‘But he hurt me! Oh, I cannot bear to think of it, even now!’
‘Did he not hurt himself as well? He had only learned to smile naturally again by the time we reached Rome, and then we received news of Aylmer’s last illness, and he was in a fever to return.’
‘That was months ago!’ Her tone was scornful.
‘You think he did not want to jump on the first boat back to England? You think he did not wish to write to you? Only he had me round his neck, like a millstone, urging caution … an old man, unable to travel quickly. …’
‘He did write to me. It was a kind letter, I suppose. It didn’t say anything about. … anything.’
‘Could you have borne it, if he had? He knew you had transferred your love to Aylmer, and he knew you had to have time in which to mourn. But that time is over now. It is time to look forward. Time to visit the garden.’
This time she made no demur. He led her down the stairs and out into the sunshine. A beech hedge now surrounded the area which had been occupied by the old garden, and in the hedge was a gate. Sir Henry pulled on the latch and she passed within. A cloud of perfume rose from a bed nearby, which had been planted with lilies. The central area had been paved and a marble bench had been set where the old wooden one had been used to stand. Before her was a fountain, delicate and cool. On either side of her were beds of rich dark earth, filled with flowering plants, and above her head floated the trumpets of the honeysuckle.
She began to cry, but this time her tears were of joy.
The gate opened, and Benedict came into the garden.
THE END
The Siege of Salwarpe Page 25