The Heart of the Garden

by Victoria Connelly

  But she didn’t have time to dwell on it any longer anyway.

  ‘Mrs Beatty?’

  ‘Yes?’

  ‘I think my waters have just broken.’

  Chapter 23

  It was Saturday lunchtime, the week after Anne Marie had found the cheque written by her father, when another discovery was made.

  ‘Anne Marie – come and see what I’ve found,’ Erin cried, her eyes sparkling with excitement.

  Anne Marie joined her, watching as she removed a white sheet from a painting which had been leaning against the wall of one of the bedrooms.

  ‘It’s the Victorian portrait.’

  ‘You recognise it?’ Erin asked.

  ‘Cape and I saw this once before.’ Anne Marie bit her lip as Erin gave her a puzzled look. ‘We sneaked into the house when Mrs Beatty was out.’

  ‘And you didn’t tell me?’

  ‘It was before the group began work here. We were desperate to see inside so came in when we were sure the coast was clear. We didn’t get long before Mrs Beatty returned, but I’ll never forget seeing this.’

  ‘So it was hanging up when you last saw it?’

  Anne Marie nodded. ‘I noticed it was missing when Mrs Beatty brought us upstairs, but I couldn’t say anything.’

  ‘Why do you think she moved it?’

  ‘I’ve no idea.’

  ‘It’s far too beautiful to have hidden away,’ Erin said.

  ‘I wonder who it’s of,’ Anne Marie said. ‘Perhaps we could look at the family tree.’

  ‘What made you say it’s Victorian?’ Erin asked.

  ‘What do you mean?’

  ‘The painting. You said it’s Victorian, but it’s modern.’

  Anne Marie frowned. ‘But look at the dress she’s wearing.’

  ‘Well, there’s no denying that the dress is Victorian,’ Erin said, ‘but look – it’s dated.’

  ‘Oh, wow!’ Anne Marie said as she saw the handwritten date on the back of the painting.

  ‘It’s got the artist’s name too. Jay Alexander,’ Erin pointed out.

  ‘Have you heard of him?’

  ‘No.’

  ‘So, if that was painted in 1983, that must be—’

  ‘Emilia Morton,’ Erin finished.

  Anne Marie gasped. ‘That’s Emilia Morton?’

  ‘I guess so. We could always ask Mrs Beatty.’

  Anne Marie took a moment to consider this and then nodded. ‘Yes. Let’s do that.’

  ‘Hey, she’s got the same red hair as you,’ Erin pointed out. Cape had said that too.

  ‘Her skin’s like yours as well,’ Erin added.

  ‘I’m afraid us redheads are cursed with pale skin.’

  ‘No, it’s more than that – look at the hue. It’s not pale pale. There’s this lovely fresh shell-pink colour.’

  Anne Marie looked closer. ‘Is mine that colour?’

  ‘Yes. Your eyes are the same brown too.’

  Anne Marie looked again. Although Emilia Morton was in profile as she looked out of the window, it was clear that her eyes were the same colour as Anne Marie’s.

  ‘This could almost be a portrait of you, Annie.’

  Anne Marie laughed at the notion, but her eyes were fixed upon the face in the painting as if in a trance. It was as though the past was trying to reach out and tell her something.

  ‘Maybe it is,’ she said.

  ‘What?’ Erin said.

  ‘The past.’

  ‘What about it?’

  ‘I’m not sure, but I’m going to find out.’

  Emilia lay back on the bed, drenched in sweat.

  ‘You have a beautiful daughter, Emilia.’ Mrs Beatty handed the baby to her.

  ‘Oh! Look at her!’ Emilia cried.

  ‘She’s perfect.’

  ‘I’ve never seen anything so beautiful. Look at her little mouth.’

  ‘I am looking!’

  ‘And she has red hair. Just coming through. Can you see it?’

  ‘Oh, yes. I can see it. She’s a Morton all right.’

  Emilia leaned forward and kissed the perfect peachy skin of her newborn.

  The two women stared at the baby in wonderment. They barely registered Tobias standing at the door until it creaked as he pushed it. Emilia glanced up from her daughter and smiled at her brother. They might not have spoken for an age and she might never forgive him for what he’d done, but her heart swelled with the love of the moment and she invited him in.

  ‘Do you want to meet your niece?’ she asked him.

  Tobias hovered for a moment as if unsure. Finally, he stepped into the room, and made his way towards the bed.

