by Robin Jarvis
“Who are you?” he cried. “What are you doing in the Gentle Garden? ’Tis for Under Queens and Jills only.”
“It’s me, Charm!” she answered, kneeling to speak to him.
“A charm you’re wanting, is it?” he said. “You most likely want the Physic Garden, thataways. You done strayed into a private royal retreat here. You maids ought to know better than to come prying and trespassing. What if one of the Majesties had been out, perambulating? They’d have had you beaten and boxed black and blue, they would. Most partic’lar about who they lets in here they is – specially the Queen of Hearts. Thinks this is just for her personal private pleasure she does, the way she carries on. As if she didn’t have a Garden Apart, all her own!”
He looked around cautiously. “Now don’t you go telling no one I broke that there digitalis purpurea and I won’t give you away neither. Very fond of the foxgloves is the Queen of Hearts – uses them in her tinctures and concoctions she does.”
“Marcus,” Charm said. “Don’t you know me?”
“Crocus,” he corrected, pointing to a golden brooch, shaped like a flower, on his jerkin. “Crocus Weedy be my name, goblin to this here Gentle Garden, I be. Today that meddly Queen has got me making sure all her prize beloved beauties smell right for her. Their own perfumes aren’t whiffable enough according to she. Here, have a sniffy of this.”
Putting the trowel down, he untied one of his jars, pulled out the cork stopper and held it up. The fragrance of lily of the valley flooded out and wrapped around Charm.
“Pretty pong, isn’t it?” he said, tapping the stopper back in. “A teeny dab in each flower’s mouth, that’s what I’m tasked with. Got every whiff there is, about my person – each one a hooter’s dream.”
“You don’t remember me?”
“Not for the likes of me to know the likes of you,” he replied, putting his hat back on. “Garden Goblins don’t mingle with tall folk much; we don’t even mingle with each other much neither. I sleep up in the dovecot, sharing my nights with the birds. Old Juniper, who tends the Lordly Garden, kips under a broke flowerpot and Greengage, of the Physic, holes up in the woodpile.”
“What about Maggie?” the girl said. “You must remember her? And the tunnel you was digging? What about them ’orrible worm fings?”
“Tunnel? Digging?” he cried. “I don’t do none of that heavy toil! That’s what serfs and moles is for. Us Garden Goblins are the ones who clean their mess after. A bit of weeding and turning the loam over is the most my trowel blade does and I got no quarrel with worms if they stay out my lawn, spoiling it with their squiggly heaps. Prettying up is what us Garden Goblins is for: shining leaves, painting dew on the webs each morning, rolling the ferns into tight scrolls, keeping the hedges clipped and trim, opening out buds and training butterflies to flutter in patterns when the Majesties come strolling by. Never enough hours to squeeze it all in.”
The girl hung her head. It was no use.
“We gotta get going,” Lee’s voice called to her.
The goblin with Marcus’s face glanced crossly at the trellis. “No man is permitted here!” he shouted, hopping up and down angrily. “Get you gone! Shoo – both of you!”
Charm rose and left him. Crocus looked at the flattened grass where she had been kneeling and threw his hat down again.
“I’ll have to get my big comb and groom that!” he grumbled. “The Queen of Hearts demands it perfect! Just look at your big, clodhoppy footprints in the velvety sward. Go away – go away! As if I don’t have enough to keep me busy this day. Leave me to mind the Gentle Garden in peace.”
Charm returned to Lee and they ran through an archway, leaving the garden behind.
“It were him,” she insisted. “It were Marcus.”
“Marcus is dead,” Lee reminded her.
“I don’t get it. Is this what happens? When you die, you turn into summink freaky here, not even a proper person, and don’t know who you are?”
“Freaky is right,” he told her. “That was a twisted joke – a parody of who he was.”
“Were it a ghost or real or what? Were it his soul?”
“I dunno and I dunno what this place really is – or where. Unhealthy is all I’m sure of.”
“What’s Maggie gonna say when I tell her?”
“You think it’ll make her feel better knowin’ he’s here, like that?”
