by Sarah Jio
“Here, I’ll help you,” Rex said. Together we uncovered the face of a stone angel. Rex untangled the ivy’s clutch on her wings, and I pulled the vines free from her body. “There you are,” I said to the stone beauty. “That’s got to feel better.” Before I stood up, I noticed a few sprigs of purple pushing out near the base of the statue. I leaned in to have a closer look. Deadly nightshade, or rather, Atropa belladonna. “Rex!” I said.
He leaned in closer. “What is it?”
“It’s called Atropa belladonna,” I explained. “It’s a highly poisonous plant.” I remembered the story of a gardener who had been hospitalized after accidently rubbing his eye with a finger contaminated with the nightshade’s sap. Even in small doses, the plant was noxious, and potentially lethal. “Remind me to tell your parents to keep an eye out for this.” Rex’s younger sister had small children.
The wind picked up. I felt it seep through my coat, and I shivered.
“Should we turn back?” Rex asked.
“No,” I said. “Let’s see the camellias.” Past their normal blooming season, the trees had shed many of their blossoms, but the ones that remained were vibrant and showy, like the finale of a fireworks show. Up close, the trees did not disappoint. I stared up in awe at a yellow blossom, touching its petals lightly and breathing in the balmy, lemony scent. I pulled out Anna’s book, flipping to the page with the Petelo camellia.
“Do you think this is it?” Rex asked.
I nodded, studying the notes Lady Anna had left, before comparing the petal structure. “This has to be it,” I said. “But this numeric code? What do you think it means?” 5:3:31:2:1. “Maybe a location?” I counted the rows of trees, five in total. “Yeah, this is the fifth row, if you count from the east.” I turned around to reassess my bearings.
“And the tree is third from the front,” Rex said, his eyes meeting mine. “I think we cracked it.”
“Almost,” I said. “But what do the last numbers mean?” I walked to the next tree, stopping to admire its dark, emerald green leaves, so shiny and smooth. I picked up a pink blossom that had recently fallen to the ground and referred to the book again. The AnnaMaria Bellweather. But there were only two digits beside it—5:4—and no cryptic botanical name. “This doesn’t make any sense,” I said to Rex.
We walked through each row of trees. Some had fared better than others, and I paused to touch the carcass of a tree that appeared to have burned at some point in its history. Its bare, jagged branches had been charred on one side. Probably lightning. I hoped it wasn’t the Middlebury Pink.
“Drat,” Rex said when the rain began to increase in intensity. He pointed to an old outbuilding in the distance, and we ran to it, taking cover under its eaves. The roof sagged with moss, and the old rusty weather vane creaked on its axis. I peered through the dark window, using the sleeve of my jacket to wipe away the condensation so I could get a better look, which is when I thought I detected movement inside. “Hello?” I said, hearing my heart pound inside my chest.
“What is it?” Rex asked.
“Honey, I think there’s someone in there.”
He looked spooked, but I could tell he was putting up a brave front. “Nah,” he said.
I recoiled when I thought I heard door hinges creak. Frightened, I turned back to the pathway, picking up my pace to a sprint and then tripping on the root of a tree. I let out a cry of pain as I landed on my elbow.
“Addison!” Rex called from behind me. “Are you OK?”
Blood dripped from my arm when Rex found me a moment later. “Oh, honey, you’re hurt.”
“Sorry,” I said from the safety of the hillside. I could see the roof of the outbuilding below. Its sagging moss roof practically blended into the orchard. “I got a little spooked.”
“Come on,” he said, helping me up. “Let’s get you bandaged up.”
Rex and I left our muddy shoes by the door, and walked to the foyer, where I hung up my coat.
“I see you’ve been out in the gardens,” Mrs. Dilloway said from the stairway.
“Yes, we have,” Rex said. “Though it wasn’t the best day for a walk.”
“No,” Mrs. Dilloway said. “Not at all.”
I felt her eyes boring into me as we walked to the stairs. And then it hit me. Hertzberg.
