by Sarah Jio
“Children!” Mrs. Dilloway scolded. “Quickly, take your seats before your father arrives.” I thought of Papa at home in the bakery in New York, with flour under his nails and a big jovial smile, and felt sorry for these children. No one should fear their own father the way they did.
Nicholas and Abbott scrambled into their chairs. They looked sharp in their dinner suits, like little men. Katherine sat across the table, smoothing an imaginary wrinkle from the sleeve of her pale yellow dress before giving me a mischievous smile. Of all the children, she worried me the most.
Mrs. Dilloway indicated a seat at the end of the long table, much too large and lonely for four children and their father. “Miss Lewis, you may take your seat here, near Janie. She needs assistance being fed.”
“Yes, ma’am,” I said, scooping Janie into my arms and depositing her into the seat beside mine as Mrs. Dilloway left the room. I felt as if we were all part of an elaborate theater production just before the curtain rises.
Abbott tapped his knife against his plate, and as if on cue, Nicholas picked up his fork and began with the water glass.
“Really, you two,” Katherine huffed. “Must you always act like barbarians?”
Janie squealed with delight, and in an attempt to join her brothers’ dinnertime percussion ensemble, she reached for the spoon at her place setting and knocked her crystal water glass to its side. Water soaked the tablecloth before the glass spun to the ground, missing the rug and landing on the hardwood floor, where it shattered in jagged shards.
“Oh dear,” I said, quickly kneeling to attend to the mess. As I did, a hush fell over the dining room. “Tin cups would be much more sensible for children of your age. I shall talk to Mrs. Dilloway.” I concealed the shards of crystal under the table. “There,” I said, rising to my feet. Your father will never know. It will be our little secret.”
My cheeks reddened when Lord Livingston entered the dining room. Tall and thin, his temples kissed with gray, he still looked a great deal younger up close. I could see where Nicholas got his good looks. He was the spitting image of his father; I wondered if Abbott resented the resemblance.
He cleared his throat.
“Welcome home, Father!” Katherine cried.
He nodded at her formally, then turned to Mrs. Dilloway, who approached the table carrying a domed serving platter. “Who,” he said, waving a finger at me, “is this?”
“This is Miss Lewis,” she replied nervously. “The children’s new nanny. She arrived yesterday.”
“Pleased to meet you, sir, I mean, er, Mr. . . .” I said.
Mrs. Dilloway looked momentarily pained. “Miss Lewis is from America, your Lordship,” she said, as if to get the matter over with swiftly, efficiently.
He handed Mr. Beardsley his coat without taking his eyes off me. “Indeed,” he said wryly. “I may not know how children are raised in America, but at Livingston Manor, no one drinks from tin cups.”
“Why, yes,” I stammered, “yes, of course. I only thought that the children could—”
“The children,” he continued, “will learn to drink from glasses like ladies and gentlemen.”
“It’s just that, with all due respect, sir, little Janie is only two, and—”
“I’m well aware of my daughter’s age, Miss . . .”
“Miss Lewis, sir,” I said. My cheeks burned, and I thought I heard a giggle from Katherine’s direction. “Yes, sir, I mean, your Lordship.”
Lord Livingston sat, and I followed.
“Papa, I can jump my horse over the river now,” Nicholas boasted.
“No you can’t,” Abbott interjected. “You missed that jump by a good three feet.”
Nicholas looked down at his lap, then back up again at his father, ignoring Abbott. “You could come riding with me in the morning and see for yourself.”
“Not tomorrow, my boy,” he said. “I have business to attend to in the morning.”
Nicholas sank back into his chair as Mrs. Dilloway ladled a thick, orange-colored bisque into the bowls in front of us.
“Would you like to hear me play the piano after dinner, Father?” Katherine asked sweetly. “I can play Minuet in G now.”
“Very good, Katherine,” he said. “But I’ll be retiring right after dinner. Another time, dear.”
“Yes, Father,” she said with a disappointed sigh.
