The Heart of the Garden

by Victoria Connelly

  ‘You’d rather be out in the garden?’

  ‘Oh, no. I’m happy to be in the house. I don’t know. I guess I’ll get used to it. Maybe I’m just not used to being around old things.’

  ‘Hey, you missed out on the fun in the walled garden today,’ he told her, taking her to one side so they could speak more privately.

  ‘I thought you were all working in the new part?’

  ‘We were. We are. But I had to go back and get some tools and that’s when I saw them.’

  ‘Who?’

  ‘Patrick and Kathleen.’

  Anne Marie smiled. ‘Are you going to finish this story or keep me dangling?’

  Cape smirked. ‘I’m kind of enjoying keeping you dangling.’

  She play-punched him in the arm.

  ‘All right, all right!’ Cape paused, obviously believing he was building the tension. ‘They were kissing. Like movie star kissing. I kind of expected a director to yell “Cut!” at any moment.’

  ‘Oh, Cape – that’s old news! They’ve been kissing for weeks.’

  ‘What?’

  ‘They’re going out, Cape. Didn’t you know?’

  ‘No! Why does nobody tell me these things?’

  ‘I thought you must have realised.’

  ‘No! I mean, I heard him ask her to dinner. Well, I heard Elliot ask her.’

  ‘Yes, that was so funny,’ Anne Marie said. ‘And that’s the night it all started. Although there was that time Patrick came out of the kitchen with red lipstick on his mouth, remember.’

  ‘Of course!’ Cape said. ‘Our first Morton Hall gardeners’ romance.’

  Anne Marie put her hands on her hips. ‘Really?’

  Cape lowered his mouth to hers in a kiss that made her feel as though she might melt right away.

  ‘All right then. Second,’ he said.

  ‘There must be something in the air,’ she told him.

  ‘Or the soil.’

  ‘Or both.’

  ‘Very likely,’ he agreed.

  When Anne Marie returned to her work inside after lunch, she felt a lightness of mood from her brief time in Cape’s company, but it couldn’t completely distract her from the strange atmosphere of the hall. She looked across the room to where Erin was examining a beautiful ceramic vase with a green-and-blue lustre glaze. Erin didn’t seem at all bothered by her surroundings, so what was it that perturbed her so much, she wondered? Was the old place haunted? No, she didn’t believe in ghosts, and yet there was something intensely sad about the building, as if there were memories still lingering in the shadowy corners, memories that weren’t altogether happy.

  Mrs Beatty rounded them up sharply at five o’clock.

  ‘Oh, I’m happy to stay a while longer,’ Erin assured her.

  ‘I’m leaving so you will too,’ Mrs Beatty told her matter-of-factly, and they were ushered down the stairs and out of the house, the door closing very firmly behind them.

  Erin was smiling. ‘I think I’m in love.’

  ‘Really? Cape and I were just talking about all the romances going on around here.’

  ‘Not with a person, silly,’ Erin said. ‘With this house! It’s far better than any man. Give me an art collection over a boyfriend any time.’

  Anne Marie shook her head. ‘You obviously haven’t found the right person yet.’

  ‘The man who could rival this house hasn’t been born and I doubt he ever will be.’

  They said their goodbyes and Anne Marie walked home with a big smile on her face. Cape had texted her earlier to say he was leaving at four to pick Poppy up from a friend’s and Kathleen said she was going home with Patrick and his boys.

  It wasn’t until she was back at Kathleen’s that she remembered the cheque she’d pocketed from the study. She took it out and looked at it again. It was so strange to see her father’s signature: that bold black swirl, and the eye-wateringly large amount he’d signed over to Tobias Morton.

  But what was even stranger was the date. She hadn’t noticed before, but it struck her now. The cheque had been written the month after she’d been born.

  Chapter 22

  Anne Marie sat in her car for a full five minutes before mustering the courage to get out and knock on her mother’s front door. Even after a restless night’s sleep, during which she could think of nothing but that cheque, she still didn’t know what she was going to say or how her mother would react. Would she know anything about it and, even if she did, would she enlighten Anne Marie? There was no way of knowing but there was only one way to find out.

