The Garden of Promises and Lies

by Paula Brackston

  At eleven o’clock she went downstairs. They were all to meet at the front of the house so that everyone could be allocated space in a carriage. She found Liam on the steps.

  “I thought we might just stroll down to the lake, maybe carrying a rug and a hamper,” he said quietly to her. “Seems I hadn’t quite understood what a picnic was.” He waved a hand at the almost manic activity going on around them. “Will you look at those beauties!”

  Xanthe knew him well enough to know he was referring not to the prettily dressed female guests who were arriving, but the carriages they were being conveyed in. There were already six at the house, their drivers vying for space in which to wait for further directions, and others could be seen moving swiftly up the long driveway. There were more different types of traps and carriages than she knew existed at the time, some more easily identifiable than others, and each, no doubt, reflecting the wealth and social standing of their owners. Just as in her own day, it appeared, a vehicle, besides being a mode of transport, was a status symbol. There were fully covered carriages, large and grand, pulled mostly by at least four horses and suggesting a particularly well-off family. There were smart landaus with their tops folded down, the better to display the finery of their occupants. There were fast cartouches, high-wheeled and precarious, mostly drawn by two racy horses harnessed in tandem. The ones pulled by a single horse fell into two types. There were the ones driven by extravagantly dressed young men, practically standing in the driver’s seat, traveling at daring speed, their horses fighting for their heads and looking fit to bite anyone and anything. The second group were the entirely more workaday contraptions pulled by smart but humble ponies. The space outside the house was quickly becoming overcrowded, and footmen and grooms were sent hither and yon to direct the traffic. The drivers were told to unload their passengers and then park at the stables. There was a general air of excitement and good humor, on which Mr. Wilcox, in particular, seemed to thrive.

  “Ha! A fine day for it. Miss Westlake, will you walk to the lake? Those who wish to ride will be conveyed in the smaller carriages to the end of the lane, from where it is a shorter distance.”

  “Oh, I should be happy to walk from here,” she told him. “We enjoy walking, don’t we, brother?”

  “Indeed,” Liam agreed, tipping his hat to Henry, who was already mounted on his favorite horse, which fidgeted, unused to being made to stand for so long.

  “Good morning!” he called to them, raising his hat in a flamboyant gesture. “Capital day! Capital!” he declared before wheeling his mount on its haunches to go and greet what looked like two fellow Corinthians with their caped coats and fast conveyances.

  Xanthe turned to Mr. Wilcox. “I wonder Henry has the patience for a picnic. He can’t surely expect that horse of his to stand quietly tied to a tree.”

  “There will be riding for those who have a taste for it. See, he is calling the ostlers to help his friends unharness their horses. Shouldn’t be surprised if they have their guns with ’em. Never miss out on the chance for a spot of shooting, in season or out, these types.”

  Liam took Xanthe’s arm and they began to walk toward the lawns, taking care not to be in the way of any of the carriages. They caught up Petronella and Evie, who were attempting to reach the picnic spot ahead of most of the guests.

  Xanthe commented on the scale of the event. “We’re used to picnics being small affairs, just a few friends and family, a rug on the grass, sandwiches,” she said.

  “Oh.” Petronella was surprised. “It’s funny how when one lives in the country one imagines everything in London being so much grander and finer.”

  “Not picnics,” Xanthe assured her.

  She smiled. “There, we do not have the poorer version of everything here in our little backwater,” she said. “Evie! There is no necessity to climb over the ha-ha.” She tutted at her sister as she attempted to scramble down the sunken wall and its drop to the sweeping lawns below. “Do use the steps, or you are certain to snag your muslin.”

  Liam muttered, “Poor little backwater?” under his breath, raising his eyebrows at Xanthe.

  She knew he was determined to keep her upbeat about the day’s event. Given its location, and the fact that Fairfax would be there, the upcoming exchange would be on her mind. They had agreed he chose the venue specifically for that reason. It would be hard to avoid thinking about it, particularly as she was still unsure how she was going to prevent Fairfax ending up with both the astrolabe and the book, and what he might do to her to keep them both. She needed to decide on a plan of action soon. The wedding was only a few days away. As they neared the lake they were able to see the preparations that had been made for the picnic.

  “Good heavens!” Xanthe said, taking it all in as Evie bounded off to race around the lake, heading for the small footbridge at the lower end which crossed the stream that fed into the body of water. “How has all this happened overnight? It’s as if an army of elves have been working away in the dark to get it all ready.”

  Petronella laughed. “I’m sure Cook and Mrs. Mason, our housekeeper, would be most grateful for such assistance! Alas, they have only the belowstairs maids and the footmen. Though I noticed the gardeners were absent yesterday afternoon, so I suspect they too, were pressed into service. Mr. Fairfax was adamant that this was his idea so that he must oversee it and we were not to be troubled by the arrangements. I think he has done rather well, don’t you agree?”