I fed Janie a spoonful of soup, and she happily lapped it up, oblivious to the disappointment of her siblings.
“And how do you like your accommodations here, Miss Lewis?” Lord Livingston asked, dabbing a napkin to his mouth.
“Very well, thank you,” I said. “You have a beautiful home.”
“Yes,” he said stiffly. “It’s been in the family for generations.”
“The gardens are particularly lovely,” I added. I clenched my fists, wishing I could retract the statement. Mrs. Dilloway glared at me from the corner of the room.
“Well,” Lord Livingston replied, “you can expect some changes to the property this fall. The camellias are coming out.” He set his fork down with such force, I wondered if he’d chipped the china. “All of them. The ground is too damp now, but by next spring, before the rains, they’ll be leveled.” He cut into his roast beef, eyeing it approvingly. “Camellias have no use. None at all. No fruit. Just flowers, and even they don’t last long.”
I winced at the thought of the orchard being destroyed. A massacre. I couldn’t help but wonder if the Middlebury Pink might be better off in the garden of a Nazi than destroyed.
“Mrs. Dilloway,” he said, dabbing the corner of his mouth with a napkin, “I have a great deal of paperwork to attend to. Will you be good enough to bring my dinner to my study? I shall finish in there.”
“Yes, your Lordship,” she said, reaching for a tray on the side table as he stood up.
Abbott and Nicholas looked wounded, and Katherine stared down at her lap, eyeing something in her hands. “Oh, Father, I wish you wouldn’t go,” she said, casting a sly glance in my direction. “There’s something I wanted to show you. Something that I found in the nursery. It fell out of Miss Lewis’s pocket.”
“What is it, dear?” her father asked, walking closer to observe her outstretched hand. I squinted, trying to make out the object in her palm, then realized, in a moment of panic, that she held a kumquat. From the conservatory.
“Good gracious!” Lord Livingston exclaimed. “Where did you find this, Miss Lewis?”
Katherine flashed a satisfied smile.
“I . . .”
Mrs. Dilloway intervened. “Mrs. Marden brought home a basket of them from the market. She offered you some at lunch, didn’t she, Miss Lewis?”
“Yes,” I chimed in. “I tucked some in my pocket for later, and I guess I must have forgotten about them. I’m ever so sorry.”
Lord Livingston looked relieved but tired. “Very well,” he said. “I’ll say good night now.”
“Good night, Father,” Abbott said, followed by Nicholas. Katherine sulked, but Janie sat up and said, “nigh nigh, Poppy.” Her father was already too far gone to hear her.
“Miss Katherine,” Mrs. Dilloway said with a frown, “I’ll take the kumquat.”
Katherine relinquished the exotic fruit and crossed her arms in triumph. “I don’t care what you say. I know where you got it.”
“That will be all,” Mrs. Dilloway scolded. “The boys will have dessert; Janie, too. But you will retire to your room where you will think very carefully about how we welcome our guests at Livingston Manor.”
Katherine stood up and walked proudly ahead.
“Please,” I said to Mrs. Dilloway. “Don’t punish her on my behalf.”
Katherine shot me a sharp look. “It doesn’t matter,” she said, walking toward the stairs. “I don’t like Mrs. Marden’s old lemon cake anyway.”
Dear Mama and Papa,
I am here in England, and I am fine. But I have a confession: I did not end up at London Conservatory. I have made a detour in the best interest of our family, and I hope you will not be disappointed in me. I’ve taken a job at Livingston Manor caring for four precocious children. The manor is beautiful and the children are as charming as they are a handful. They recently lost their mother, so it’s easy to forgive them for their behavior. The father is cold and unfeeling. He’s so different from you, Papa. It breaks my heart to think that the littlest one can’t even crawl into his lap the way I did with you as a child. Oh, Papa, Mama, how I miss you so.
Anyway, I must stay here, at least for a while. There’s something very important that I must do, and when it is complete, it will mean the end to your financial worries, I am happy to say.
