The Garden of Promises and Lies

by Paula Brackston

  “Father, this is Mr. Liam Westlake and his sister, Miss Xanthe Westlake. Mr. Westlake plays pall-mall very well, but not so well as to be able to beat me.”

  “I would not dare,” Liam said, bowing. “I am pleased to meet you, Mr. Wilcox.”

  “Hmm, Westlake, you say?”

  Xanthe stepped forward. “We are staying with our aunt, Miss Lydia Flyte, in Bradford.”

  Petronella took her father’s arm. “I found Miss Westlake at Pinkerton’s. We fell to conversation over a fitting and have become friends already.”

  “What? More dresses?”

  “Only my wedding gown, Father,” she said, glancing at Fairfax, who took the opportunity to present himself.

  “I am delighted to make the acquaintance of a new friend of my fiancée’s. Benedict Fairfax,” he said, smiling, taking Xanthe’s hand and bowing over it before gracing Liam with a nod of his head. Xanthe felt Liam tense as he stepped closer to her. “How pleasant to see brother and sister traveling together,” Fairfax commented.

  “I am happy to be at Xanthe’s side,” Liam said flatly. “She no longer need face any difficulties alone.”

  Mr. Wilcox, for all his appearance of a man unbothered by petty quarrels or the subtler details of etiquette, was astute enough to pick up something in this exchange that was surprising. He looked closely at Liam then. If he had been about to question him on his background the moment passed as his second riding companion swung his leg over his horse’s withers, jumped down, and all but bounded forward to greet the newcomers effusively. He was tall, red haired, and flamboyant in both dress and manner.

  “Henry Anstruther, at your service, Mr. Westlake, Miss Westlake. A fast ride through excellent parkland and now charming company. I tell you, Wilcox, you keep a fine house and live a fine life here. Capital!” he exclaimed, slapping his friend heartily on the back.

  Evangeline giggled. “Henry is a Corinthian!” she exclaimed. When both Xanthe and Liam looked blank she went on, delighted to be in possession of knowledge they were unaware of. “Oh, you surely have heard of the Corinthians! Father would be one himself, of course, but he is too old.”

  “Evie!” Petronella tutted at her little sister but Henry was enjoying the joke.

  “We’ve made your father an honorary member of our society, Miss Evie. Why, he can ride, shoot, hunt, and fish better than any man I know. And that’s what we Corinthians are all about, don’t ya know?”

  Mr. Wilcox turned to Liam. “And you, sir, do you ride to hounds? Do you call yourself a passable shot?”

  Fairfax put in, “I think Miss Wilcox’s new friends are of the city, not given to country pursuits. Do I have it right, Miss Westlake?” he asked, giving Liam a disdainful look and happy to take the chance to put him down in his host’s opinion.

  Xanthe resisted snapping at him. She knew what he was trying to do, but she had to be cautious. She couldn’t make claims for Liam he might fail to live up to. Liam, however, was quite capable of standing up for himself.

  “I love to ride, though I don’t get much chance for it in London. And yes, I can shoot well enough, though I prefer a rifle to a shotgun.”

  Xanthe stared at him.

  “Capital!” declared Henry. “We shall find a gun for you, shall we not, Wilcox?”

  “Certainly, Henry, but after taking tea. I see Petronella has a table prepared in the garden, and I know better than to disrupt my daughter’s arrangements when they involve her beloved roses. Come, Fairfax, you will stay awhile longer for a little refreshment. And then we will fix a time for shooting, Henry. Fear not, I shall not ask you to sit still all afternoon.”

  As he spoke the grooms led the horses away and maids and footmen appeared from the house bearing more trays of food and tea. There were in fact two tables set beneath an apple tree in the corner of the walled garden. More chairs were hastily fetched and all accommodations made for the expanded party. On their way to the tables, Fairfax dropped into step beside Xanthe, touching her arm to signal she should slow her pace so that he could speak privately with her. While she recoiled at his touch and hated the thought of doing anything he might consider agreeable, Xanthe had come there to deal with the man once and for all. Better to make her position clear as soon as possible.

  “Tell me,” he whispered, “have you brought the book with you?”

  “So, finally we have it. It is Spinners you want.”

  “It is here? You have brought it?”

  “I have brought it with me, but for my use only. To help me do what I have come to do.”