  ‘You can hold her if you like?’ Emilia told him after he’d stood there wordlessly for a good few minutes.

  Tobias shook his head. He was pale, paler than normal, she noticed, and she could clearly smell alcohol on him. Perhaps it was better he didn’t hold the baby, she thought, relieved that he’d declined the offer.

  ‘What do you think of her?’ she asked, trying to coax a response from him.

  He shrugged. ‘She’s a baby.’

  ‘Well, yes.’

  ‘I hope she won’t make too much noise.’ And, with that, he left the room.

  Nobody could have predicted what Tobias would do next, but one thing Emilia was sure of – he must have been planning it for months.

  It was just three weeks after Emilia had given birth. She’d been taking a walk around the garden as her baby had been sleeping. It had been so good to get out and to breathe in that fresh May air. But, when she’d returned, her baby wasn’t in her cot. Emilia thought Mrs Beatty must have her and went in search of her.

  The look on Mrs Beatty’s face when she asked where her daughter was told Emilia all she needed to know. Her baby was gone.

  Anne Marie turned away from Erin and went downstairs.

  ‘Where are you going?’ Erin asked, following her.

  ‘To find Mrs Beatty.’

  ‘Shall I come with you? Annie?’

  Anne Marie was already downstairs and searching the rooms for the housekeeper.

  ‘Mrs Beatty?’ she called, going from room to room, opening doors she hadn’t been invited to open yet. ‘Mrs Beatty?’

  ‘Anne Marie?’ Mrs Beatty’s voice came from behind her as she entered the dining room.

  Anne Marie turned around to face her and the two women just stared at each other.

  ‘You found it, didn’t you?’ Mrs Beatty said. ‘I could tell the other day although you didn’t say anything.’

  Anne Marie swallowed hard. ‘I found a cheque,’ she said, her voice unsteady.

  Mrs Beatty nodded. ‘Yes.’

  ‘Written by my father to Tobias Morton.’ She paused, waiting for Mrs Beatty to speak. When she didn’t, Anne Marie continued. ‘Why didn’t you tell me about it if you knew it was there?’

  ‘I thought the time would come when you’d be ready and I think that time is now.’

  ‘Ready for what?’

  ‘To hear the truth. You’ve been putting the pieces of the puzzle together, haven’t you?’

  ‘I’m not sure. Have I?’

  ‘What is it you want to know?’ Mrs Beatty asked.

  ‘What do you want to tell me?’

  It was then that Erin appeared at the door of the dining room.

  ‘Is everything okay, Annie?’ she asked.

  ‘I’m going to have a talk with Anne Marie,’ Mrs Beatty announced.

  ‘Okay,’ Erin said, her tone cautious. ‘Anne Marie? Do you want me with you?’

  ‘Erin, I think you have work to do, don’t you?’ Mrs Beatty pressed.

  ‘Well, yes.’

  ‘It’s okay, Erin. I’ll be up in a minute.’

  ‘It might take slightly longer than that,’ Mrs Beatty announced as Erin left.

  ‘What’s going on? Are you going to tell me what business my father had with Tobias Morton?’

  ‘Let’s sit down, shall we?’ Mrs B
eatty said, stretching out a hand to guide her.

  Anne Marie took a few deep breaths, trying to calm herself as she pulled out one of the dining chairs. She realised that she was shaking.

  ‘This feels strange,’ she said, taking the chair opposite Mrs Beatty. ‘Me sitting here in this room.’ She gave a nervous laugh.

  ‘Not so odd,’ Mrs Beatty said.

  Anne Marie frowned. ‘What is it you have to tell me? Tell me quickly because I don’t think I can bear waiting any longer.’

  Mrs Beatty looked down at the table, her forehead crinkling as she stared at its shiny surface. Then she looked back up at Anne Marie and something in her face had softened.

  ‘You’re the baby,’ she said.

  The words hung in the air for a few moments.

  ‘What baby?’ Anne Marie said.

  ‘You’re Emilia’s little girl.’

  Anne Marie could feel her pulse quickening, but she couldn’t quite believe what she’d heard.

  ‘I don’t understand. What do you mean?’

  ‘Emilia had a baby girl. On 19th April 1984.’

  Anne Marie gasped. That was her birthday. ‘But my parents—’

  ‘Bought you.’

  ‘What do you mean? I don’t understand.’

