The Garden of Promises and Lies

by Paula Brackston

  “We are friends: We don’t demand anything of each other.”

  “Indeed. I myself regard a friend as an equal, not a … let’s see … puppet?”

  Xanthe continued to walk, admiring a bed of delphiniums, refusing to let Fairfax rile her. “You must know,” she said, smiling for the benefit of anyone watching, “that I don’t wish to spend a minute longer in your company than I have to, so I will come to the point.”

  “Something you have, in my experience, ever been adept at.”

  “I’m here to stop you tormenting me, and to stop you misusing your power as a Spinner. I believe that power, for you, lies with the astrolabe. Therefore I suggest a trade. Give it to me, and in exchange I will give you the Spinners book.”

  This brought Fairfax up short. He stood staring at her, as if doing so could show him exactly what it was she was planning. After a moment’s further thought he spoke, his voice still calm, but a noticeable tension giving it an edge.

  “You swore never to let me have it.”

  “To give it up would be … very hard. It is a precious thing,” she said, “but I believe I was sent here for a purpose, and it’s my task to discover what that is and to fulfill my duty to the best of my ability. Nothing I have learned from Spinners condones the way in which you use your gifts, so I believe stopping you is what I have been charged to do. I know you cannot travel without your astrolabe.”

  “But if I had the book…”

  “The book only reveals its contents to those it considers worthy.”

  He frowned at her, his brow beneath his hat but above his eye patch creasing with displeasure. “Are you so filled with your own importance you place yourself on a higher tier than me? On what evidence?”

  “Well, for a start, the evidence that I can travel without needing a talisman to do so.”

  “Objects have to call to you.”

  “I can return to my own time without them. And I believe they will continue to call to me.”

  “Your argument is self-defeating. If, as you say, it is your destiny to come here and therefore to give me the book, am not I, then, the one chosen to have it? Has not my own worth therefore been recognized?”

  “If you believe that, then you won’t mind giving up the astrolabe. What have you to lose, if you think Spinners is finding its way to you? If you are right, you surely won’t need anything else to enable you to travel.”

  “Why would I take the risk? Mayhap I shall need both to be free to travel as I please. Why would I give up the astrolabe to you when I can merely force you to give me the book?”

  Xanthe walked on, which meant he was compelled to do so too.

  “I don’t believe you would do anything to risk your standing in society here. You have always craved acceptance and recognition of your status and wealth. You need this marriage. You need the approval of those whose opinions matter to you. And, as you have pointed out, I have Liam with me. I’m not helpless and defenseless.”

  “And yet, you left your home and your mother to come here.…”

  It was Xanthe’s turn to stop and glare now. “I’m still trying to work out exactly how you do what you do to things in my time without traveling there, but know this. I have not left my mother unprotected, and I won’t give in to your threats.”

  He smiled at her, offering her his arm. “Come, come, Miss Westlake, it will not do for us to be seen quarreling.”

  She took his arm, though touching him cost her dearly, and they continued their walk.

  “As to the fire,” he said calmly, “it was a necessary move to bring you to me.”

  “Tell me how you did it. I know you’re keen to show me how clever you are.”

  “More clever than you give me credit for,” he said. “You will recall, a little while back, there came into your shop a clumsy young couple. There was a mishap. A piece of china was broken. Was it Minton?”

  She stopped, removing her hand from his arm, turning to look at him in astonishment.

  “Wedgwood,” she said quietly. “It was a Wedgwood plate.”

  “Quite so. And you were so very understanding, and they so very ready to pay the cost of their clumsiness.”

  She recalled the thick fold of money the young man had pulled from his pocket.

  “You sent them?” she asked, still not fully understanding.

  “Not them. It was the other young woman, just a customer to you, she was the one I sent. You will remember she showed an interest in your clothing, which is, is it not, located in a room at the rear of your establishment. A room next to the stairs?”

  Xanthe did remember, picturing the tall woman in the long, heavy coat. “She set the fire? But how?”

  “A simple device for transporting fire that has been used for centuries. A hot coal, or slow-burning piece of charcoal. Even close to your modern day such things exist, I am told, for those of an inclination to camp in wild places. They can be used to heat a pot or a pocket, set into the appropriate container. Such a hot coal, placed beneath a loose stair, will take several hours to ignite the wood around it.”