“No…”
“Then forget what you just saw. Marcus is gone. Keep it that way, for her.”
“I hope I don’t end up here, like him,” she said with a mortified shudder. “What would I be? A dragon or a statue or summink?”
“I won’t let that happen,” he promised.
Charm began to wonder if trying to find her mother was such a good idea. Could she really bear it if she didn’t recognise and remember her either? Was she strong enough for that? It took all the courage she had to press on. In thoughtful silence, they passed through courtyards and covered walkways – always on the lookout for sentries and Punchinellos. They encountered no one. The place seemed deserted. Lee didn’t like it.
“This ain’t right,” he muttered. “We should’ve seen someone by now. Where is everybody?”
Charm wasn’t listening. Through the next arch, she caught sight of linen shirts and woollen hose pegged out on slender ropes strung between the walls. This was it.
Her heart in her mouth, she hurried forward and ducked under row after row of dripping washing. Then, through the lazily flapping laundry, she saw a dumpy figure, stooping to take the last item of damp clothing from a large basket.
The woman was dressed in long skirts covered by a wide apron. Her shirtsleeves were rolled up past her ruddy elbows and she pegged the final garment on the line wearily.
When Lee caught up with Charm, he whispered, “Is that her?”
The girl shrugged. She didn’t know. Covering the woman’s head was a knight’s steel helmet, with the visor down.
A trilling song began echoing inside that startling headgear. The woman took up the basket and plodded into the nearest outbuilding.
“Go after her,” Lee said. “But the first sign of trouble, we get ourselves straight out here and back to the camp, yeah?”
“You stuck on repeat or what?” Charm asked.
Hurrying under the washing, they made their way to the door of the building the washerwoman had disappeared into.
“There now,” the laundress said as she removed the helmet and set it down. “I’d like to see Haxxentrot’s gorcrows peck my nose off, like she threatened, when I’ve got that on. It was so generous of Sir Darksilver to loan me one of his old helms. I shall take extra care with his bundles in future – only the best starch on his linen.”
Easing herself into the rocking chair by the ingle, she looked round the washhouse with the satisfaction of having done a hard day’s work. It wasn’t over yet, but she felt she had earned a brief sit-down. The coppers were steaming on the fires, waiting for the next load of grubby garments, but she kicked off her wooden clogs and rubbed her aching feet. Then she examined her chapped red hands and blew on them.
“Is that her?” Lee murmured in Charm’s ear as they peered inside.
The girl shook her head. “That’s not me ma,” she answered with bitter disappointment.
“So go aks where she is.”
He nudged her in and made certain his cowl was down over his eyes before following.
“’Scuse me,” the girl began.
The laundress looked up from the cracks and splits in her fingers and rose from the rocker.
“What may I do for you, m’dear?” she asked. “Got tired of the jousting, have ye? Don’t know why they bother, ’tis always the Jack of Clubs who wins, him and that special horse of his. Never was much of a one for tournamenting myself. I knowed how much work it makes for the likes of me I suppose. Them bloody tunics and undershirts will all come through these coppers. Bring them here straight away, I tells the squires every time. But the daf
t lads never do and so they have to be steeped in salted water for a week and slapped about something brutal before the stains start to lift. ’Tis murderous work for these poor hands; there’s no helpful brownie to do the work for me, more’s the pity.”
She looked expectantly at Charm then squinted with curiosity at the hooded figure who stepped in behind her. She couldn’t see his face and his hands were tucked inside his sleeves.
“I were lookin’ for Widow Tallowax,” the girl ventured.
The woman’s puzzled features brightened. “Then look no further,” she declared. “For I am she, a lowly matron but of good character. Is it a kirtle spoilt or some soiled braies? I’ll get the sin boiled clean out of them, my pretty maid.”
Charm stared at her blankly. “You can’t be her,” she said. “You’re not me ma – you can’t be Widow Tallowax.”