  ‘Hi, Mum,’ she managed as Janet Lattimore opened the front door with a frown on her face.

  ‘Was I expecting you?’ she asked.

  ‘Not exactly.’

  ‘Oh. Well, you’d better come in, I suppose.’

  Anne Marie followed her through to the kitchen where her mother switched on the kettle and made them both a cup of tea.

  ‘I’d have got more milk in if I’d known you were coming. I’m running low, you know.’

  ‘Sorry.’

  Her mother gave a world-weary sigh. ‘What’s all this about anyway?’

  Anne Marie swallowed hard. ‘I’ve got something to show you.’

  ‘What?’

  ‘Shall we sit down?’

  ‘This is all very mysterious,’ her mother said as they went through to the living room and sat on the sofa, placing their cups of tea on the table before them.

  Anne Marie opened her handbag and took the cheque out, handing it to her mother.

  ‘What is it?’ she asked, reaching for her reading glasses.

  ‘It’s a cheque.’

  ‘Well, I can see that.’

  ‘It’s a cheque I found at Morton Hall.’

  Her mother looked nonplussed, but then squinted at it more closely. Was it Anne Marie’s imagination or did her mother’s face really drain of colour? Her lips tightened, she was sure of that, and she wore the pinched look she always got when she was angry.

  ‘Why have you brought this to me?’

  ‘Because I want to know why Dad wrote a cheque to Tobias Morton. That’s a huge sum of money, but it was never cashed. Do you know anything about it?’

  Her mother shook her head, her response quick. Perhaps a little too quick to be convincing.

  ‘You do know something, don’t you?’

  ‘I don’t know anything about this.’

  ‘Please, Mum, think. Look at the date on it.’ She leaned forward and pointed to it. ‘It’s written just a month after I was born. Does that mean anything to you?’

  Her mother stood up abruptly. ‘You shouldn’t mess with the past, Anne Marie.’

  ‘But why was Dad handing over this sum of money? Was he going to buy a painting? An antique? Was he going into business with Mr Morton or investing in something?’

  ‘This was your father’s business.’

  ‘I know it was.’

  ‘It’s got nothing to do with you,’ her mother said, but Anne Marie couldn’t help feeling that it had got something to do with her, and that her mother knew exactly what too.

  Anne Marie walked into the walled garden, opening the greenhouse door, the warmth embracing her immediately. She needed the peace of the garden after her visit to her mother’s, and it seemed as if Dorothy was seeking refuge too because she was sitting on the bench at the far side of the garden. They waved to each other and Anne Marie got on with watering the plants that were doing so well under the care of Patrick and his sons.

  Her mind had been racing since confronting her mother about the cheque. She had completely shut down and had refused to say anything more and Anne Marie had thought it best to leave. It was all she’d been able to do to get the cheque back from her mother. It was in her pocket now and she would never forget the look on her mother’s face as she’d taken it from her.

  ‘Don’t,’ she’d said.

  ‘I have to return it,’ Anne Marie had said.

  She wondered if she should
ask Mrs Beatty for an explanation. After all, it had been her who’d given them the job of filing so surely she’d know something about this cheque. Or maybe she wouldn’t. Maybe she would have as few answers for her as her mother.

  Perhaps her mother was right: perhaps she shouldn’t mess with the past, but the past was pretty hard to avoid when you were working at Morton Hall.

  ‘I thought I’d pop my head in and see how you were!’ a voice chimed.

  Anne Marie leapt, the watering can in her hand. ‘Oh, you gave me a shock.’

  ‘You were miles away, my dear.’

  Anne Marie smiled at Dorothy. ‘How are you, Dorothy?’

  ‘How are you?’

  ‘Oh, you know.’

  Dorothy shook her head. ‘Tell me anyway.’

  Anne Marie put the watering can down. ‘It’s just some stuff up at the hall.’

  ‘And how’s it going up there?’

  ‘Good.’

  ‘Erin was telling me about it last night.’

  ‘She was?’

  ‘She came round for dinner. She said she wanted to see my old wedding photos, can you believe it?’ Dorothy said. ‘She’s got the bug for the past, that one. She manages to make me feel old and young at the same time.’ She chuckled. ‘But she’s obviously enjoying the work now. I could see she was getting a little bit impatient with all that filing. An active mind like hers needs more.’