  “And leave no trace,” Xanthe muttered, understanding at last why the fireman could not find the cause of the fire.

  “Such a plan had the added benefit of putting in your mind the notion that I had somehow influenced the future without traveling to it. Which, alas, I do not have the ability to do.”

  “You were still there? After I saw you outside Gerri’s tea shop, you stayed?”

  “Come, come, you yourself know it is not, for us, an insurmountable challenge to travel back and fore for short times. And you must not be so arrogant as to believe that you are the only Spinner to be able to travel with a non-Spinner as your aide.”

  “And the young couple?”

  “People of any era can be bribed, I find.”

  “You wanted me to think you could harm us from your own time.”

  “Was it not a terrifying prospect? Did it not bring you, and the book, to me all the quicker?”

  Xanthe walked on, pacing quickly to help take in what he had told her and order her thoughts.

  Fairfax wished to turn the conversation back to the book.

  “Let us suppose,” he said at last, “that I agree to your trade. I will give you the astrolabe if you give me the Spinners tome, and that will be the end of our association. You will not hear from me further, nor will I visit any further injury to you, your loved ones, or your home.”

  “That would be the deal.”

  “I assume, also, that I would receive no further visit from you or your … agents, but be free to continue my life as I see fit, with Miss Wilcox as my wife, and Corsham Hall as my home, yes?”

  Xanthe hesitated, the thought of Petronella having to submit to being Fairfax’s wife causing a tightness in her chest she could not ignore. And yet, would meddling in their arrangement be beyond her duties as a Spinner? Would it be wrong for her to stop the marriage, even if she could?

  Fairfax put his hand over hers as she held his arm. “Know this, I will not agree to your bargain until after I am wed. Upon that point I will not be moved. The marriage must take place first. The exchange after. Do you agree?”

  Slowly, she withdrew her hand, feigning interest in a rose that climbed over an iron archway which spanned the path. She tilted one of the pale pink blooms so that she could breathe in its sweet scent. Without turning to him she said, “Agreed. The day after the wedding, meet me at the folly on the lake at midday.”

  “You will be alone?”

  “As you must be.”

  “Agreed,” he said.

  Xanthe found she could maintain the pretense of civility no longer, bobbed him a shallow curtsey, and walked briskly back to join the others at their game, her heart beating hard and fast. It took her a moment to shake off the agitation she felt, so that she had to be careful to mask her mood when Petronella left the game and came over to her.

  “Shall we sit awhile on the swing seat?” the young woman suggested, tak
ing Xanthe’s arm. “I am so very grateful you consented to stay here, you and your brother. New friends bring such diversion, such energy to our little society. Your company has lifted our spirits, particularly my sister’s,” she observed, smiling at Evangeline’s obvious glee at sharing a game of pall-mall with Liam.

  “It saddens me,” Xanthe said carefully, “that you should need cheering when you are soon to be married. Surely a bride should be happy.…”

  Petronella leaned back on the seat, enjoying the motion of the swing, her gaze falling upon her fiancé. “You know that ours is not a love match. People accept a proposal of marriage for many reasons. I believe mine to be good ones.”

  “I understand, really I do. Only … I wish you could be happier.”

  “It is easier for me than you might think, to commit myself to such a union. I have not, I know, fully explained…”

  “You don’t have to. It’s not my business, I’m sorry…”

  “You see, as I told you, I have known love. Oh, such a love! Edward and I would have been the happiest of couples, I am certain of it. It was here, in this very garden, that we made our promises to each other. I promised that I would love no other, and nor shall I. Do you see? I could never marry for love now, not after Edward, not after that promise. So, for me, an advantageous match, one that will help those I hold dear, that is the very best outcome I could wish for.”

  “And yet, your spirits needed raising?”

  “It is unavoidable that my thoughts should turn to Edward, to what might have been, as I prepare for my wedding, do you not think so? He must occupy Evie’s mind greatly too, for she was fiercely fond of him, and has no affection for Benedict.”

