The Garden of Bewitchment

by Catherine Cavendish

  Her bed creaked, then lifted itself, hovering at a crazy angle, depositing pillows and bedclothes onto the floor in an untidy heap. The deafening thumping and banging echoed all around her, and Claire clapped her hands over her ears. She half crawled to a corner of her room and curled into a ball, her head on her knees, and arms protecting herself.

  This could not be Branwell. He wouldn’t scare her like this. “Please go away. Whatever you are. Go away and leave me alone.”

  As quickly as it had started the cacophony stopped, leaving Claire alone in her wrecked room, the stench of ammonia all around her.

  * * *

  “Miss Wainwright. Enjoying your walk?” Matthew Dixon dropped into step next to her as Evelyn made her way up the path to the higher ground.

  “Yes, indeed, Mr. Dixon. I trust you are too? How is your leg today?”

  “Every day a little better, I think. Thank you for asking. We are certainly fortunate with the weather. This is the third day running we have had no rain.” He smiled.

  “Oh, I don’t think the Yorkshire weather is as entirely inclement as some would make out,” Evelyn said. Already, she felt better, lighter than she had before he joined her.

  “Your sister doesn’t accompany you on your walks?”

  “She’s more of a homebody,” Evelyn said, hoping the frown she knew she had made at the mention of Claire hadn’t been too obvious.

  “Such a shame. She misses out on all this.” He waved his stick, indicating the view.

  “I have told her, but she is as stubborn as I am, I’m afraid.”

  “Perhaps I could persuade her. We could have a picnic.”

  “That would be most pleasant, but I doubt you would change her mind. She hates insects, and the thought of enticing them by providing cakes and jam would be too much for her.”

  “Then we shall not have cakes and jam. We shall have ham and cucumber sandwiches instead. I don’t think insects are especially partial to ham and cucumber.”

  Evelyn laughed. She felt so relaxed in his company. She wouldn’t want to share him with Claire anyway. She felt guilty for thinking such an uncharitable thought, but really her sister had become impossible.

  “Miss Wainwright, I hope you won’t think me too intrusive, but I couldn’t help noticing you seem a little preoccupied today. I hope there is nothing troubling you?”

  Evelyn sighed. She had hoped her demeanor wouldn’t have made it so apparent. “My sister and I had a stupid argument at breakfast. I hate it when we fall out, and it seems to be happening more frequently recently. She has become a little distracted with…” Why was she unburdening herself like this? For heaven’s sake, she hardly knew him. Now she would have to finish her sentence, but if she told him the truth, he would probably wonder if she too had been tainted by the same madness that seemed to have overtaken her sister. After all, these things ran in families, didn’t they? Everyone knew that. Oh well, she had begun. Too late to stop now.

  “My sister has become a little preoccupied with a story she is writing and one of the characters in particular.” Well, she had only told a half lie.

  “Oh, she’s an author?”

  “We both dabble a little. For our own amusement, although one day, if we ever finish a book, we may seek publication.”

  “My goodness, two more sisters to hail from the moors of the West Riding.”

  “I wouldn’t compare our efforts to the works of the Brontë sisters.”

  “I am sure you find them inspiring, though, don’t you?”

  “Most certainly.”

  “What is your favorite work of theirs?”

  “Mine would be Jane Eyre, although for my sister, it would have to be Wuthering Heights.”

  “Visions of the dastardly Heathcliff, no doubt.”

  “Quite. She believes his character to have been based on that of Emily Brontë’s only brother. Branwell.”

  “Branwell. Ah yes.” Mr. Dixon looked away.

  “Did you know him?” Silly question. Mr. Dixon must be far too young to have met him.

  “Not personally. My grandfather used to sup with him in Haworth. He said he was a fearsome drinker. He could down two pints of ale and call for a large brandy before Grandfather had taken more than a couple of sips. Amiable chap, though, Branwell. Very popular with both men and ladies.”

  “Yes, I heard he had quite a reputation as a ladies’ man.”