  ‘The cheque from your father. It was for you,’ Mrs Beatty said. ‘Tobias died before he could cash it.’

  ‘No. I don’t believe . . . why . . . why are you telling me this?’

  ‘You’re adopted, Anne Marie,’ Mrs Beatty stated clearly and calmly. ‘You were Emilia’s daughter and Tobias took you from her. He found your parents, the Lattimores – I really don’t know how – and made a deal with them. You were just three weeks old when you left here, but you’re a Morton.’

  Hot tears rose in Anne Marie’s eyes. What was Mrs Beatty saying? That she was Emilia’s daughter? She thought about the portrait and how very like her it looked. But that was just a coincidence, wasn’t it?

  ‘You’re playing with me, right?’ she asked, her voice a tiny squeak.

  ‘No, my dear,’ Mrs Beatty said. ‘I’d never do that to you. But I thought you’d need time here before I told you. That’s why I hid the portrait for a while. I wanted you to get to know this place, maybe even to fall in love with it a little bit.’

  Anne Marie’s hands were trembling in her lap. ‘I need to talk to my mother.’

  ‘Of course you do.’

  ‘I need to hear this from her.’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘Have you spoken to her?’ Anne Marie asked.

  ‘No. Never.’

  Silence enveloped them for a few moments.

  ‘I don’t understand,’ Anne Marie said at last. ‘If Emilia knew about the cheque not being cashed after her brother had died, why didn’t she fight to get me?’

  ‘She didn’t know about the cheque,’ Mrs Beatty told her. ‘Not at first. She never went into the study. I did a bit of light dusting, but the cheque was hidden away. We had no idea it was there. But I’ll never forget the day Emilia found it. I thought she was going to tear it up, but she didn’t. She said she wanted to keep it as a reminder of who her brother truly was – so that her feelings towards him wouldn’t soften over time and she’d never forget the cruelty he was capable of.’

  ‘When was that?’

  ‘About eleven years after you’d left.’

  ‘And she never tried to find me in all that time?’

  ‘She was unwell. She slipped into a deep depression after you were taken from her. She didn’t know what to do. Tobias wouldn’t talk to her and he certainly wouldn’t talk to me. He just locked himself in his study and sank deeper into himself.’ She sighed wearily. ‘I always felt so awkward around Tobias. We were of a similar age, you see, but we never had any sort of relationship as employer and employee. Not like Emilia and me.’ She smiled then. ‘And do you know what Emilia did?’ Mrs Beatty went on. ‘Do you know what she did to Tobias? She took his violin. It was the most precious thing of Tobias’s she could think of. I saw her leaving the house with it and I didn’t stop her. It was out there in the walled garden until the day you found it.’

  Anne Marie remembered the day she and Cape had walked back to the hall with the violin. She’d never imagined that the discarded instrument had had something to do with her.

  ‘She loved you so much,’ Mrs Beatty said. ‘She’d never have given you up.’

  A tear rolled down Anne Marie’s cheek. Her mind was racing wildly, trying to take it all in.

  ‘And my father?’

  ‘Jay Alexander.’

  Anne Marie frowned. ‘The artist of the portrait?’

  Mrs Beatty nodded. ‘Yes. He spent a summer here painting Emilia. He was a friend of Tobias’s. Well, they knew each other at university. I don’t think Tobias ever had any real friends.’

  ‘What happened to him?’

  ‘Jay? We don’t really know, but I have a feeling that Tobias must have threatened him. Tobias didn’t want to lose his sister, you see. He was so possessive of her. He didn’t want her to have friends let alone a boyfriend or husband. A husband would have taken her away from here and he couldn’t bear not to have Emilia all to himself.’

  ‘But didn’t Jay Alexander ever get in touch? Did he know about me?’

  ‘He completely disappeared. Your mother did her best to find him, but he just seemed to vanish.’

  Anne Marie took a moment to absorb this. ‘Do you think he ever really loved her?’

  ‘Oh, yes. I’m sure of it.’

  ‘And he didn’t try to come back after Tobias died?’

  ‘No. Emilia thought he would, but she never heard from him.’

  ‘You think he’s still out there?’

  ‘He might be.’

  Anne Marie shook her head. ‘I can’t take all this in.’

  ‘Don’t be in a hurry to,’ Mrs Beatty said.

  ‘So Tobias Morton was my uncle?’

  ‘That’s right.’