  “You have only to give it to me and your troubles will be at an end. I will have no further interest in you, or your home.”

  “I’m here to put an end to your abuse of your Spinner’s gifts, not to add to them. And don’t think you can frighten me with your threats any longer. You’ve pushed me too far, Fairfax.”

  “If you imagine bringing your beau with you will make any difference you are seriously underestimating my determination. I will have that book.”

  “Do you really think it will reveal its secrets to you? If you understood half of what Spinners is you would know it is not to be misused. It will not be. You will never have it!”

  “Xanthe,” Petronella called to her, “do sit by me. I will not let these men rob me of my time with you. After all, you are my guest. Let them speak to each other of dangerous gallops and struggling fish and fallen deer. Such things will not add flavor to our tea, I think. Come, take this seat,” she insisted, patting the cushion beside her.

  Liam sat on Xanthe’s left and as he did so she whispered urgently to him. “For heaven’s sake don’t talk yourself into going hunting with them!”

  “Calm down, it’s not hunting season yet. And anyway, I can ride. Quite well, as it happens. And I’m not a bad shot, either,” he whispered back.

  “How did I not know that about you?” she asked, looking at him slightly incredulously.

  “Summers spent pony trekking in Wales as a child, and rifle-range shooting with my dad when he retired,” he explained before turning to accept the offer of milk and sugar in his tea.

  There was delicious food on offer, and both Xanthe and Liam made the most of it. They were aware that Mistress Flyte, though happy to help them, could hardly spare Polly to cater for their needs all the time when she was needed in the tea shop. At Corsham, however difficult the truth of the family finances might be, entertainments were evidently always on a lavish scale. There was strong Indian tea served in beautiful china, the pots topped up from heavy silver water jugs with hinged lids. The teacups and plates were pale blue with a delicate fluting to the edges, set off by a slender line of gold. Cake stands and platters offered a variety of savory and sweet temptations. There were small cakes, or dainties, smothered with fondant icing; thin slices of cold ham, beef, and venison; pastries of all shapes, some filled with lemon cream, others with salmon mousse. A huge plate of glazed fruits shone like jewels, and another platter supported a tower of snowy white meringues. That this had been a simple tea in the garden for four people, now stretched without difficulty to feed seven, spoke to a life of excess and expense. It seemed the information Liam had gleaned in the tavern regarding Mr. Wilcox’s lifestyle was not merely baseless gossip after all.

  Petronella poured more tea for her father, who had drained his first cup before settling in his seat. “Xanthe shares my love of roses, Father. It is delightful to find a friend with whom I can share my passion. She had suggestions for my wedding bouquet.”

  “I am indebted to you, Miss Westlake. My daughter feels the absence of her mother keenly at this time, as any bride-to-be would.”

  “I’m happy to help in any way I can,” she told him. “I am without acquaintances here in Wiltshire, so it is a pleasure for me to have company too. My aunt is quite taken up with the tearooms, alas, so does not have much time to spend with us.”

  “Then you must come here as often as you can,” Petronella said.

  Henry spoke t
hrough a mouthful of cake. “Wilcox’s hospitality is quite legendary, don’t you know? No guest of his will ever go hungry, thirst for wine, nor spend a dull minute at Corsham Hall, I guarantee it,” he insisted, enforcing the point with a wave of a freshly selected pastry. “Even out of hunting season there are coneys to shoot in the woods hereabouts.”

  Evangeline bounced on her seat. “Why do they not come and stay? Oh, Father, say they can! It is so long since we have had any guests to entertain us, aside from Henry, but he doesn’t really count…”

  Henry gave a squawk.

  “… only because we know you so very well and you are here so often we think of you quite as a member of our family,” Evangeline hurried on. “Petronella, is it not the best idea? Then Miss Wilcox can assist you with preparations for the wedding, and Mr. Wilcox can improve his game of pall-mall when he is not taken off for shooting and riding!”

  Fairfax leaned a little across the table to address his fiancée. “My dear, whilst it is a charming idea, might it in fact be a … distraction, to have guests so close to the wedding, rather than being helpful? You are your father’s daughter, indeed, so I know you will wish to be the finest of hosts. And yet, while there are such demands on your time…?”