  “He had a certain…charm.” Mr. Dixon stopped. His leg must have been paining him. Certainly, his expression had grown strained.

  “Shall we sit for a while?” Evelyn suggested. “I confess to feeling a little tired.”

  “An excellent idea.” He lowered himself down onto a grass-covered stone.

  Evelyn did likewise and they sat in comfortable silence for a few minutes. In a tree nearby, a blackbird sang tunefully to his lady. The tree itself had grown bent at an acute angle, no doubt battered by harsh winds and deep winter snow over many years.

  Finally Evelyn sighed. “I think I should be getting back. My sister will wonder what has become of me.”

  “Allow me to escort you.”

  “Thank you, Mr. Dixon.”

  “And please call me Matthew. I know we haven’t been acquainted for long, so this is probably a serious breach of etiquette, but I would like us to be friends, and friends have a habit of calling each other by their first names.”

  Evelyn hesitated, but really where did the harm lie? She could almost hear her mother reproving her. Or maybe the rattle of her bones as she turned in her grave. But Mama wasn’t here anymore. Evelyn was a grown woman in her thirties. Free to make her own choices.

  “I should like that very much, Matthew. I am Evelyn. My sister calls me Ev, although I rather wish she wouldn’t. I think it sounds so common.”

  “Then Evelyn it shall be.”

  Together they made their way back down to the lane. Not a single soul passed them. At the door of her cottage, Matthew took Evelyn’s gloved hand. “Thank you for a most enjoyable walk. I hope we will do it again very soon, and do please think about the picnic. Maybe your sister will surprise you.”

  Evelyn didn’t tell him she had already had enough surprises from Claire to last her a long time. Instead, she smiled, nodded and wished him a good day.

  * * *

  She could hear Claire’s sobs from the hallway. Evelyn raced up the stairs.

  Nothing could have prepared her for the devastation of her sister’s bedroom or the sight of Claire, distraught, trembling and curled up tightly in the corner of the room.

  “Whatever happened here? It looks like an earthquake hit it.”

  Claire couldn’t speak for the heaving sobs choking her. Evelyn cradled her head in her arms and rocked her back and forth as Mama had done all those years ago.

  At last, Claire calmed herself enough to sit up. She took Evelyn’s proffered handkerchief and dried her tears.

  “Are you ready to tell me now?” Evelyn asked gently.

  Claire nodded. “I don’t know what happened. One minute I was sitting here, and the next Branwell’s picture crashed to the floor, and that’s when…” Her eyes welled up again.

  “It’s all right, Claire. Take your time. What happened then?”

  “A lot of banging and thumping but no one here to make the noise. Then there was this horrible smell. Like… You remember when that tomcat used to come round, trying to get at our queen when we were children?”

  Evelyn wrinkled her nose. “Only too well. A horrible smell. It used to spray everywhere, and Mama was furious. I can’t smell anything now, though.” She glanced over at the bed. “What happened there?”

  “It rose up off the floor.”

  “What? But how?”

  Claire shook her head. “If I hadn’t seen it myself, I wouldn’t have believed it, but it looked as if
someone was lifting it. As if it weighed virtually nothing. It tossed around, which is why the covers are on the floor. Then it all stopped. I have been so scared, Ev. I don’t know what caused all this.”

  “Nor do I,” Evelyn said.

  “I’m frightened it’s something I did.”

  “Why? What could you possibly have done? Unless you did all this yourself, of course.” Could she have? That bed was made of brass. Heavy. But then she only had Claire’s word for it that events had happened the way she had related them. Why would Claire lie, though?

  “I… I asked Branwell to come to me.”

  “Oh, Claire. Not that again.”

  “I don’t believe it was him. Something else did this. Something intended to scare me. It succeeded. Branwell would never do such a thing.”

  Evelyn held Claire close to her. She would do anything to protect her sister, but, looking at the devastation all around her and feeling the woman trembling like a frightened lamb in her arms, she had no answers. Claire needed help, and right now, she had no idea how to provide it.