  It was the first time Xanthe had heard Petronella use Fairfax’s first name and it brought her up short. She studied him anew. Could he change? Could it be that, once he discovered his days of being a Spinner were over, he could settle for the fortunate life he had constructed for himself, reform and be a good husband? Was it possible? She found it hard to believe. Petronella noticed her scrutinizing him.

  “You do not find my future husband … agreeable?”

  “Oh, I hardly know him.” She shook her head. “Not sufficiently to form an opinion.”

  “I am aware he can seem a little cold. Aloof, perhaps. It does not trouble me, for I believe it indicates a nature able to allow me my own life, without placing demands upon me I would be unable to meet. He does not expect me to love him, only to be a respectable wife. I am content that I will be able to do that. Father will not suffer the disgrace of losing Corsham. Evie may continue her childhood here and, one day, be free to marry whomever she chooses. I have no doubt my husband will run the estate with crisp efficiency.”

  Xanthe nodded, her respect for Petronella’s stoicism growing, while her disquiet at Fairfax ruling her life increased at the same rate. She was glad to have the opportunity to speak to Liam about it when he slipped away from the game. When they were sure they could not be overheard he asked her about her conversation with Fairfax.

  “Well? How did he react?” He waved at Evie as she celebrated setting back Henry’s winning streak with a fine shot.

  “He agreed to the swap.”

  “He did? Wow, he’s really going to part with his precious device?”

  “He’s adamant he won’t do it until after the wedding, though.”

  “I don’t trust him. He just wants to get his hands on the book. I don’t believe he has any intention of giving you the astrolabe. What I do believe is that, if he thinks he needs you to see what the Spinners have written, he’ll do whatever it takes to keep you with him.”

  “I don’t really care what he plans on doing, I just have to get hold of the astrolabe.”

  “It’s too dangerous.”

  “I’m not stupid, Liam. Don’t you think I might be prepared for his tricks?”

  At that moment Henry came over to them, throwing down his mallet. “That’s me done for. Never again shall I let Evangeline thrash me at pall-mall. It is not good for a fellow’s soul to be bested by a child. I’d sooner step into the boxing ring, hopelessly outgunned, and be flattened. At least there is honor in that.”

  Evie came running along behind him, laughing. “Oh, Henry, you could win if you only tried.”

  “Nonsense. I am fair done in. Take mercy on your victim and find ale, I beg of you,” he asked as he flopped dramatically onto the grass.

  Petronella shook her head. “You shall have lemonade and be thankful for it. Evie, run in and ask for some to be brought out to us.”

  The shadow of Fairfax fell across Henry’s recumbent form. “I trust you will recover quickly, Anstruther, for I am planning entertainments you would not wish to miss.”

  “Capital! What’s it to be? More shooting? Fishing, perchance?”

  “A ball,” Fairfax told the assembled company. “What say you, Petronella? Is there a better way to welcome our new friends into our society, and to begin the celebrations leading up to our wedding day?”

  While Petronella mastered her surprise and started to agree with Fairfax that a ball would be a splendid thing, Xanthe was fighting panic. There was no chance she and Liam could successfully explain why neither of them could dance. There had not been time when preparing for their trip to learn any of the complicated steps and phases of the many popular dances of the day. She had to find a way to change the plan to something that would not arouse people’s suspicion and reveal herself and her supposed brother to be frauds of some sort, for every well-bred person should know how to dance. She remembered a scene in Jane Austen’s Mansfield Park when a picnic was suggested as a less formal, more fun summer occasion than a ball.

  “Nell, I wonder,” she began, “as the weather continues so hot, would you not prefer to continue our entertainments outdoors? My brother and I have so enjoyed our time spent outside in your delightful gardens and wonderful parkland. Could I suggest, instead, a picnic?”

  “A picnic?” She looked surprised that Xanthe would not be more delighted at the idea of a ball.

  Xanthe watched the receding figure of Evie as she ran toward the house and wished she had her there to support the idea. She imagined she would be a ready ally.

  “We could make it such a lovely occasion and of course invite others to make it a party. And there would be games for Evie. A ball would be rather stifling in this heat, don’t you think?”

  Whether or not Fairfax guessed the reason behind Xanthe’s resistance to a ball she could not be certain, but he was quite determined to take control of the situation.