  “Nonsense!” put in Wilcox. “Never let it be said there was not room at Corsham for friends, old or new. There’s space aplenty, and we share what we have. Petronella will benefit greatly from the company of a woman at this important time, of that I have no doubt.”

  Petronella turned to Xanthe. “Can your aunt spare you, do you suppose?”

  “Oh, I’m certain she will be very happy with the new arrangements. We would be delighted to accept your kind offer, wouldn’t we, Liam?”

  “We would indeed. How very generous,” Liam agreed.

  “Capital!” declared Henry.

  And so it was decided. Xanthe and Petronella would take the carriage into Bradford for another fitting at Pinkerton’s, after which they would call upon Miss Flyte, explain the change in plans, and collect what few belongings the Westlakes had brought with them. Liam was to accompany the men on an hour’s shooting, once they had found him a gun and suitable boots.

  Evangeline had complained that she was not included, so it was decided she should go on the Bradford trip. In addition, Xanthe promised that at the very first opportunity, she and Liam would help her practice the song she was preparing to sing at her sister’s wedding.

  * * *

  It was nearly seven o’clock when Xanthe and Liam saw each other again. They had returned to the house after their excursions and activities and each been shown to their rooms so that they might change for the evening. Xanthe answered a knock on her door and found Liam, dressed in more formal dinner clothes, his cravat in his hand.

  “For God’s sake help me with this,” he begged as he stepped inside. “I had a valet dressing me but he got called away to do something else. The one from the costume hire was sort of sewn into shape. You got any idea how to tie one from scratch?”

  “Come here, let me have a go.” She took it from him. “Sit on that stool so I can reach,” she said, directing him to the little dressing table by the window.

  “Wow,” he said as he sat down, “I thought my room was grand but yours is even more amazing. Difficult to believe the Wilcoxes are short of money.”

  “A beautiful house is one thing, having the funds to keep it going is another. But yes, it is a gorgeous room. Look at that bed, for a start. Can you imagine what that would fetch up in London in the modern day?” Xanthe peered over Liam’s shoulder into the mirror on the table and marveled again at the splendid four-poster behind them. The canopy and posts were of the finest burl walnut, all carved to slender pillars and finials, hung with glorious duck egg silk bearing a print of exotic birds and flowers.

  “It’s a step up from Mistress Flyte’s place,” said Liam. “I bet she was secretly pleased we weren’t taking up more of Polly’s work time. She must be relieved that we were moving out, or at least that I was.”

  “She knows we need to get closer to Fairfax, and that this is probably the safest way to do it. The more the Wilcox family includes us in their day-to-day life the better. Though I already feel I should have ordered more clothes from Pinkerton’s.”

  “Henry lent me some of his. The man actually has several types of everything and he’s only staying here a couple of weeks.”

  “The etiquette surrounding how people dress is pretty demanding. Did you know, for instance, that, however posh you feel right now, you are in ‘half dress’?”

  “I am?”

  “What you wore this morning was ‘undress,’ believe it or not. If you get to go to a ball, that’ll be ‘full dress.’”

  “It’s exhausting, all this changing and eating. The shooting was easier.”

  “Please tell me you didn’t actually kill any bunnies.”

  Liam smiled. “Luckily, they are super fast! And, I thought it was tactful not to show off. Plus, I discovered a nineteenth-century shotgun is a little bit different from a twenty-first-century rifle.”

  “You managed not to do yourself or anyone else an injury. And I’m sure Mr. Wilcox and Henry think more of you for going with them.”

  “They were patient with me, actually. You’d expect lots of bluster and bravado, but they were kind. Fairfax, on the other hand…”

  “He surely didn’t risk doing anything to you with them watching.”

  “Let’s just say being close to him while he had a loaded gun raised is not something I’m keen to repeat.”

  “You think he might have shot you?”

  “Not ‘deliberately’ but, well, an unfortunate shooting accident…”

  “Oh my God.”

  “Don’t worry, we’re going riding tomorrow.”

  “No guns?”

  “No guns.”

  “There.” She finished tying the stock. “That’s the best I can do. Stand up, let’s have a look at you. Hmm, not bad. Maybe you should take to wearing this lot when we get home,” she said, trying to play down the horror she had felt at the thought of Fairfax shooting Liam. It had been his decision to take this dangerous journey with her, but that didn’t mean she didn’t feel responsible for whatever he might have to face.