  ‘Oh, yes,’ Anne Marie agreed.

  Dorothy smiled. ‘I can’t tell you how good it is to talk to a young person. My two daughters never got married or expressed an interest in having a family and I can’t help feeling I’ve missed the whole grandmother thing. I suppose that’s why I’m enjoying being here so much, talking to Erin and watching the antics of Patrick’s boys.’

  Anne Marie nodded and then smiled. It was so lovely that Erin and Dorothy had adopted one another.

  ‘And how about you? It seems you’re not enjoying things quite as much as Erin.’

  There was no point in trying to deny it.

  ‘It’s not that I’m not enjoying it,’ Anne Marie began. ‘It’s more a feeling I get when I’m in there.’

  ‘What kind of feeling?’

  ‘Sadness.’

  Dorothy frowned. ‘The place makes you feel sad?’

  ‘Not exactly. But I can feel sadness there. Is that odd?’

  ‘No. Not at all,’ Dorothy told her. ‘I believe places can hold onto feelings just as people do.’

  ‘You do?’

  ‘Oh, yes. I once lived in a house out on the Ridgeway. A charming house. Like a doll’s house. One of the prettiest I’ve ever seen, but I couldn’t live there for more than a year.’

  ‘Really?’

  ‘My husband thought I was crazy. Told me to pull myself together and stop reading M. R. James.’ She gave a wry smile. ‘But it wasn’t the M. R. James – it was the place. There was something in its air.’ Dorothy sighed. ‘It was three years after we moved from there that I found a reference to the house in a library book. The family that had lived there in the 1840s had all died bar one within six months of each other. Mother first, then three of the children and then the father. Only one of the daughters survived.’

  ‘And was that what you felt, do you think? The sadness of the surviving daughter?’

  ‘Who knows?’ Dorothy said. ‘But there was definitely something about that place that didn’t sit well with me.’

  ‘So you think Morton Hall is the same? Do you think the recent death of Emilia Morton is still present?’

  ‘Maybe. What do you think?’

  ‘I’m not sure what to think.’

  ‘Maybe you should try to find out a bit more about the place. About Emilia,’ Dorothy suggested.

  ‘I’ve thought about trying to ask Mrs Beatty.’

  ‘Ah,’ Dorothy said, ‘I’m not sure that’s likely to help.’

  ‘Yes, I thought as much.’ They exchanged smiles.

  ‘Although . . .’

  ‘What?’ Dorothy asked.

  ‘I get the feeling she’s warming to us.’

  ‘She is? I hadn’t noticed,’ Dorothy said with a chuckle.

  ‘I think she’s finally getting used to having us around,’ Anne Marie explained. ‘It must be strange for her. I mean, she must have been so used to it just being her and Miss Morton here.’

  ‘It’s a strange place, isn’t it?’ Dorothy went on. ‘I’ve always thought it’s a lonely house. Whenever I walked by the drive, I’d look down and glimpse those twisted brick chimneys and wonder about the people living here.’

  ‘You never met the Mortons?’

  ‘Gracious, no!’ Dorothy exclaimed. ‘They didn’t have anything to do with the villagers. They kept themselves to themselves. That’s why it was such a surprise to hear that Emilia Morton had left the place to us all.’

  ‘Yes,’ Anne Marie agreed. ‘That seems so odd, doesn’t it?’

  ‘Do you think we’ll find out the reason?’

  ‘I hope so.’

  ‘Let me know if you discover anything, won’t you?’

  ‘I will.’

  ‘And don’t worry yourself. These things have a way of working themselves out. Just you wait and see.’

  ‘Thank you.’

  Dorothy nodded. ‘Right, best get off. Mac’s picking me up for lunch with his uncle. Between you and me, I think Mac’s trying to match-make us!’ She gave Anne Marie a wink and then left.

  Anne Marie watched her go, smiling at the thought of Dorothy going on a lunch date with Mac’s uncle. It had been good to talk to her about the way she’d been feeling about the hall and, although her mind wasn’t completely at ease, Dorothy’s words had comforted her a little.

  These things have a way of working themselves out.