  It would have been churlish not to. On the far side of the lake an open-fronted marquee had been put up, providing ample shady seating for at least twenty people. Tables were set with spotless white linen cloths and the finest silverware and glass. There were even vases of flowers and carafes of wine and water. On either side of this central point, further canvas canopies had been stretched between trees, and beneath these were wicker seats and low tables. On the sunny grass there was a game of quoits complete with chalk and scoreboard. A little way off there was a row of archery targets, with bows and quivers of arrows ready and waiting. Three more rowing boats had appeared on the lake to add to the solitary one which was permanently moored there. On the banks sat rods and fishing paraphernalia. Liam let out a low whistle.

  “Are we up to this?” he asked Xanthe quietly.

  “It’s better than a ball. If someone turns up with a fiddle, just refuse all suggestions of dancing. Stick to things we’re good at.”

  “Fixing cars?”

  “I mean, we might have to sing. Come on, it’ll be fine.”

  Petronella enjoyed making the introductions, leading her new friends through the thirty or so guests as they arrived, presenting them to a succession of faces that blurred into so many fancy bonnets and refined smiles by the end of thirty minutes that Xanthe could not recall a single name. She and Liam were both quick to offer to take Evie out on the lake. A footman appeared as if from nowhere and held the little boat steady while they climbed in. Liam picked up the oars and rowed them out onto the silky water. Evie leaned over the prow, searching for sight of minnows or frogs. Xanthe trailed her hand through the cool surface of the lake, doing her best to enjoy the beauty of the place and not think of Fairfax. Liam, as if reading her thoughts, nodded back toward the throng of guests.

  “He’s enjoying playing lord of the manor already,” he said, earning himself a curious glance from Evie.

  “It’s an impressive event. Looks like he’s invited all the great and the good from the area. Do you know everyone here, Evie?”

  “Most of them. Father loves to entertain, but I’m not allowed to stay up if they are dining late. He makes me eat in the nursery like a child!”

  “Imagine,” said Xanthe.

  “But I always sneak down to the stairs and watch as the guests come into the house.” She looked up from the water for a moment to study the crowd. “I can see two earls, a countess, and four baronets. I fancy Mr. Fairfax would have been happier had he found a duke, but there aren’t many left in Wiltshire during the
season; they are all up in London.”

  “Your family doesn’t like to spend the summer there?” she asked.

  “No. Father says he prefers entertaining here, and he likes his hunting and shooting. He is always impatient for August and then we shall scarcely see him for days on end and every meal will be pheasant or grouse.”

  “Not good?” Liam asked.

  Evie pulled a face. “I like fish!” she said firmly, going back to peering into the lake in search of some.

  Xanthe looked with her. “Are there lots in this lake?” she asked.

  “Oh yes. I’ll catch one later, you’ll see. You have to know which fly to use, because the lake is very deep, and the fish hide down in the weeds, which are all over the bottom. Can you see?”

  Xanthe narrowed her eyes against the glare of the sun, forcing herself to focus below the surface. “Yes, yes I can. It looks like seaweed, and it’s moving.”

  “That’s because the stream flows in one end and out the other, underground. It looks like a real stream, but it isn’t. It’s built to flow in a circle. The water pulls at the weeds as it goes. You have to take great care if you decide to swim in there, or you will get tangled. One of our distant cousins drowned because he did not watch out for the weeds.”

  “Oh, I am sorry to hear that. Do people swim in it much?”

  Evie laughed. “Not when there are so many people watching!” she said, reminding Xanthe that there was no such thing as swimming costumes for men at the time, so most people who bathed out of doors did so naked.

  “There is a trout!” Evie exclaimed. “Did you see?”

  “No, I don’t think so … wait, is that it?” As she spoke she watched a dark shape moving far down in the depths, beyond the reach of the sun’s rays. Slowly it began to rise, so that it emerged into the lighter level of the lake. As it did so it became paler, more distinct, so that she could soon see it was not a fish. It was a face. Suddenly it was near enough to recognize. Now she could see the whole person as he fought to swim to the surface, his hand reaching up toward her, his expression one of panic. As she stared at the apparition the figure began to sink again, his hand dropping, his body receding into the depths, farther and farther until he was lost to the darkness. With a cry Xanthe leapt back, causing the boat to rock wildly.

  “Steady on!” Liam warned.

  “Did you see a very big fish?” Evie asked.

  “I…” She struggled to speak sensibly. “Yes, just a glimpse. Gave me quite a start.” She closed her eyes to try to blink away the shocking vision she had glimpsed but it was there, haunting her mind’s eye too. She opened them again, blinking away the shocking image of the drowned face.

  “Are you all right?” Liam asked. “What scared you?”

  “Nothing. I’m fine. The fish just … made me jump,” she said, for how could she tell him the truth? How could she tell him that the figure she had seen drifting away beyond her reach, beyond saving, was him? She took a deep breath. “Is anyone else hungry?”

  “Me!” cried Evie. “Let us have lemonade and cake. Petronella will tell me I must eat meat, but she will be too busy to notice. And Cook has made such puddings! See how people are crowding around the table? Oh, do please row faster, Mr. Westlake, else it will all be gone before we get there.”

  Xanthe was aware of Liam watching her closely as he worked the oars. She did not meet his eye. The image of him pale and drowning was so distressing she needed to distract herself from it, so she chatted lightly to Evie about what other food there would be for them to enjoy. They returned to the bank and Liam eventually helped Evie onto the little jetty. The girl ran ahead to find lemonade. As he helped Xanthe out of the boat he whispered to her.

