The Last Garden in England(90)

“Mrs. Symonds!” a shout came from the lawn. Her head shot up to see a young solider hobbling, frenzied on his crutches. “Mrs. Symonds!”

“What’s the matter?” she asked, as people behind her began to murmur.

“Come quick! Your son.”

Her wineglass fell. It shattered, but she was already pushing through the crowd.

“What is it?” she asked, racing toward the soldier. “Where is he?”

“The garden in the middle. The one with the gate,” he said, wincing.

The winter garden. Terror coursed through her. Something had happened to Robin. She had to get to him.

“Diana!” Cynthia shouted behind her, but Diana was already racing down the stairs and across the grass.

He will be fine. He will be fine. He must be fine.

She ran around the soldier and across the lime walk to the pathway leading to the winter garden. A child’s sobbing cut through the sound of her blood roaring in her ears.

He is fine. If he’s crying, he’s fine.

When she saw the gate was open, she slid to a stop on the crushed limestone. A nurse knelt on the ground next to a prone figure—Robin.

“No!” she shouted, racing forward and dropping to her knees next to her son. Vomit at the corners of his mouth, his eyes were closed. She took his little shoulders, so fragile, and shook him. “Robin!”

As though through a fog, she heard Bobby trying to speak around hiccuping sobs. “We were playing and—and he said the plants were magic.”

“I’m so sorry, Mrs. Symonds.” The nurse’s voice cracked. “I can’t wake him up. I think he ate that.”

The nurse pointed to several stalks of pretty purple flowers. Monkshood. So beautiful and so deadly.

“Find a doctor!” she shouted at the nurse. “Now!”

The woman was up like a shot, racing out of the winter garden. Diana picked her son up in her arms, cradling him as she had when he’d been an infant.

Something brushed her arm. Bobby had shuffled over to her.

“It’s going to be okay, Bobby. Robin will be okay,” she said.

“He said it was magic,” Bobby wailed, throwing his arms around her.

“It’s going to be okay,” she said. “It’s going to be okay.”

They sat like that, Diana rocking her son and Bobby clinging to her, as what was left of her world fell apart.





AUTUMN





? VENETIA ?


THURSDAY, 12 SEPTEMBER 1907

Highbury House

Overcast with the scent of rain in the air. Autumn is coming.

This morning I lay in bed, Matthew’s arms wrapped around me so his hands could rest on the slight swell of my belly. I am fortunate. Even four months into my pregnancy, I am hardly showing.

“We could marry at the village church in Wilmcote,” Matthew said, drawing lazy circles on my side. “The priest at Saint Andrew’s is an understanding man and will hardly give a thought to a small ceremony with only two witnesses.”

“The church will fall down around my ears given my current state,” I said.

He kissed the side of my neck. “Then we’ll go to London, or somewhere no one knows us.”

I twisted around to face him. “Are you certain you’ve made peace with the fact that the Melcourts could turn on both of us for this?”

“Helen’s been after me to marry for years, remember?” he asked with a smile.

“Not to me.” Mrs. Melcourt would have wanted a virginal bride for her brother—one who came with money and status. Marriage was a game of strategy to women like Mrs. Melcourt, and I don’t even come close to contending.

“The sooner we marry, the sooner Helen and Arthur will come to love you,” Matthew said. “You needn’t worry.”

“We should both be worried.”

He nudged me. “We won’t be caught.”

“That’s not the only thing to fear, Matthew.”

He sank back onto his side of the bed. “Then what?”

“Our lives will change.”

“For the better,” he said.

“What happens if I can no longer work?” I asked.

He shifted on the pillow to look at me. “That won’t happen. I won’t let it.”

“You might not have a choice. I might not have a choice.”

He didn’t say anything then.

Now that we share a life raft, I can’t imagine how I ever would have enacted my original plan. However, to wed under the veil of lies and deception… I haven’t considered marriage for a long time, but this would not have been the way I would have wanted it to start.

And then there was another issue. I’m embarrassed to write about it, but I do not truly know how Matthew feels about me. I know that he is affectionate. I know that he is kind. I know that he is optimistic that we can create a life together, but we were pushed into this arrangement by our child. I can’t help but wonder if part of him doesn’t feel as trapped as I do.

I do not know if he loves me, and I cannot bring myself to ask because I do not want to know the answer.





? DIANA ?


SEPTEMBER 1944

People. She was never without people, now. Staring at her or—even worse—sitting next to her. They all wanted to hold her hand, but she didn’t want that even if she hadn’t the energy to push them away. Instead, she simply sat with one of Robin’s little jumpers spread over her lap and stared at a spot on the wall.