I spun around. “Rex, did you leave the newspaper on the terrace?”
“I think so,” he replied.
Mrs. Dilloway shook her head. “I brought it in when it began to rain,” she said, pointing to the side table. “There.”
A few raindrops had soaked the paper, but I could still make out the type. I tucked it under my arm and walked toward the stairs. I didn’t stop until Rex and I had made it to the second floor and had closed the bedroom door behind us. I laid the newspaper out on the bed, and set the camellia book beside it. The article stated that Lila Hertzberg had been abducted on the second of January in 1931. I turned to the Petelo page in the camellia book. The remaining digits read “31:2:1.” I gasped. It must be a date. I scanned the article, reading about Lila Hertzberg. She was born in Sussex. Sussex. I reread the cryptic botanical name below the code: L. sussex Hertzberg. Rex’s eyes met mine. “My God,” I said, shaking my head gravely. “What have we just found?”
That night, Rex took me to Milton’s, the pub in the village. “What will it be, spiced beef sandwich or fish and chips?” he said, setting the menu down.
“Well, I know what you’re getting,” I said, smiling as I pushed the menu aside and took a sip of the wine that the waiter had just uncorked and poured. Rex could never pass up the fish and chips.
Neither of us could shake the discovery we’d made in the garden today. “Rex, I don’t know what to make of things in the orchard.”
“Me either,” he said, rubbing his head. “But do you think the abductor would really lay out this information?”
“I don’t know,” I said, taking another sip of wine. “Maybe it’s his calling card.” I nodded to myself. “Or maybe Lady Anna was trying to piece it all together.”
“I’d vote for the latter,” he said. “Maybe she knew something sinister was going on at the manor. Maybe she was looking for clues, and she found them in the orchard.”
I refolded the napkin in my lap. “Do you think Mrs. Dilloway knows anything?”
“Oh, I’m sure she does,” Rex said. “She’s lived at the manor so long, she’s bound to know something.”
I sighed. “But getting her to talk is the real challenge. I’ve never met anyone so tight-lipped.”
“Hey,” he said. “Let’s take off our detective hats for a bit and enjoy the night.” He reached for my hand. “What do you say?”
“OK,” I said, cracking a smile.
He drew my arm toward him and ran his finger lightly against my skin until he stopped at my watch. “You know something crazy?” he asked, cocking his head to the right. “I don’t think I’ve ever seen your bare wrist.”
I pulled my hand back instinctively.
He looked momentarily astonished. “I’ve just realized that I’ve seen every square inch of you,” he said, before slipping his finger between my wrist and my watch, “but I’ve never seen this wrist.”
I sat up quickly, tucking my arm behind my back. “Of course you’ve seen it.”
“Just the same,” he said, gently pulling my arm back to him. His intentions were romantic, playful, and yet they struck all the wrong chords. “Let’s take it off.” He fingered the clasp of the watch, pulling it away from my skin enough to reveal the scars I so desperately wanted to keep hidden. “My God,” he said, gasping. “What happened?”
“Nothing,” I said, snatching my hand back. “They’re . . . just chicken pox scars.”
“Oh,” he said, still taken aback. “I didn’t know you had the chicken pox.”
“Well, I did,” I said, grate
ful to see the waiter coming with our dinner. “And now you know.”
CHAPTER 10
Flora
“Knock, knock.” Mrs. Dilloway peered into my room. I’d left the door cracked, not wanting to appear reclusive. The children were busy with their lessons, so I decided to take the opportunity to write a letter home. Mama and Papa would be eager to hear that I’d arrived safely. I set my pen and stationery aside and looked up at the door.
“Oh, hi,” I said, tucking the pen and paper inside the desk drawer.
“Do you have everything you need?”
“Yes,” I replied, gathering courage to inquire about the gardens. “I was just wondering if . . . well . . . if I might gather some of the camellias for an arrangement,” I continued. “Before they’re finished blooming.”