Don’t worry about me. I’ll be fine here. I have a lovely little room that looks out to the gardens and an orchard composed entirely of camellia trees. There is so much beauty here, and yet it’s hardly even acknowledged. I pray that I can help them see it.
Your loving daughter,
Flora
I folded the stationery and then tucked it in an envelope, before climbing into bed. I lay staring up at the stars outside the window, thinking about the children, Lord Livingston, and the mysterious Lady Anna. If only I knew what had happened to her. I tossed and turned for an hour before deciding to put my robe on and go for a walk. A walk would help. And besides, I could check on Janie while I was up.
I tiptoed down the hallway and upstairs, slipping quietly into the main house. It looked so different in the moonlight, which cast shadows that made the paintings look ghostly and the furniture appear ghoulish.
I shivered as I climbed the stairs and walked down the hallway until I came to the girls’ bedrooms. I opened each door slowly and peeked inside. Janie slept soundly in her small bed, and Katherine snored in hers next door. Poor things. They didn’t deserve to lose their mother.
I told myself I should turn around, go back to my room, but the conservatory on the floor above beckoned. I remembered where Mrs. Dilloway had left the key, under the flap of carpet near the baseboard in the hallway. Why shouldn’t I go in? She’d ask me to keep an eye on the place, and I had noticed some weeds sprouting up in the orchid pots. I could tend to them. Maybe. Yes, just for a few moments. I’d give the trees a quick drink of water before slipping back down to bed. I found the key and pushed it into the lock, hurriedly stepping into the conservatory and closing the door behind me. I looked up at the moon and stars through the glass roof above and gasped at the stunning sight, like a mural painted by a great artist. No wonder Lady Anna had loved this place.
I walked to the orchids and plucked a weed from a small terra-cotta pot that held a speckled pink and white flower. “There you are, beautiful,” I whispered, releasing a patch of clover roots from the bark near the orchid’s stem. “Is that better?” In the quiet of the night, I could almost hear the flower sigh.
I walked to the water spigot and filled a green watering can to the brim, then sprinkled the flower and her comrades. I marveled at how the droplets sparkled in the moonlight.
Katherine knew about the kumquats. Did her mother bring her here? I walked to the window that overlooked the front of the house and unhinged the lock, opening the window to let in some night air. I leaned out and noticed a figure standing on the balcony below, gazing out at gardens. Lord Livingston. He stood with his elbows propped against the railing, cradling his head in his hands.
I fumbled with the window latch, trying to close it before he noticed me directly above, and as I did, a pebble from the windowsill fell onto the balcony below. I latched the window and shrunk behind the wall before making my way back to the entrance. I shut the door, locked it, then tucked the key under the carpet again.
My heart raced as I tiptoed through the hallway and down the stairs, aware of every creak my feet made on the staircase. I breathed a sigh of relief once I’d made it to the second floor, but when I rounded the corner, I collided with someone. A man, judging by his size. “Excuse me,” I said, quickly. “I was just, um, checking on the children.” The light was too dim to make out his face, but when he spoke, my arms erupted in goose bumps.
“Flora?”
“Desmond?”
CHAPTER 13
Addison
The next day, my phone buzzed on the bedside table while Rex was in the shower. I didn’t recognize the number, so I decided not to answer, for fear that it could be Sean. When I checked my voice mail, however, I was relieved to hear that it was only a business call. A woman in Chelsea inquiring about a new backyard garden for a recently purchased home.
“Did you ever hear from Georgia?” Rex asked from the doorway to the bathroom, towel wrapped around his waist, chest dotted with water droplets.
“No,” I said. “I kind of doubt that’s going to pan out.”
“Well, we’ll find another avenue, then,” he said. “Maybe she knew someone in town. I thought I’d go to the café today to do some more research; maybe I could ask around.”
“Yeah,” I said. “That’s a good idea.”
“Want to come?” Rex asked.
