looked ancient in Helen’s eyes. Her snow-white hair was held in a bun, and her slender body was clothed in a black dress that made her look even thinner than she was. Her angular face looked as though life had worn away all its curves, and her nose stood out from her face like a bird’s beak.

  “Helen, I’d like to introduce Mrs. Faraday,” her mother said. “She happens to be here in Padang to look at the pupils of Mejuffrouw Dalebreek. She has also heard of you and would like you to play something for her.”

  The woman gave Helen a piercing look. Helen dared not avert her gaze, but she was also unable to look directly into her eyes. Instead she concentrated on the gold-mounted gemstone that the elderly woman wore at the neck of her dress.

  “Mrs. Faraday, I consider it a great honor . . . ” began Miss Hadeland, but the elderly woman, without removing her eyes from the girl, raised a hand to silence her.

  As Helen continued to stare at her brooch, the elderly woman approached her.

  “How old are you, child?” she asked in a sharp voice reminiscent of a badly tuned violin. Her clawlike hand reached out to the girl’s chin, and cold fingers touched her skin.

  “Seven years old, madam,” Helen replied as politely as she could, as she did not want to anger this birdlike old woman. She did not match Helen’s image of a witch—she looked far too respectable for that—but it was impossible to tell what hidden depths lay beneath the facade.

  “Seven years old. Just the right age. When they’re too old, their fingers are already too stiff to learn the fingering properly.”

  Although she was speaking about her fingers, the woman’s eyes continued to scrutinize Helen’s face, a peculiar experience for the girl. Then the elderly woman said, “Play something for us. The most difficult piece you know.”

  Helen did not need to think for long. Unhurriedly, she took the violin from its stand and positioned it under her chin, noticing as she did so the elderly woman’s attention turning to the instrument. She could not interpret the look that flamed in her eyes.

  After a while Mrs. Faraday raised a hand, tearing Helen from her playing.

  “You play very well, girl. And the sound of your violin is truly wonderful. Where did you get it?”

  “It was a gift from an acquaintance,” Helen’s mother quickly replied for her. The elderly woman betrayed no reaction.

  “You remind me very much of a girl who was once taught at my establishment. She was also very gifted and also had that way of playing. Someone has clearly tried to drive out your natural way of playing.”

  Her look, bordering on anger, fell on Miss Hadeland before her eyes returned to Helen. They were no friendlier than before, but at least without reproach.

  “Yes, that girl was one of my best pupils. She may not always have been obedient, but great things could have become of her. Unfortunately she threw away her career and forgot all I ever taught her.” She paused briefly, then reached out again to Helen’s face. “Yes, I see a lot of her in you. Perhaps you’re like her. This time I won’t allow a great talent to be wasted.”

  Helen did not know why, but these words made her heart start thumping wildly. What did she mean by it?

  “What do you think of going to England and learning to play the violin properly there? I run a music school in London, and I would like to have you as a pupil there. You know a certain amount, but I’m sure there’s a lot more in you to be discovered. I don’t know how much longer I have left in this world; perhaps this journey will be my last. I can’t say what will happen next, but I’m certain that you’ll never get an opportunity like this one again. So?”

  Helen did not know what to say and stood wringing her hands in indecision. Her mother soon stepped in.

  “I think that Helen is hardly able to grasp what a great honor this is.”

  “Talk to your daughter,” Mrs. Faraday said. “And if necessary, make the decision for her. You should always keep it in the back of your mind that this girl could achieve great things in the world—provided she receives the right guidance.”

  “I’ll talk to her,” her mother replied as Helen glanced over to Miss Hadeland. She was looking a little bewildered, staring the whole time at the violin on its stand. She only came back to life once Mrs. Faraday made her farewells and, together with Helen’s mother, she accompanied the elderly woman to the door.

  Helen remained behind and as she carefully polished the violin with a soft cloth and placed it back in its case, she wondered what the elderly woman had meant. She should go to England to learn to play the violin? Did they play differently in England?

  For the rest of the day Helen was unable to think clearly. The encounter with the elderly woman dominated her thoughts, and she began to wander restlessly through the garden. She kept close to the fence in the hope that the mystery lady might appear. Her friend was bound to be able to tell her what Mrs. Faraday meant!

  But however much she examined the women who passed the garden of her parents’ house, none of them looked as beautiful to her as the mystery lady who had given her the violin. With a sigh, Helen lowered herself to sit beneath a tree. What should she do now?