  “A picnic might be far better,” he agreed, even managing a smile. “After all, our guests should be the ones to choose, and Miss Westlake is right in what she says; the weather is too warm for crowds and dancing. How much more pleasant to be somewhere charming and shady out of the house. Why, would not the lake be the perfect spot? There could be boating or fishing for those who enjoy it, and the folly presents such a delightful setting, don’t you agree, my dear?” he asked of Petronella, who was only too pleased to say yes to something that so obviously made her fiancé and her new friend happy.

  Liam whispered into Xanthe’s ear as they turned for the table to take their lemonade.

  “What’s he playing at now?”

  “He’s taunting me. Don’t worry, it won’t work. A ball would have been a nightmare for us. The picnic will be fine. Let Fairfax try all he wants to unnerve me, it’s not going to work. Now, come on.” She took his arm, her voice returning to a more public level. “Petronella and I have another fitting at Pinkerton’s and it is thirsty work!”

  * * *

  That night, as had become her habit, Xanthe sat up late delving deep into the Spinners book, searching, listening, hoping. Again it revealed to her the painting of Mistress Flyte and she promised herself that at the first opportunity she would return to the tearooms to talk to the old woman. She was convinced that there was much she knew that she somehow wasn’t telling, and now was not the time
for her to be kept in the dark. She still had to find a way to be certain she could outwit Fairfax when the time of the exchange came. She did not trust him any more than Liam did. In fact, she would be expecting him to try to trick her somehow. She had to be ready for him. She had to find a way to take his power from him, protect the book, and keep herself safe. Somewhere, hidden among the ancient brittle pages in front of her, lay the answer. All she had to do was find it.

  16

  The day of the picnic was, if anything, even hotter than the preceding week. Xanthe was astonished at how much activity the occasion sparked in the Wilcox household. For three days, servants appeared to do everything at the run, and deliveries arrived almost hourly, it seemed. When she questioned Petronella about how such elaborate preparations could be necessary her hostess merely smiled and told her that her fiancée was not a man to do things by halves, and that a certain number of guests would always merit a certain amount of work. Invitations had been sent out at once, and letters of acceptance arrived with even greater frequency than carts bringing food, drink, and other necessities for the party. Xanthe chose her new muslin dress, which was the coolest garment from her limited wardrobe. As the maid helped her get ready she felt a small thrill of excitement. The fabric was whisper light and would have been entirely transparent without the cotton chemise and petticoat beneath it. She instructed the maid to tie the stays of her corset as loosely as possible, earning a look of pursed-lipped disapproval from the middle-aged woman, who clearly had an opinion about what was the proper way for a young lady to dress, even if she was not allowed to voice it. Xanthe submitted to a lengthy bout of hairdressing, where the maid brushed and twisted and pinned her long curls into a tight, high bun, with loose locks at the sides to soften it. The end result was too severe for Xanthe’s liking, but she knew she would be keeping her hat on anyway, so there was little point in protesting. The bonnet itself was newly purchased on a trip to Bradford with Petronella. They had visited a milliner at the top of the high street and enjoyed girlish glee trying on a dizzying selection of hats, boaters, bonnets, and fascinators. In the end, Xanthe had settled on a small straw bonnet, shaped so that it tipped slightly upward at the front with sides that were not so big as to make her feel as if she were wearing blinkers. The crown was made of beautifully woven straw, the pattern of the weaving needing no further decoration save for the narrow ribbon that held the bonnet in place by tying at the nape of the neck beneath her hair. She found this a far more flattering style than a bow beneath her jaw, which always made her feel faintly ridiculous and became quite uncomfortable after an hour’s wearing. This one, she felt certain, she could wear all day, not feel as if she were in fancy dress, and be glad of the way it kept the sun off her head. The dress had a matching shawl which would also keep the sun off her bare arms and the back of her neck if necessary. Petronella had encouraged her to buy a new pair of light slippers. They were the one element of the outfit Xanthe was sure she would never be fully comfortable with, she was so used to her heavy boots. But they were light, and although she would have to wear stockings, she could at least kick them off when no one was paying attention.