  * * *

  The following morning, Claire seemed much brighter. Her usually pale face had a tinge of color.

  “Did you sleep well?” Evelyn asked.

  Claire made a rocking motion with her hand. “Not too bad. At least I didn’t have any nightmares.”

  “That’s good at least. Claire, why don’t we go out together today? Up on the moors where you can breathe the fresh air and get some color in your cheeks.”

  Claire smiled. “And you might just catch a glimpse of Mr. Dixon.”

  “It’s true Matthew might be there.”

  “Oh, first-name terms. Very cozy.”

  There had been no hint of jealousy. Claire was teasing her. “He is a charming gentleman, and he has invited us both to have a picnic with him.”

  “Don’t you think I would be a little in the way? I don’t want to play gooseberry.”

  “Oh, nothing of the sort. Mr. Dixon wouldn’t have asked if he hadn’t meant it.”

  Claire frowned briefly, and then the moment passed. “No, I would rather not. Really, Ev. You go and enjoy yourself, and I will stay here with my book.”

  “You’re not worried about being alone…after yesterday?”

  Claire shook her head. “I’m made of sterner stuff than you think I am. I shall stay downstairs, and at the first sign of trouble I promise I will come and find you.”

  “Only if you’re sure.”

  “I’m sure.”

  “I would like to go.”

  “Then what are you waiting for? Tell Mr. Dixon you accept his kind invitation but unfortunately your sister feels a little indisposed and is unable to accept. Go and enjoy yourself. You’re not my nursemaid.”

  Had she behaved like a nanny?

  A sharp knock at the door gave her a start. “Whoever can that be?”

  Claire shook her head and stood. “You answer it. I don’t feel in the mood for seeing anyone today. I’ll wait in my room until they’ve gone.”

  A typical response. Claire’s shyness wouldn’t allow her to say as much as “hello” to a stranger if she could help it.

  Matthew Dixon removed his cap and smiled at her as he stood in the doorway, the sun at his back. “I do hope you will forgive this intrusion, but the weather is beautiful today. I wondered if you had made any decision about my invitation.”

  “I have. My sister is a little unwell, so she has decided to remain at home for the day, but I would be delighted to accept.”

  “I’m so relieved. You see…” He reached to the side of him and produced a covered basket. “I came prepared just in case. Ham and cucumber sandwiches as promised, chicken, chilled white wine, fruit. I hope everything will be to your liking.”

  “It sounds like a feast. Please come in, Matthew, while I get my coat.”

  He stepped over the threshold and immediately drew a sharp breath.

  “Is something wrong?” Evelyn asked. The color had drained from his face, and for a second, he looked as if he might pass out.

  He put his hand to his head. “Sorry. I don’t know what happened. I had the strangest feeling as I stepped into your cottage.”

  Memories of yesterday flooded back to Evelyn. “What sort of feeling?”

  “I can’t explain it really. First I was sure I had been here before, even though I know I have never once set foot here. Then I had the strongest urge to get out of here as fast as I could. I must apologize, Evelyn. That sounds awfully rude of me and has nothing to do with you, I can assure you. It felt as if the house… Oh, this sounds too ridiculous.”

  “No, please go on. I want to hear it, and I promise I shall not take offense.”

  He hesitated for a moment before continuing. “I felt as if the house was trying to get rid of me. Or warn me. I’m afraid none of this makes sense.”

  “What if I told you my sister had an unexplained occurrence here yesterday when I went out? I came home to find her room in ruins and her distraught, huddled in a corner. She swore she had done nothing, but something had entered her room and deliberately wrecked it. Naturally I felt reluctant to believe her at the time, but now you’ve told me this, I begin to wonder. I know so little about this cottage. We bought it in something of a hurry.”

  “But you have not experienced anything untoward yourself?”

  Evelyn shook her head. “Not yet, but we have only lived here for a few weeks.”

  Matthew rubbed his forehead.

  “Do you feel any better now?” Evelyn asked. At least he looked less pale.

  “Better, but still not comfortable being here. Shall we go? Maybe if we talk about it on our picnic?”