“Your ma?” the woman repeated, pattering forward in her bare feet to take a closer look at her. “I don’t be nobody’s ma. But I’m who I say I am, as sure as tar don’t never scrub out of a velvet cape.”
Charm shook her head and backed into Lee. “It’s not her,” she stated unhappily. “Where is she?”
The boy took his hands from his sleeves and touched her shoulder gently. He should have spoken about this earlier.
“Yes, it is,” he said. “She’s in there. Remember, there’s only so many characters in that damn book and millions of zombie people all thinking they’re one of them. What we got here is the prime version, just like the Jacks and Jills we see are the prime versions of them. You gotta concentrate. Look close – think real hard about who you want to see.”
Charm didn’t really understand, but she turned back to the laundress and pictured her mother’s face in her thoughts.
Widow Tallowax looked at them uneasily. “What is it you want?” she demanded, eyeing the hooded figure’s black hands with surprise and unease. “I don’t got time to squander in idle chatter, or whatever game you be having with me. If you don’t have nothing for my seething waters then be off – and shame on you for confounding a poor honest matron at her daily duties. I’ll fetch my tongs and put them to the backs of your legs if you don’t leave.”
As she spoke, the woman’s shape began to flicker. Charm drew an incredulous breath. Before her eyes, the washerwoman blurred and changed, growing taller or wider, thinner and shorter. Each instant showed a new, different person. Only the clothes remained the same; the arms, torso, face – everything else altered. It was like skimming through the pages of a flick book. All manner of people jumped in and out of those long skirts: different ages, different sizes, different races, until finally Charm let out a squeal and grabbed the woman’s hand.
The face of her mother, Mrs Benedict, had appeared. As soon as the girl touched her, the rapidly switching images stopped.
“Ma!” Charm yelled, throwing her arms round her. “Oh! I missed you so much. So much. Why didn’t you come get me like you said?”
The Widow Tallowax leaned back in surprise. Who was this strange, weeping maiden? She pulled those desperate arms from about her neck and stepped away, flustered and speechless.
“It’s me,” the girl said. “Charm, your daughter. Charm Benedict. You know me, you got to!”
The woman wrung her hands. The girl was obviously overwrought, but this display was most unseemly.
“Please, Ma,” Charm implored, the tears streaking down her young face. “Don’t do this. You can’t not recognise me. You was painting this face wiv slap since it were two years old. You don’t forget summink like that.”
“Put an end to this!” the widow snorted. “My eyes have never seen you before this day. Why do you maltreat me in this fashion? Is it a trick of the Jill of Spades or the Jockey? If either of them were not content with one of the garments I returned, this is a cruel revenge and ill deserved.”
“Remember The Plan!” Charm continued. “Remember the times we went shoppin’. How about that night out when we went to that club, wiv them footballers in it? I was only fourteen, but got in dead easy and when that bloke hit on me, you gave him a right smack. I was dead narked cos he were famous and we rowed all the way home in the cab. How about them stinkin’ gherkins? You must remember!”
The washerwoman bit her lips and moved away. She realised now this was no trick. The poor maid was moon-kissed.
“Forgive my harsh words earlier,” she said. “They were spoken in alarm. Now I see you have a brain fever and your hooded companion must be your physician. Take great care of her, sirrah. How sorrowful it is for one so young and fair of face to be so tormented.”
“I’m not nuts!” the girl cried. “What can I say to make you see? What can I…?”
Thinking of something, she tore at her bodice and threw it down, then wrestled out of the woollen kirtle. Widow Tallowax raised her hands at this scandalous behaviour.
Standing in her long undershirt, Charm unfastened it to expose her bare stomach. The pink diamanté stud in her navel twinkled in the firelight.
“Look!” she said. “You came wiv me when I had it done. You went green and nearly fainted.”
The laundress covered her eyes at so shocking a spectacle.
“We was best friends, you an’ me.” The girl wept. “It weren’t like what other girls had wiv their mums. We was special, real close – like sisters. We were never apart. You must feel that, deep down. Somewhere in your heart, you do know – you got to. There’s a big empty hole in there, I know it, cos that’s what’s in mine.”
