The Forgotten Garden by Kate Morton
Nell didn’t answer and Cassandra’s mum continued: ‘You’re going to stop here with Grandma Nell for a bit, Cassie. Have an adventure.’
This was a surprise; her mum must have more business in Brisbane. ‘Will I have lunch here?’
‘Every day, I reckon, until I get back to collect you.’
Cassandra was aware suddenly of the sharp edges of the stone she was holding. The way the corners pushed into her fingertips. She looked from her mother to her grandmother. Was it a game? Was her mother making a joke? She waited to see whether Lesley would burst out laughing.
She didn’t. Merely gazed at Cassandra, blue eyes wide.
Cassandra could think of nothing to say. ‘I didn’t bring my pyjamas,’ was what she managed in the end.
Her mother smiled then, quickly, broadly, with relief, and Cassandra glimpsed somehow that the point of refusal had been passed. ‘Don’t worry about that, you duffer. I’ve packed you a bag in the car. You didn’t think I’d drop you off without a bag, did you?’
Through all this Nell was silent, stiff. Watching Lesley with what Cassandra recognised as disapproval. She supposed her grandmother didn’t want her to stay. Little girls had a habit of getting in the way, Len was always saying so.
Lesley skipped to the car and leaned through the open window at the back to pull out an overnight bag. Cassandra wondered when she’d packed it, why she hadn’t let Cassandra pack it herself.
‘Here you are, kiddo,’ said Lesley, tossing the bag to Cassandra. ‘There’s a surprise in there for you, a new dress. Len helped me choose it.’
She straightened and said to Nell: ‘Just a week or two, I promise. Just while Len and me get ourselves sorted.’ Lesley ruffled Cassandra’s hair. ‘Your Grandma Nell’s looking forward to having you stay. It’ll be a real, proper summer holiday in the big smoke. Something to tell the other kids when school goes back.’
Cassandra’s grandmother smiled then, only it wasn’t a happy smile. Cassandra thought she knew how it felt to smile like that. She often did so herself when her mother promised her something she really wanted but knew might not come off.
Lesley brushed a kiss on her cheek, gave her hand a squeeze and then, somehow, she was gone. Before Cassandra could give her a hug, could tell her to drive safely, could ask her when exactly she’d be back.
Later, Nell made dinner—fat pork sausages, mashed potato, and mushy peas from a can—and they ate in the narrow room by the kitchen. Nell’s house didn’t have flyscreens on the windows like Len’s unit on Burleigh Beach, instead Nell kept a plastic swat on the window ledge beside her. When flies or mozzies threatened, she was a quick draw. So swift, so practised were these attacks that the cat, asleep on Nell’s lap, barely flinched.
The stumpy pedestal fan on top of the fridge beat thick, moist air back and forth while they ate; Cassandra answered her grandmother’s occasional questions as politely as she could, and eventually the ordeal of dinner ended. Cassandra helped to dry the dishes, then Nell took her to the bathroom and started running lukewarm water into the tub.
‘Only thing worse than a cold bath in winter,’ Nell said matter-of-factly, ‘is a hot bath in summer.’ She pulled a brown towel from the cupboard and balanced it on the toilet cistern. ‘You can shut the water off when it reaches this line.’ She pointed out a crack in the green porcelain, then stood, straightening her dress. ‘You’ll be all right then?’
Cassandra nodded and smiled. She hoped she’d answered correctly, adults could be tricky sometimes. For the most part, she knew, they didn’t like it when children made their feelings known, not their bad feelings anyway. Len was often reminding Cassandra that good children should smile and learn to keep their black thoughts to themselves. Nell was different, though; Cassandra wasn’t sure how she knew it, but she sensed Nell’s rules were different. All the same, it was best to play things safe.
That was why she hadn’t mentioned the toothbrush, or lack of toothbrush. Lesley was always forgetting such things when they spent time away from home, but Cassandra knew a week or two without wouldn’t kill her. She looped her hair up into a bun and tied it on top of her head with an elastic band. At home she wore her mother’s shower cap, but she wasn’t sure if Nell had one and didn’t want to ask. She climbed into the bath and sat in the tepid water, gathered her knees up close and shut her eyes. Listened to the water lapping the sides of the tub, the buzz of the light bulb, a mosquito somewhere above.