  She looked over to the house, where her mother was still talking to Miss Hadeland. Did her music teacher perhaps not want her to go to England? England. It sounded so distant, and somehow so cold. It certainly wouldn’t be as warm and sunny as here, but London also had a ring of adventure to it.

  By the time evening came, she was fit to burst with excitement. She was scarcely able to eat a bite of supper for fear that her mother might have reached a decision she did not like. She shifted restlessly on her chair as her mother chatted with he
r father, apparently taking no notice of her. The conversation finally turned to Mrs. Faraday’s visit, but her mother merely praised her for playing so well and told her husband that she wanted to talk to him about it later.

  Helen was finally told to go to her room, which pleased her. Perhaps she should do as she had always done since she’d had the violin—consult it. After all, if she went to London it would have to accompany her.

  She drew the case out from under her bed and flicked the lid open.

  The next moment she started in fear.

  Her violin had disappeared.

  Helen cried continuously for hours as her mother tried in despair to comfort her. Helen’s lips turned blue, and she seemed unaware of anything that was happening around her. She was grieving as if for a real person, and Ivy Carter could only hope that her husband could find out what had happened. There was no trace of it. After the violin had been found to be missing, he had gone immediately to Miss Hadeland’s lodgings.

  Ivy refused to believe that the music teacher would have stolen the violin, but who else could have done so? The elderly Mrs. Faraday? No, that was impossible; she could hardly have slipped back into the house unnoticed.

  Helen finally cried herself dry, not because she was any less upset, but because her eyes, her whole body, could go on no longer. She fell into a strange paralysis, which her mother was unable to penetrate, even with scones and sweetened milk. With swollen, vacant eyes, she stared up at the ceiling for so long that her eyelids eventually grew heavy and sleep overcame her.

  Helen found no peace, even in sleep. Terrible dreams afflicted her. The mystery lady appeared, her face pale and black shadows beneath her eyes, reproaching her for failing to take proper care of the violin. She remorselessly repeated her accusations, and her face became ever more frightening.

  Helen awoke with a scream and found herself alone in her room. The door was ajar, and a beam of light fell into the room. Voices reached her from downstairs. One of them was her father’s. He must have returned from his search.

  “I’ve looked all over the city for that Hadeland—nothing,” he said to Helen’s mother. “She abandoned her room this afternoon and seems to have vanished without a trace. I’ve spoken to her landlady, but she could make no sense of her behavior.”

  “Did you tell her that she’s stolen our daughter’s violin?”

  “I said we suspected as much. The landlady will tell me when she sees her again.”

  Her music teacher was supposed to have stolen it? Helen recalled the covetous looks, and her chest tightened. Miss Hadeland had sometimes treated her rather harshly, but Helen would never have believed that she would steal the most precious thing she possessed.

  Distraught, she crept back into bed, feeling as though not only her eyes were burning but her whole body. What if she never got the violin back? How would she continue to play—and who would teach her? The elderly woman with the cold eyes perhaps? Trembling, she hid beneath the sheets and thought for a while about what had happened. I’m not to blame, she told herself. I didn’t see her go anywhere near my violin case.

  The next morning, when Ivy Carter entered her daughter’s room, she found the girl semiconscious and running a fever. Shocked by her condition, she called her husband.

  “It must be because of all the crying. She got so dreadfully upset,” he said and hurried off to fetch the doctor.

  They did not recount the whole story to him, merely saying that the girl had been crying a lot because she had lost a personal treasure.

  “It’s probably her nerves,” the doctor pronounced as he took Helen’s pulse. “Her heartbeat is strong, and I can’t find any other symptoms of illness. I’ll leave you some fever powder, and I recommend you apply a cold compress. And if at all possible, find or replace whatever the child has lost, as she’s obviously very attached to it.”

  After the doctor left, James Carter paced up and down the dining room in agitation until his wife finally came back downstairs.

  “How is she?” he asked. She shook her head.

  “No better. I couldn’t get her sufficiently awake to give her the fever medicine. Even the compress didn’t rouse her from her sleep. I’ll try again later.”

  “That damned woman!” James muttered angrily. “What on earth has gotten into her?”

  “I’m sure the police will find Miss Hadeland.”

  “I’m not talking about her!” her husband snapped. “You know who I mean! She had no right to visit the child. Not after all that happened. And then the violin! Why in God’s name did she come looking for Helen? And how did she find her? Does she intend to take her away from us? After all we’ve done?”