  Liam took a long, slow look at Xanthe. “I will if you will,” he said. “You look … stunning.”

  She stepped back and did a twirl, enjoying the feel of the muslin against her skin as she moved. “It’s one of Petronella’s. We had fun choosing from her incredible collection. It is beautiful, isn’t it?”

  “You are beautiful,” he said quietly.

  “Don’t look at me like that, brother dear.”

  “Sorry. Difficult to remember, sometimes.”

  “Try to keep it in mind. And remember tonight, there’ll be more eating, and some drinking. Watch that, you still sound like a mad-man every time you open your mouth.”

  “Is it really that bad?” he asked with a smile.

  “OK, not every time, but if you get tipsy…”

  “I’ll be careful.”

  “And there will be singing. At least we are on safer ground there. We can sing the song we practiced. Petronella said she has a piano, which will be easier than a harpsichord.”

  “I can manage a keyboard.”

  “I’m counting on it. And we can help Evie with her song. Play to our strengths.”

  “What did Fairfax say to you, out in the garden? He looked so damn smug, so sure of himself. After all he’s done to you, after his threats. Couldn’t I just have five minutes alone with him?”

  “Thumping him might make you feel better but it’s not going to help. He wants the Spinners book.”

  “Does he realize he might not be able to read it? That he might need you?”

  “I think his ego won’t allow him to contemplate that. At least, not to admit it to me. Anyway, the gist of our very brief conversation was that if I give him the book he’ll leave me and mine alone.”
r />   “He must know you won’t give it to him.”

  “He’s used to getting what he wants. He’s not going to give up without a fight.”

  “I know someone else like that,” said Liam, pushing a wayward lock of hair out of Xanthe’s eyes. Her curls had been smoothed and coiled into an elegant up-do which involved leaving ringlets hanging loose to soften the style. She was one of the very few people who didn’t need curling irons to achieve the look.

  “Before we go downstairs,” she said, “there’s something I need you to do.” She went to her bag and took out Spinners. “This needs to be hidden. I don’t trust Fairfax not to come looking for it, and my room is too obvious. Can you put it somewhere clever in yours? Somewhere we can get at it when I need it.”

  “Sure, I know just the place,” he said, holding out his hand.

  For a moment Xanthe hesitated, the very thought of passing the book into someone else’s care sending a shiver of anxiety through her.

  Liam read her expression. “It’ll be safe, I promise. Henry has lent me a pair of riding boots. They came in a beautiful wooden box, lined with red satin. I’ll lift the lining and put it in there. OK?”

  She smiled, nodding, needing to trust him to help her. Knowing the book would be safer there.

  “Let’s keep it there while we are at dinner, in case he sends one of his servants looking for it. I’ll collect it on my way to bed. I need to study it tonight. Also, we have to think of a way of getting into the dower house when Fairfax isn’t in it,” she told him. “Can you find out if he’s definitely going riding with you tomorrow?”

  “I am not happy about you trying to, well, steal the astrolabe on your own. He’s bound to be expecting that. One of us ending up in jail is not part of the plan.”

  Xanthe paused and gave him a light kiss on the cheek, touched by how much he cared, happy to have him on her side. “Let’s just take one thing at a time, OK?”

  The evening was a true test of both of them in a variety of ways. At dinner, although it was supposedly a simple supper, there were curious habits to observe and copy in an attempt not to be seen as uncivilized. Xanthe found herself slowing down everything she did so that she was forever one beat behind her fellow diners. This gave her the chance to study their behavior and imitate it, whilst also, she hoped, making her look both relaxed and refined. She was seated at the opposite end of the table from Liam, but when she was able to catch his eye he appeared much as she was, tense, alert, focused, but on the whole confident and successful. One of the most unnatural things, as far as Xanthe was concerned, was the polite and completely sham conversation she was obliged to make with Fairfax. However well behaved he was in public, she knew the man too well to forget for one moment what he had done, and what he could do. She pitied Petronella anew as she watched the stoic and resigned way the young girl interacted with her husband-to-be. It was clear, even if she thought him respectable and trustworthy, there was no affection between the couple at all. In either direction. What a cold and artificial marriage it would be.