She stayed like that for some time, climbing out only reluctantly when she realised that if she put it off any longer, Nell might come looking for her. She dried herself, hung the towel carefully over the shower rail, lining up the edges, then got into her pyjamas.
She found Nell in the sunroom, making up the day bed with sheets and a blanket.
‘It’s not usually for sleeping on,’ said Nell, patting a pillow into place. ‘The mattress isn’t much to speak of and the springs are a bit hard, but you’re only a waif of a girl. You’ll be comfy enough.’
Cassandra nodded gravely. ‘It won’t be for long. Just a week or two, just while Mum and Len get things sorted.’
Nell smiled grimly. She looked about the room then back to Cassandra. ‘Anything else you need? A glass of water? A lamp?’
Cassandra half wondered whether Nell had a spare toothbrush but couldn’t formulate the words required to ask. She shook her head.
‘In you hop then,’ said Nell, lifting a corner of the blanket.
Cassandra slid obediently into place and Nell pulled up the sheets. They were surprisingly soft, pleasantly worn with an unfamiliar yet clean smell.
Nell hesitated. ‘Well . . . goodnight.’
‘Goodnight.’
Then the light was off and Cassandra alone.
In the dark, strange noises were amplified. Traffic on a distant ridge, a television in one of the neighbouring houses, Nell’s footsteps on the floorboards of another room. Outside the window, the wind chimes were clattering, and Cassandra realised that the air had become charged with the smell of eucalypt and road tar. A storm was coming.
She curled up tight beneath the covers. Cassandra didn’t like storms, they were unpredictable. Hopefully it would blow over before it really got going. She made a little deal with herself: if she could count to ten before the next car droned over the nearby hill, everything would be okay. The storm would pass quickly and Mum would come back for her within the week.
One. Two. Three . . . She didn’t cheat, didn’t rush . . . Four. Five . . . Nothing so far, halfway there . . . Six. Seven . . . Breathing quickly, still no cars, almost safe . . . Eight—
Suddenly, she sat bolt upright. There were pockets inside the bag. Her mum hadn’t forgotten, she’d just tucked the toothbrush in there for safekeeping.
Cassandra slipped out of bed as a violent gust tossed the chimes against the windowpane. She crept across the room, bare feet cooled by a draught of wind that sneaked between the floorboards.
The sky above the house grumbled ominously then turned spectacularly to light. It felt dangerous, reminded Cassandra of the storm in the fairytale she’d read that afternoon, the angry storm that had followed the little princess to the crone’s cottage.
Cassandra knelt on the floor, rummaging in one pocket after another, willing the toothbrush’s familiar shape to meet her fingertips.
Big fat raindrops started falling, loud on the corrugated-iron roof. Sporadic at first, then increasing until Cassandra could hear no gaps between.
It wouldn’t hurt to recheck the main part of the bag while she was at it: a toothbrush was only small, maybe it was tucked so far down she’d missed it? She pushed her hands in deep and pulled out everything from inside. The toothbrush was not there.
Cassandra blocked her ears as another clap of thunder shook the house. She picked herself up and folded her arms across her chest, aware vaguely of her own thinness, her inconsequence, as she hurried back to bed and climbed under the sheet.
Rain poured over the eav
Beneath the sheet, Cassandra lay very still, hugging her own body. Despite the warm muggy air there were goosebumps on her upper arms. She knew she should try to sleep, she’d be tired in the morning if she didn’t and no one liked to spend time with a grump.
Try as she might though, sleep wouldn’t come. She counted sheep, sang silent songs about yellow submarines, and oranges and lemons, and gardens beneath the sea, told herself fairytales. But the night threatened to stretch on endlessly.
As lightning flashed, rain poured and thunder tore open the sky, Cassandra began to weep. Tears that had waited a long time for escape were finally released under the dark veil of rain.
How much time passed before she became aware of the shadowy figure standing in the doorway? One minute? Ten?