“I’d advise against that,” she said quickly. Before I could offer a reply, she clasped her hands together. “Now, since our tour was interrupted, shall we continue?”
“Thank you,” I said. “Yes.”
Upstairs, Mrs. Dilloway led me past the drawing room, pointing out the broom closet, where she said Nicholas sometimes hid, and the dumbwaiter, where Janie was known to disappear to from time to time. We walked by the dining room, the parlor, the sitting room, and then made our way up the stairs to the nursery. It was a grand room, with enormous leaded glass windows overlooking the gardens and rolling hillside. I imagined them flung open in the summertime, with the floral scent of the gardens wafting in. I walked past a dollhouse as tall as Katherine, nearly tripping on a wooden block.
“Mind your step,” Mrs. Dilloway said. “The children are dreadful about picking up after themselves.”
I eyed a large bookcase to my right. “Do they like stories?”
“They used to,” she said.
I pulled a picture book from the shelf. “Oh, I adore Beatrix Potter,” I said. “Do you think they’d like me to read to them?”
Mrs. Dilloway shrugged. “You could try. But the last nanny didn’t have much luck.”
I sat down on the sofa near the bookshelf. “May I ask you something?”
“Of course.”
“Is there something I need to know, about what happened to their mother? Sadie said that—”
“You’d do well to not listen to housemaid gossip, Miss Lewis,” she said, frowning. “Rehashing the past will do nothing for the children. They’ve been through a lot this past year, more than children should have to endure.”
I nodded.
She turned to face me as I stood up. “Shall we continue on?”
“Yes,” I said, following her out the door.
We walked along a dark corridor. “These are the children’s bedrooms,” she said. “The girls’ rooms are here, and the boys occupy the rooms on the right.”
I counted five doors. “This other room,” I said, walking to the last room on the right and reaching for the doorknob. “Whose is this?”
Mrs. Dilloway’s hand reached the knob before mine. “Just a spare bedroom,” she said quickly, turning to another flight of stairs.
“But what about the hall down there?” I asked, pointing to a dark corridor ahead.
She looked thoughtful. “The east wing belonged to Lady Anna,” she said, appearing lost in memories. “Her bedroom, dressing room, and study.”
“Oh,” I said, embarrassed by my inquiry. “I, I—”
“It’s fine,” Mrs. Dilloway said. “You ought to know, for the children’s sake. They used to love to greet her there in the mornings. It used to drive his Lordship mad the way she’d let them jump on the bed. She was never formal like him.”
As she spoke, her eyes looked sad, distant. I longed to know more about Lady Anna. I peered down the corridor, feeling a magnetic pull. Before I could advance, I felt Mrs. Dilloway’s cold hand on my wrist.
“Please,” she said, indicating the staircase that led to the third floor. “There’s something I need to show you.”
I followed her up the stairs, gazing up at the domed ceiling, with its ornate trim work and painted murals depicting angels, animals, and the countryside in bloom. What must it be like for the children, to live in a veritable museum?
Mrs. Dilloway indicated a door ahead. “Miss Lewis, can I trust you with a secret?”
“Of course,” I said, a little confused.
When we got to the door, she produced a brass key from the pocket of her dress and inserted it into the lock. “It’s a bit stiff,” she said. The lock released and she turned the knob. The door creaked loudly as she opened it. “The hinges have gotten a little rusty over the years.” Her voice was thick with disappointment. “It’s this blasted country air. It’s a wonder we’re not all rusted to our cores.”
I stared ahead, beyond the doorway and Mrs. Dilloway. “Come in, Miss Lewis,” she said, sensing my hesitation.
A ray of light beamed into the dim hallway, and she looked both ways, cautiously. “Quickly,” she said. “We mustn’t be seen.”
As soon as I stepped inside the space, Mrs. Dilloway closed the door behind us with a hurried click. Light streamed down through the glass roof overhead. I followed her into the space, pushing a wayward vine from my view. It immediately sprung back and cheekily smacked me in the face. “What is this place?” I asked, in awe.