  “I don’t believe she will—otherwise I’m sure she’d have taken some steps toward it already. And who knows why she gave her that gift.”

  “She made our Helen promise not to say anything. Who knows what she’s told her.”

  “I don’t believe she’s told her anything that calls our authority into question—otherwise Helen would have rebelled in some way a long time ago.”

  “So what’s the meaning of this fever?”

  “It’s hardly likely to be a result of Helen seeing her. Helen adores that violin; she treats it almost like a person.”

  “That’s unnatural in itself,” James muttered in annoyance, but tears of worry gleamed in his eyes. “She shouldn’t show such love for an object!”

  “Do you know what Mrs. Faraday said?” Ivy asked without agreeing or disagreeing with his assertion. “That she was just like her. That she has the same talent. It would be a shame for it to be wasted, if . . . ”

  “I’m not sure, Ivy,” James said, regaining a little composure. “If we can protect her from all this fuss, if we don’t give her any more encouragement, we might be saving her all kinds of trouble.”

  “But we’d be depriving the world of something wonderful then. Mrs. Faraday may be a hardhearted woman, but I got a very clear impression that she knows what she’s doing.”

  “So you think we should send her to England?”

  Ivy could imagine the unspoken thoughts behind his words. If she went to England, she could be sought out by that . . . woman.

  “I could go with her to begin with,” she suggested. “I’d see to it that she was properly and safely accommodated and that all was well with her.”

  “And how long do you think it will be before she learns the truth? Mrs. Faraday’s supposition is so damned close to the truth that if she just puts two and two together, she could lead Helen into total confusion.”

  Ivy tried to pacify her husband. “They’re suppositions, nothing more. She’ll never find any proof. Mijnheer van Swieten gave us his word of honor.”

  “I don’t want to lose my little girl, Ivy,” James said, taking his wife in his arms.

  “You won’t,” she promised. “One day our daughter will be a very famous woman. The whole world will look up to her. We can’t deprive her of this opportunity, whatever happened in the past. In any case, if Helen is in England, we’ll be better placed to protect her from any further attempts to make contact with her.”

  James considered all these arguments and finally nodded.

  “All right, perhaps it’s for the best. But I ought to get Helen a new violin first. I’m afraid that the damned Hadeland woman has vanished with the instrument and has perhaps already traded it in.”

  Ivy kissed him gently on the lips. “I’m sure you’ll find her a new instrument. I hope that will cheer her up a bit.”

  Meanwhile Helen was dreaming again, but this time not dreams full of anger and reproach. She was in a garden, most of which was veiled in mist. Occasional patches of color showed through the white fog—rhododendron, magnolia, frangipani flowers, and vivid orchids.

  However much Helen looked around, she could not make out the beginning or the end of the garden. Someone had set her down in the middle and left her no instructions about where to go. She took a hesitant step forward and noticed that sh
e was wearing her best white dress.

  Could she have died? She had never seen a dead body before, but she knew from some of her friends who had lost family members that dead people were always made to look particularly beautiful before they were buried. It was probably because they took the clothes they were wearing up to Heaven with them, and the angels did not like to have to look at unsuitable clothing.

  But if she were really dead, why did no angel come to fetch her?

  “There you are,” a soft voice said suddenly.

  Helen whirled around and saw the mystery lady. She was wearing the same dress as she had when Helen saw her for the first time. She was still very beautiful, but now substantially paler than before. She reached out her hand.

  “Would you like to walk a while with me?”

  At first Helen was unsure whether she should be afraid and run away. But where to? The garden was all there was. She reached out her own hand to the lady, who led her a little way through the fog, until they finally stopped by a small stone seat.

  “I’m sorry,” Helen said before they sat down. Although the lady’s expression was kindly, Helen feared she was about to experience something similar to her previous dream. “I don’t know how the violin got lost. When I opened the case that evening it had simply gone.”

  “It’s not your fault,” the lady replied. “The person who stole it from you is sure to be found soon and punished.”

  “How do you know?”

  “Because that’s always the way. You can do something wrong, but you must know that it always comes to light. Guard against doing anything wrong, Helen.”

  The girl nodded eagerly, thoroughly relieved that the lady was not angry with her.

  “Why are we here?” Helen asked as she looked around. The fog had still not cleared. It clung like cotton to the branches of the shrubs that surrounded them.

  “I’d like you to promise me something,” the lady replied.