  Leaving the greenhouse, she glanced up at Morton Hall, focussing her gaze on the window where she’d seen the woman that day as she’d left the walled garden. Had that been Emilia Morton looking down at her? Was it her presence, her sadness, Anne Marie could feel in the hall? Anne Marie wondered if she’d ever find out.

  Emilia Morton stared out of her bedroom window at the spring garden below. She longed to be out in it, walking through the flowers, inhaling their scents and enjoying their colour. Instead, she was stuck in her bedroom, waiting, waiting.

  ‘You should be in bed,’ Mrs Beatty told her as she came into the room. ‘Come on – it’s not going to be long now.’

  ‘Isn’t it?’

  ‘No. Now get back to bed. You know the doctor told you to rest.’

  Emilia manoeuvred herself as best as she could. ‘I feel like I’ve been in here for days. Weeks! ’

  ‘It’ll all be over soon enough and then you’ll be able to get out and about again. But, in the meantime, rest!’

  ‘You’ve done this before, haven’t you?’ she asked.

  ‘Yes,’ Mrs Beatty told her.

  ‘That’s good to know.’

  ‘Both my sisters and a neighbour. All home births.’

  Emilia nodded, feeling comforted. It was a Morton tradition that the women in the family gave birth at home. At first, she’d protested but, as the months had worn on, she’d got used to the idea of staying at home with all her familiar things around her.

  ‘It’s so good to have you here,’ she told her.

  ‘Now, where else would I be?’ Mrs Beatty asked.

  Emilia smiled. ‘I remember when you first came to Morton. I know I was eighteen and you were only – how old was it?’

  ‘Twenty-four.’

  ‘Yes, you were only six years older than I was, but I was scared of you all the same.’

  Mrs Beatty shook her head. ‘What was there to be scared of?’

  ‘I don’t know – your brusqueness?’

  Mrs Beatty tutted. ‘Not brusqueness – efficiency.’

  ‘Oh, is that what it was?’ Emilia laughed. ‘Well, I don’t know what we’d have done without you all these years.’

  ‘You’re not the
only one,’ Mrs Beatty confessed.

  ‘What do you mean?’

  ‘I mean, I needed you as much as you needed me. Your brother appointed me just after my husband died.’

  ‘A car accident, wasn’t it?’

  ‘That’s right.’

  Emilia thought about this, trying to imagine how it must have felt for Mrs Beatty to lose her husband. She’d never really thought about her loss before, but, having fallen in love herself now, she began to realise what Mrs Beatty must have gone through.

  ‘You became my family after that,’ Mrs Beatty told her. ‘I had a responsibility to you both.’

  ‘And you’ve never let us down.’

  The two women exchanged smiles.

  ‘Where’s Tobias?’ Emilia asked after a moment.

  ‘In the study.’

  ‘I don’t want to see him.’

  ‘I’ve told him to keep busy and mind his own business.’

  Emilia rested back on the bed. ‘You won’t leave me, will you?’

  ‘I’m not going anywhere.’

  ‘And it’ll be all right.’

  ‘The doctor said you’re in perfect health. There shouldn’t be any complications.’

  ‘Oh, God! Don’t even say that word!’

  The last few months had been an agony for Emilia. She had never told her brother she was pregnant. She had simply got bigger in front of his eyes. She wasn’t even sure of the moment he realised. She didn’t care. It had been a strange time with the two of them living under the same roof, but leading separate lives. He’d become more withdrawn than ever and Emilia had been thankful for it.

  Lying back on the bed now, her mind drifted over the last few months. Not a single day, not a single hour, had passed when she hadn’t thought of Jay. She’d waited for him to come back to her. She’d written letter after letter, but all had gone unanswered. Even when she’d told him about the baby, she hadn’t heard a word from him. She thought, as the weeks had elapsed, that the sting of Tobias’s words to Jay – whatever he might have said, she could only imagine – would have lost their potency and that he would come back for her. But he hadn’t and that made her question everything. Had he ever really loved her? Had it only really been a summer romance? If they’d managed to run away together that night, would it all have ended? Would she have found her way back to Morton Hall? Would she still have been alone in this bedroom about to give birth?