“The conservatory,” she said, then lowered her voice. “Lady Anna’s conservatory.” She walked a few paces farther. “It’s quite a sight, isn’t it?”
I was too awestruck to speak. Vines of bright pink flowers danced over a wrought-iron arbor. I recognized them immediately as the very same variety, bougainvillea, that grew in Greenhouse No. 4 at the New York Botanical Garden. Just beyond, two potted trees stood at attention—a lemon, its shiny yellow globes glistening in the sunlight, and what looked like an orange, studded with the tiniest fruit I’d ever seen.
“What is this?” I asked, fascinated.
“A kumquat,” she said. “Lady Anna used to pick them for the children.” She reached out to pluck one of the tiny oranges from the tree. “Here, try for yourself.”
I held it in my hand, admiring its smooth, shiny skin.
I sank my teeth into the flesh of the fruit. Its thin skin disintegrated in my mouth, releasing a burst of sweet and sour that made my eyes shoot open and a smile spread across my face. “Oh, my,” I said. “I’ve never had anything like it.”
Mrs. Dilloway nodded. “You should try the clementines, then. They’re Persian.”
I walked a few paces farther, admiring the potted orchids—at least a hundred specimens, so exquisite they looked like Southern belles in hoop skirts. On the far wall were variegated ferns, bleeding hearts, and a lilac tree I could smell from the other end of the room.
Mrs. Dilloway watched me quietly. “She would have liked you,” she said. “Lady Anna.”
I gave her a quizzical look.
“She didn’t care for most of the nannies,” she said. “It’s why I’ve brought you here,” she continued. “I need your help.”
“With what?”
“Sit,” she said, indicating a stone bench to our left. I obeyed, and she sat next to me. “You see,” she continued, looking around at the expansive conservatory. “After her death, Lord Livingston hasn’t been able to face this place. He gave all of the servants strict instructions to leave it be.”
“But the plants,” I said, covering my mouth, “they’ll all die.”
She nodded. “I couldn’t live with myself knowing that Lady Anna’s prized flowers and plants were perishing right above our heads. Besides, I made Lady Anna a promise, and I’m bound to that.”
“What did you promise?”
She smiled to herself, a sad, private smile. “To look after her gardens.” She sighed. “It hasn’t been easy.” She placed her hand over her heart. “Do you know anything about flowers, Miss Lewis?”
&
nbsp; “Yes,” I said quickly, before worrying that I might sound too eager. “I mean, a little.”
“Good,” she said, sighing.
I followed a vine with my eyes. It had crept along the wall up to the glass ceiling. “Passionflower?” I said, pointing up at it.
Mrs. Dilloway nodded. “She loved to see it in bloom.”
“I can’t understand why Lord Livingston would want to be rid of all this beauty,” I said, entranced.
She clasped her hands together. “Sometimes I think that when Lady Anna passed, his Lordship felt that all the beauty in the world had died with her. He can’t so much as look at a flower in the garden these days. He asked Mr. Humphrey to take out the tulips, and I fear that the camellias are next.”
I gasped. “He wouldn’t destroy them, would he?” I said, picking a yellowed leaf from the ground and crinkling it between my fingers.
“I don’t know,” she said, standing up. “But I haven’t the time to tend to it anymore with the pressing needs of this household. I need you to look after it. Water the plants. See to it that weeds don’t take over. Prune back the branches now and then, that sort of thing.”
My eyes widened. In some ways, it was a dream come true. A conservatory filled with exotic plants at my disposal? But the responsibility was too great. I stood up, shaking my head in polite protest. “Mrs. Dilloway, I’m really not suited for the job. I only have an amateur knowledge of plants.”
She ran her hand along the edge of a light green fern, so delicate it looked like a swath of French lace. “Lady Anna didn’t have a stitch of botanical training either,” she said. “But she loved these plants like they were her children. She listened to them. She let them teach her. That’s all you need to do.” She turned to me. “Can I count on you?”
I took a deep breath. “Well, I—”