Charm’s anguish and frustration became too much and she broke down, sobbing.
Lee cast the hood back and put his arm round her, but she pulled away, too distraught to be comforted.
“Suds alive!” the washerwoman exclaimed when she saw the boy’s face. “From what foreign land have you journeyed? One where the sun burns hotter than here, that much is plain.”
“Yeah, that’s right,” Lee humoured her. “I’m from a long ways off, from the Peckham desert. I’m part of a religious order who worship the almighty Nike, in the holy temple of Footlocker.”
Widow Tallowax listened with fascination, but was distracted by Charm’s distress. She didn’t like to see anyone upset and this poor child was beside herself with grief. It was impossible to witness without feeling pity for her. She was too tender-hearted to see anyone suffering such despair.
“There, there, my dear,” she said, coming close to pat the girl’s hand. “Don’t take on so. A lovely face such as yours should never be rained upon. Sunny smiles, that’s what cleans our faces best. Whoever your true mother may be, I’m certain she’d not want to see you so wretched.”
“Why don’t you give her a hug?” Lee prompted.
“I couldn’t do that,” the woman declined. “I’m not in the habit of embracing strangers. I am not the Jill of Hearts.”
“Please,” Charm whispered through her tears. “Hold me.”
Widow Tallowax hesitated, but what harm could it do? Stretching her arms, she wrapped them about her. Charm rested her face on her mother’s shoulder and closed her eyes. For one precious moment, she imagined they were back in the real world, and Dancing Jax had never devastated their lives.
“I love you, Mum,” she said.
The widow moved away shyly. The contact had been strangely affecting. Almost as if the girl’s tears were contagious, a large drop rolled down her own cheek and she brushed it away hastily.
“If it’s a mother you seek,” she said, “why not go to Hunter’s Chase and look you there for Malinda’s cottage? She’s godmother to all unhappy maids.”
“It’s my real mum I want, not a fake one. There’s been enough fake in my life.”
“But she could aid you in your search. ’Tis said she’s beneficent and generous and her magick is still strong, for all the talk of her retirement. I oft-times think I should ask her for a spell to enchant the washing so it can scrub itself.”
“A good cuddle’s the best magic there is,” Charm sai
d. “I don’t want nofink from a fairy godmother.”
Widow Tallowax didn’t know what else to say. The sound of horses and babbling voices drifted in through the open door.
“The tournament is over,” she told them. “They’re coming back from the tilt yard. Such a day of it they’ve had. The whole castle was out there.”
“We’d best go,” Lee suggested softly.
Charm nodded. There was nothing else for her here. She had tried her best and had experienced one final, blissful hug. The memory of that would have to sustain her, in whatever ordeals were yet to come in the new camp. Picking up the leather purse she had discarded with her kirtle, she handed it to the laundress.
“This is for you,” the girl said, wiping her eyes. “I always promised I’d come find you if the book ever worked and give you money. Well, I ain’t got no dosh, but this is loads better.”
“A gift for me?”
“Yeah.”
The noise of the crowd was coming closer. They could hear shouts and cheers for the Jack of Clubs and praise for Ironheart, his magnificent steed. Lee was anxious to escape this place. He pulled the cowl over his head once more and waited impatiently.
“I do not know what I have done to warrant your charity,” the widow said, unbuckling the purse and looking inside. “What manner of curios are these?”
Charm managed a faint smile. “Rimmel and Max Factor, lippy and eyeshadow,” she said, “Olay and Garnier body and skincare – all the moisturiser I got. You said you missed Boots’ make-up counter most when you was here. Do your chapped hands the world of good them creams will.”
“Such treasures!” the washerwoman breathed. “They put even the Queen of Hearts’ own ointments to shame. How can I thank you?”
“If a girl can’t treat her muvver, what’s the point of anyfink?”
“We have got to go, now!” Lee stated.
Widow Tallowax held the purse close to her bosom and watched them hurry to the door. She didn’t understand what any of this had been about, but she knew the poor girl was in turmoil.