  “That sounds like a good idea.” Evelyn grabbed a light summer coat, struggled into her walking shoes and crammed a hat on her head, securing it firmly with a hatpin decorated with a silver thistle. “Oh, my gloves. I mustn’t go without my gloves. Mama would come back and haunt me.”

  Matthew flinched. He held the door open for her, and then they were out in the brilliant sunshine with a mere hint of a breeze.

  They spoke little on their climb, but once they reached the crags, Evelyn laid out the red check cloth Matthew had brought, anchoring it at four corners with stones.

  The roast chicken tasted delicious, and the little sandwiches accompanied the wine perfectly. Matthew stretched his legs out and leaned back against a rock, its surface smooth from many centuries of weathering.

  “That’s better. I hadn’t realized how hungry I was. How good it is to eat simple fare in charming company.” He clinked his glass with Evelyn’s.

  She smiled. “I was thinking much the same.” If only every day could be like this and if only she didn’t have this nagging worry over Claire. How were things at the cottage now? But Claire had promised she would get out of there if anything took a threatening turn.

  “It’s such a shame about the cottage,” she said and realized she had spoken her thoughts out loud, ruining the peaceful ambience.

  “Was it the house you had always dreamed of?”

  “Not entirely. You see, Sugden Heath, for all it’s a bustling mill town, can be a very small place indeed if your father happens to have been one of the area’s largest employers and he chose to sell up his land for property. A lot of people lost their jobs either directly or indirectly because of it, while the decision made him a great deal of money. Money that he subsequently left to us. That created more disquiet. Many in the community did not agree with leaving so much to daughters, but my father had no sons; who else should he leave it to?”

  “So I am dining on cold chicken and ham sandwiches with a wealthy heiress?” Matthew winked at her, and Evelyn felt her cheeks burn.

  “A lot of the money is held in trust until such time as my sister or I marry. Not that either of us are looking to do so
anytime soon. Even then there are a lot of stipulations. Father did his best to protect us against fortune hunters, but he could do nothing to still the gossiping tongues of Sugden Heath. Every time one of us stepped out into town, we could see the turned faces, the whispers behind hands. They called us unnatural, and worse. Jealousy does terrible things to some people. The situation became so bad my sister refused to go out. She is still inclined towards reclusiveness. It’s going to take a long time for her to gain her confidence back.”

  “I can see that. I’m lucky to have independent means, courtesy of my father, who made a lot of money mining copper in Africa. He died there a few years ago in a shocking accident. They had no warning, and the roof caved in, crushing sixty men, including himself. His brother runs the mine now. I was schooled in England and have lived here most of my life. I can’t see me following in my father’s footsteps, but once I am fully mobile again, I want to do something with my life. I’m afraid I have rather wasted it up until now. The skiing accident brought me to my senses. I could have died. Almost did, in fact. If I hadn’t been in a party, I could have perished where I fell on the mountain.”

  “That must have been a frightful experience.”

  “Not one I would care to repeat. Suffice it to say my skiing days are behind me. I’m thinking of taking up golf.” He smiled and Evelyn laughed. “As for your cottage, though, there’s a lot of history in those walls.”

  “Yes, I believe the cottages were built in the early eighteenth century. Of course, it’s never been a grand house. Far from it. But my sister and I needed somewhere small and quiet where we could look after ourselves. There have been sacrifices, but we believed they were worth it. We had to leave most of our furniture behind in our old home. It simply wouldn’t fit. But we like it. Maybe I should say, ‘liked’. I am having serious doubts now.”

  “My cousin knows a little of the history of his cottage, and I believe all six were built at the same time. They used to be owned by the Monkton family, whose eldest sons each served as the local squire. The dwellings were built for some of the family’s senior staff, but when the last squire died without issue, they were sold separately. That would be about twenty-five years ago. Gerald bought his off the first owner. There are some stories about the squires, though. They each had a reputation with the young women of the village, and it is said you can see a lot of similar features on the faces of the local inhabitants.”