Cassandra caught a sob in her throat, held it there although it burned.
A whisper, Nell’s voice. ‘I came to check the window was closed.’
In the dark Cassandra held her breath, wiped at her eyes with the corner of the sheet.
Nell was close now; Cassandra could sense the strange electricity generated when another human stands near without touching.
‘What is it?’
Cassandra’s throat, still frozen, refused to let words pass.
‘Is it the storm? Are you frightened?’
Cassandra shook her head.
Nell sat stiffly on the edge of the day bed, tightened her dressing-gown around her middle. Another flash of lightning and Cassandra saw her grandmother’s face, recognised her mother’s eyes with their slightly downturned corners.
The sob was finally dislodged. ‘My toothbrush,’ she said, through tears. ‘I don’t have my toothbrush.’
Nell looked at her a moment, startled, then gathered Cassandra in her arms. The little girl flinched at first, surprised by the suddenness, the unexpectedness of the gesture, but then she felt herself surrender. She collapsed forward, head resting against Nell’s soft lavender-scented body, shoulders shaking as she wept warm tears into Nell’s nightie.
‘There now,’ Nell whispered, hand smoothing Cassandra’s hair. ‘Don’t you worry. We’ll find you another one.’ She turned her head to look at the rain sluicing against the window, and rested her cheek on the top of Cassandra’s head. ‘You’re a survivor, you hear? You’re going to be all right. Everything’s going to be all right.’
And although Cassandra couldn’t believe that things would ever be all right, she was comforted a little by Nell’s words. Something in her grandmother’s voice suggested that Nell understood. That she knew just how frightening it was to spend a stormy night alone in an unfamiliar place.
6
Maryborough, 1913
Though he was late home from port, the broth was still warm. That was Lil, bless her, she wasn’t the sort to serve up cold soup to her fellow. Hugh spooned the last of it into his mouth and leaned back against his chair, gave his neck a rub. Outside, distant thunder rolled along the river and into town. An invisible draught set the lamplight to flickering, coaxed the room’s shadows from hiding. He let his tired gaze follow them across the table, around the base of the walls, along the front door. Dancing dark on the skin of the shiny white suitcase.
Lost suitcases he’d had, plenty of times. But a little girl? How the hell did someone’s child wind up sitting on his wharf, alone as you please? She was a nice little thing too, as far as he could tell. Pretty to look at, strawberry hair like spun gold and real deep blue eyes. A way of looking at you that told you she was listening, that she understood all you were saying, and all you weren’t.
The door to the sleep-out opened and Lil’s soft, familiar shape materialised. She pulled the door gently behind her and started down the hall. Brushed a bothersome curl behind her ear, the same unruly curl that’d been jumping out of place all the time he’d known her. ‘She’s asleep now,’ Lil said as she reached the kitchen. ‘Frightened of the thunder, but she couldn’t fight it for long. Poor little lamb was as tired as the day.’
Hugh took his bowl to the bench and dunked it in tepid water. ‘Little wonder, I’m tired myself.’
‘You look it. Leave the washing-up to me.’
‘I’m all right, Lil love. You go in, I won’t be long.’
But Lil didn’t leave. He could sense her behind him, could tell, the way a man learns to, that she’d something more to say. Her next words sat pregnant between them and Hugh felt his neck tense. Felt the tide of previous conversations draw back, suspend a moment, preparing to crash once more upon them.
Lil’s voice, when it came, was low. ‘You needn’t pussyfoot around me, Hughie.’
He sighed. ‘I know that.’
‘I’ll come through. Have before.’
‘Course you will.’
‘Last thing I need is for you to treat me like an invalid.’
‘I don’t mean to, Lil.’ He turned to face her. Saw that she was standing on the far side of the table, hands resting on the back of a chair. The stance, he knew, was supposed to convince him of her stability, to say ‘all is as it was’, but Hugh knew her too well for that. He knew that she was hurting. Knew also there was nothing he could bloody well do to set things right. As Dr Huntley was so fond of telling them, some things just weren’t meant to be. It didn’t make it any easier though, not on Lil and not on him.