  “What is it? Is Fairfax up to his tricks?”

  “No, it’s nothing. Just this damn corset in the heat and leaning over the side of the boat. Made me woozy.”

  “You sure?” he asked, unconvinced, letting go of her hand to touch her cheek, searching her eyes for the truth.

  “I’m fine, really,” she assured him, concerned about how his gesture might look to anyone watching them. His expression and his concern went beyond the brotherly to anyone who cared to see it. “Come on, let’s get something to eat.”

  They left the jetty and made their way toward the food. They had almost reached the marquee when Fairfax stepped out from the shade of a towering oak, glass of wine in hand.

  “How quaint to see brother and sister so affectionate toward each other,” he said, his words dripping spite. “What would the assembled company make of the truth of your relationship, I wonder? To masquerade as family whilst in point of fact being … let us say friends … well, it would call into question everything about a person, I should imagine. Wilcox is a genial host but even he has limits to what behavior he expects of his guests. Scandal is not to be tolerated.”

  Xanthe opened her mouth to respond to this but Liam acted before she could speak. With a glance over his shoulder to check they were not observed, he strode forward, taking hold of Fairfax by the lapels, and forcing him around the back of the tree. Xanthe lifted her long skirts and scurried after them. Liam had all but lifted Fairfax off his feet and had him pinned against the ancient bark of the oak. The older man had dropped his glass and clutched at his assailant’s hand, his scrabblings having no effect on Liam’s strong grip.

  “Just so you know,” he growled, keeping his voice low, “you only have all your teeth left because that suits Xanthe right now. You do anything, anything, to hurt her, and I might just forget my manners and give you the payback you already deserve for what you’ve done.”

  Fairfax spoke through his twisted, tightened collar and a furious scowl. “I had thought Miss Westlake more discerning than to bestow her affections upon a thug. It seems she had a use for you in mind after all.”

  Xanthe hissed at Liam. “Stop it! For goodness’ sake, what if someone sees?”

  Reluctantly, Liam let go, Fairfax dropping to his feet and folding at the stomach, coughing and holding his bruised throat.

  “Just so you know,” Liam repeated before offering Xanthe his arm and leading her on toward the marquee.

  “That was reckless!” she told him.

  “I know.”

  “What if somebody had seen what you did? How would we have explained it? Liam, we have to be more careful.”

  “I know,” he repeated, the contained rage inside him still evident through the tension Xanthe could feel in his arm as she held it. They had almost reached the refreshments when she saw a figure a few paces to their left. “Wait a minute, look who’s over there,” she said, pointing toward the woman she had noticed.

  “Mistress Flyte!” said Liam, before quickly correcting himself in case they were overheard. “Aunt! How nice that she was invited.”

  “Let’s go and speak with her.”

  Mistress Flyte was wearing a fine cotton dress in a style which suited her well but was a touch old-fashioned for the time. Xanthe thought at first this might be because she had to watch the pennies and make things last, but then realized it was more contrived than that. A woman of mature years would, unless extremely wealthy and modern in her outlook, wear styles that harked back to her own youth and did not attempt to compete with the young girls of the day. Respectable older women invariably wore heavier fabrics, more elaborate corsetry, and covered themselves up. Even so, and despite the heat, she looked, as ever, poised and elegant. She greeted her niece and nephew affectionately, which meant allowing Liam to bow and kiss her hand and Xanthe to curtsey and kiss her cheek.

  “How lovely to see you here, Aunt.”

  “Mr. Fairfax sent an invitation. A rather insistent one.”

  “It is unlike him to be quite so … considerate,” said Xanthe.

  Liam frowned. “He must have had his own reasons. I can’t see him doing anything that could be considered kind.”

  “No doubt,” Mistress Flyte agreed. “Whatever his motive, I am pleased to be here and to have t
he opportunity to speak with you.”

  “Let’s walk together,” Xanthe suggested, taking her arm. “Liam, would you mind fetching us something to drink?”

  “Oh, of course,” he said, understanding that she wished to speak with the old woman on her own. He bowed again. “I will catch you up bearing refreshments shortly,” he promised.

  Xanthe took them in a direction that led away from the main party. Other couples were strolling, and some were sitting on the grass, but there was sufficient space for a conversation to be private as long as they kept their voices low.

  “I have been concerned at your silence,” Mistress Flyte told her. “I cannot imagine being in such close proximity to Fairfax is either comfortable or safe for you. Has he approached you about the book?” she asked.

  Before coming to stay at Corsham Hall, before what the book had revealed to her, Xanthe would have trusted her friend with everything she found out. With all the details of her plans. Now, though, she had been set wondering. Why had the Spinners book shown her a young Lydia Flyte? And what was the connection between her and the Spinner whose story she had heard? Was she the woman conversing with him, and if so, what on earth had she done to warrant a threat of death from him? Once again, her mind went back to how she had felt when she and Liam had arrived at the tearooms: how she had had the sense of glimpsing another side to this refined, elegant woman when she had been so against her having brought Liam with her.