  ‘We found a newspaper clipping about his death.’

  ‘Yes. Your uncle overdosed. He’d been abusing his body for years and had poured more substances into it than it could take. Perhaps it was through remorse at what he’d done, but I somehow doubt it.’

  ‘But didn’t my father, Mr Lattimore, want to know why the cheque was never cashed?’

  ‘To my knowledge, he never got in touch. But would you?’ Mrs Beatty gave a sigh. ‘I don’t mean to sound cynical, but he had both his money and his daughter.’

  Anne Marie didn’t know what to say. She couldn’t imagine what her father must have been thinking. How much did her mother know? When Anne Marie had shown her the cheque, she’d shut down completely which indicated that she must know something about it.

  ‘Anne Marie? Is there anything you want to ask me? Anything at all? I know this must be a shock for you and I realise that you’re going to have all sorts of questions. I just want you to know that I’m here for you. Just as I was always here for your mother.’

  This was a totally new Mrs Beatty she was seeing, she couldn’t help thinking. The housekeeper had been so brusque with her before.

  Perhaps it was her way of testing her out or seeing if she was worthy enough to be told she was a Morton. Perhaps Mrs Beatty had been safeguarding the truth to see if Anne Marie would be able to cope with it, if she was suited to the role. But then she remembered the way she’d caught the housekeeper looking at her that time, almost studying her. Then there’d been the gift of the pen. Now, Anne Marie could see its true significance and why Mrs Beatty had wanted her to have it.

  ‘So, I’m the last surviving Morton?’ she managed to ask at last.

  ‘Yes. And I know what you’re thinking. You’re wondering why you weren’t left the estate.’

  ‘I wasn’t thinking that.’

  ‘It was something your mother thought long and hard about. But it had been such a burden to her. She wasn’t always . . .’ Mrs Beatty paused. ‘. . . happy here. I think she didn�
��t want that pressure, that oppression, passed onto any one individual, least of all you. She knew the effect this place could have on someone.’

  Anne Marie nodded to say that she understood.

  ‘I – erm – I . . .’

  ‘What is it?’ Mrs Beatty asked.

  Anne Marie cleared her throat. ‘Did she – did she give me a name?’

  Mrs Beatty held her gaze and nodded. ‘Yes.’

  ‘What? What did she call me?’

  Anne Marie swore she could hear her heart beating.

  ‘Anne Marie.’

  ‘Yes?’

  ‘That was it,’ Mrs Beatty said. ‘She called you Anne Marie.’

  Anne Marie frowned. ‘But I thought that was the name my parents – the Lattimores – gave me.’

  ‘It was the only name she’d have for you. She said you were too beautiful to have just one name.’

  ‘But my sister was called Anne. I always thought . . .’

  ‘I’m so glad your parents kept your name. It pleased Emilia when she found out.’

  She wiped a tear from her cheek. ‘Why didn’t she ever try to find me?’

  ‘Oh, but she did. When we found out about the Lattimores, we kept an eye on you from afar. We knew when you started your job as a secretary and when you went away to university and when you got married and began work at Oxford University Press. And we couldn’t believe it when we found out you were living right here in Parvington. It was as if you’d been drawn back home.’

  ‘But she never came to see me.’

  ‘No,’ Mrs Beatty said with a sigh. ‘She was anxious about making contact. She was so frail, you see, and she believed you were better off with your new family, your new life.’

  ‘But that doesn’t make any sense. I was just down the road.’

  Mrs Beatty reached across the table and Anne Marie felt her hands moving instinctively towards hers to be held.

  ‘You’ve got to understand how fragile she was. After losing you, she lost a part of herself too. She never left Morton Hall after that. Some days, she’d barely leave her room. She’d walk in the garden a little. She loved visiting the maze right until the last of her days. But she never went any further. In fact, she dismissed the gardener after Tobias died. She didn’t like having too many people around and she thought it a waste to pay for that part of the garden to be kept tidy when nobody used it. So, for a while, things were left to get overgrown and, well, you saw the state of things. But she insisted that the maze was looked after because that was the one part of the garden that she truly loved and the one she felt connected her to your father. We hired a local company for a while. They seemed to send a different man every week, which we didn’t like. We found Mr Colman more recently.’ Mrs Beatty smiled. ‘And then you came to us. Emilia told me of the time she saw you in the garden, walking down the path towards the churchyard.’