She was by his side then, bumping him gently with her hip. He could smell the sweet, sad milkiness of her skin. ‘Go on. Get yourself to bed,’ she said. ‘I’ll be in soon.’ The carefully rendered cheerfulness made his blood chill but he did as she said.
She was true to her word, wasn’t far behind him, and he watched as she cleaned the day from her skin, pulled her nightdress over her head. Though her back was turned, he could see how gently she eased the clothing over her breasts, her stomach that was still swollen.
She glanced up then and caught him looking. Defensiveness chased vulnerability from her face. ‘What?’
‘Nothing.’ He concentrated on his hands, the calluses and rope burns earned by his years on the wharves. ‘I was just wondering about the little one out there,’ he said. ‘Wondering who she is. Didn’t give up her name, I s’pose?’
‘Says she doesn’t know. Doesn’t matter how many times I ask, she just looks back at me, serious as can be, and says she can’t remember.’
‘You don’t think she’s fooling, do you? Some of them stowaways do a darn good line in fooling.’
‘Hughie,’ scolded Lil. ‘She’s no stowaway, she’s little more than a baby.’
‘Easy, Lil love. I was just asking.’ He shook his head. ‘Only it’s hard to believe she could’ve clean forgot like that.’
‘I’ve heard of it before, amnesia it’s called. Ruth Halfpenny’s father got it, after his fall down the shaft. That’s what causes it, falls and the like.’
‘You think she might’ve had a fall?’
‘Couldn’t see any bruises on her, but it’s possible, ain’t it?’
‘Ah well,’ said Hugh, as a flash of lightning lit the room’s corners, ‘I’ll look into it tomorrow.’ He shifted position, lay on his back and stared at the ceiling. ‘She must belong somewhere,’ he said quietly.
‘Yes.’ Lil extinguished the lamp, casting them into darkness. ‘Someone must be missing her like the dickens.’ She rolled over as she did each night, turning her back on Hugh and shutting him out of her grief. Her voice was muffled by the sheet: ‘I tell you, they don’t deserve her though. Bloody careless. What kind of person could lose a child?’
Lil watched out the window where the two little girls were running back and forth below the clothesline, laughing as the cool damp sheets brushed their faces. They were singing again, another of Nell’s songs. That was one thing that hadn’t slipped her memory, the songs; she knew such a lot of them.
Nell. That’s what they were calling her now, after Lil’s mum, Eleanor. Well, they had to c
After the first few weeks, Lil stopped asking. Truth be told, she was just as happy not to know. Didn’t want to imagine Nell with any name other than the one they’d given her. Nell. It suited her so well, no one could say it didn’t. Almost as if she’d been born to it.
They’d done their best to find out who she was, where she belonged. That’s all anyone could ask of them. And although initially she’d told herself that they were just minding Nell for a time, keeping her safe until her people came for her, with every day that passed Lil became more certain that there were no such people.
They’d fallen into an easy routine, the three of them. Breakfast together of a morning, then Hughie would leave for work and she and Nell would get started on the house. Lil found she liked having a second shadow, enjoyed showing Nell things, explaining how they worked, and why. Nell was a big one for asking why—why did the sun hide at night, why didn’t the fire flames leap out of the grate, why didn’t the river get bored and run the other way?—and Lil loved supplying answers, watching as understanding dawned on Nell’s little face. For the first time in her life Lil felt useful, needed, whole.
Things were better with Hughie, too. The sheet of tension that the past few years had strung between them was beginning to slip away. They’d stopped being so damned polite, tripping over their carefully chosen words like two strangers drafted into close quarters. They’d even started to laugh again sometimes, easy laughter that came unforced like it had before.
As for Nell, she took to life with Hughie and Lil like a duck to the Mary River. It didn’t take long for the neighbourhood kids to discover there was someone new in their midst and Nell perked up something tremendous at the prospect of other children to play with. Young Beth Reeves was over the fence at some point every day now. Lil loved the sound of the two girls running about together. She’d been waiting so long, had so looked forward to a time when little voices might squeal and laugh in her own backyard.