“Nah, I think I’ll stay.”
“You’re going to weed, aren’t you?”
“How did you know?”
“You have that look in your eye,” he said.
I cracked a smile. “Doesn’t it drive you crazy that there are dandelions and clover in the hydrangea beds?”
“No,” he said, grinning. “But it drives you crazy. I get it.” He pulled me toward him. “You do know that my parents can hire someone to do their weeding, don’t you?”
I nodded. “But I like weeding.”
“You’re adorable.”
Later that afternoon my phone rang and I answered, cautiously. “Hello?”
“Yes, hello, this is Georgia Hillman.” Her voice sounded tired and crackly at the edges. “I got a message to call this number.”
“Yes,” I said eagerly. “My name is Addison Sinclair. I’m staying in England at a place called Livingston Manor, and I—”
“What did you say?”
“I said, I’m calling from Livingston Manor.”
The line went quiet.
“Ms. Hillman,” I said, “are you still there?”
“Yes,” she finally replied. “I’m here.”
“I’m sorry to bother you,” I continued, “but I came across some information about a woman who used to work here, a woman by the name of Flora Lewis. Do you happen to know her?”
The woman didn’t say anything.
“Ms. Hillman?”
“Yes,” she said. “I’m sorry. I haven’t heard that name in a very long time.”
“Then you know her?”
“I did,” she said. “Yes.”
“I found a newspaper article with your name in it,” I said. “I understand she went missing in England?”
“She did. And I’m sorry to say they never found her.”
“Do you have any idea what happened to her?”
“No,” she said. “I wish I did. I only knew her for a short time.”
“On the ship to England, right?”
“Yes,” she said. “She was working with a con man.”
“Con man?”
“Yes, and I’m ashamed to say I did too, at one time,” she said. “Listen, I’m not proud of that chapter of my life, but I left that life. And I didn’t want Flora to get mixed up in it. She was much too good for that.”
“I don’t understand.”
“Mr. Price knew how to get what he wanted,” she continued. “He knew how to make people behave like puppets on strings. Flora’s family
desperately needed the money, and he knew that, so he used it to his advantage.”
“So Flora was part of a con operation in England?”
“Yes,” she said. “I overheard her talking to Mr. Price, and from what I can remember, she was supposed to locate a rare flower or tree at the manor.”
“You don’t mean a camellia, do you?”
“Maybe,” she said. “Actually, yes, that sounds right.”
“What did Mr. Price want with the camellia?”
“Money,” she said. “It was probably worth a great deal to someone, and he was hired to get it. He ran a ring of flower thieves. There was no plant or tree he couldn’t get his hands on.” She sighed to herself. “Well, he died in the 1970s, in a jail cell in Tampa, if that tells you anything about the kind of man he was.”
“Do you think Flora finished the job? Do you think she found the camellia?”
“I don’t know,” she replied. “Part of me thinks she got away, that she slipped off to some faraway place so he wouldn’t come looking for her. And he would, if he believed for a minute that she was alive. I like to think of her out there leading the life she always dreamed of. But I’m not so sure. She loved her parents, and as far as I know, they never heard from her again.”
“How do you know?”
“I went to see them five years after Flora disappeared,” she said. “I had some money, a little, from the last job I did with Mr. Price. What I didn’t give back to the family in Sweden we stole from, I intended on giving to Flora’s parents to cover their debt. I remembered what she’d told me about how they’d run into hard times. But when I got there, they wouldn’t accept any help from me, said that a relative had left them a large sum of money. I was glad to know they were taken care of. But money couldn’t replace their daughter. They never knew about her fall from grace, and I’m glad of that.”
“Ms. Hillman,” I said, “thank you so much for sharing all of this with me. If you think of anything else, anything at all, could you please call me?”
“Yes, of course,” she said. “I haven’t talked about that time in my life for so long, I’d almost forgotten. My husband, rest his soul, never knew. It’s funny how our past comes back around to find us again.”