The Serpentine Garden Path, Page 3

  “Mr. Dean,” she said.

  He looked up, nodded at her, then put his head down again and pulled vigorously at a flower. She stood waiting for him to give more response, but he continued working as if she were not even there. He did not smile in his usual manner, and she felt the lack of it colder than the chill of the stone bench.

  “Mr. Dean,” she repeated.

  “Excuse me, madam. I dinna wish to seem rude, but I have much work to do this morning,” he spoke without looking up. The shock of his words left Susan speechless. There was no mistaking him now. She was clearly rebuffed. For a moment, she considered begging him to talk to her, but how could she stoop so low as to beg a servant? She looked away, saw the house in the distance and started to walk back in its direction.

  She was deeply embarrassed. The garden, which only moments before had seemed so fair, now seemed ugly to her. The sun shone too brightly, and the flowers were gaudy and common in their disarray. It was difficult for her to look at them as she passed because each one of them bore a name that had been given to her by him. She was angry. How dare he strip the beauty from these flowers and pollute them with names that now she would rather not know? How dare he trifle with her heart? Why had he become so cold and distant to her? She could not remember having done anything to occasion this change in him. She would not think about this mortification. She would go back to the house and resume her life as if she had never seen the man before.

  In spite of her vow not to dwell on her embarrassment, Susan thought of nothing else as she traversed the distance from the garden to her mother’s sitting room. Her humiliation had her so transfixed that she passed through the house without a word or thought to anyone or thing around her. When she was next aware of her surroundings, she found herself staring at tiny stitches of colour arranged higgledy-piggledy on a cloth. A great fat shiny tear fell on the stitches. She quickly shook it off, afraid that her mother might see.

  Why should his indifference make the slightest impact on her? He was just a gardener after all. How had she been so foolish as to come to care for a simple gardener? What could he offer her, beyond teaching her the names of a few plants? Why had she imagined that she loved him or that he cared about her? What kind of future was there for her in a life with a gardener to whom the garden did not even belong? There was another man coming soon, one who might even become the heir to the garden. Was he not more worthy of her consideration and affection?

  “You know, Mother,” she said aloud. “I can scarcely wait for the Fitzwilliams to arrive. It is so deadly dull here without proper company.”

  Her mother smiled. “Mr. Fitzwilliam is my cousin, you know.”

  “I think you mentioned that.”

  “I know you have not met his son yet, but just think how lovely it would be if you should like him.” Her mother looked at her coyly.

  “Why do you wish me to marry him, Mother?”

  “If you married him and he took the Kirke name, your father could leave the estate to him.”

  “Really? Is that true?” Susan would not have to leave her home and the garden. The memory of the garden brought a painful stab. “Is he handsome?” she asked.

  “I do not know, but it does not signify. He is rich and that is what matters.”

  Susan continued stitching, annoyed by her mother’s response.

  “You know it has never seemed fair to me that when your father dies, I shall lose this house and be at the mercy of one of his relatives. They might, if they wished, turn me out on the street,” she said peevishly. “All because I did not have a son. Oh, I wish you had been a boy, Susan!” She sighed.

  Susan did not know how to respond.

  Chapter 5

  The Kirkes sat at the great table in the dining room, attended by the butler and three footmen. Susan’s parents sat at either end of the long table, with Susan between. It would have been easier to converse with the footman behind her than it was to keep up a conversation with her parents. However, her father, who generally came to the table already well refreshed with libations, made a great effort to shout the day’s affairs to his wife and daughter.

  “And so, Susan,” he slurred, “how have you passed this fine day? Were you out walking in the garden, as is your wont?”

  “No, sir. Not today.” Susan did not wish to discuss the garden. For the past few days she had gone on her accustomed walk hoping that Dean’s rebuff was only a temporary aberration of character, but he had not once spoken to her beyond a cursory nod and a succinct, “Good morning.” She had foregone her only pleasure and resigned herself to her mother’s will.

  “But you are tending the flower garden that you planted, are you not?”

  “Yes, sir,” she said. Every morning she went there and found a watering can and gloves that she could only presume the scowling gardener left for her.

  “Susan has been sewing with me,” her mother bellowed. “We will soon be finished embroidering the skirt of the gown that she will wear when the Fitzwilliams arrive. Is that not so, Susan?”

  “Yes, Mother.”

  “And are you looking forward to that event, Susan?” her father asked.

  “Yes, sir. I hope it will relieve my utter boredom.”

  Her father laughed heartily in response. “Sutton, pour me another beaker of wine, please.” He handed his glass to the footman to be refilled at the sideboard.

  Susan observed her mother’s scowl.

  “Yes, well, I told your father that you were ready to begin the London season this year, but he insisted that you were too young.”

  He took his glass from the footman, said “Thankee” and slurped with relish. “A very good wine, Sutton.” He raised his cup to the butler before finally returning his attention to his wife. “What’s that, madam?”

  Mrs. Kirke repeated her remark. “I said Susan was ready to be introduced to London society this year, but you insisted otherwise.”

  “And I was quite right about that, madam. What could Susan learn about life in London at this time of year, except perhaps how to shop and how to gossip, neither of which is an asset in a wife. She is better off here in the country where she can walk out of doors and enjoy the garden.”

  “Nonsense, sir. That is such a limiting activity for a young lady. It affords her no opportunity to go out and meet society, and such a thing is essential at her age. How else is she to meet a suitable young man?”

  “Why, the young men will come to her, madam. The Fitzwilliams will be only the first of our visitors, I am certain. As soon as news of this garden’s attractions spreads, it will become a regular feature on the circuit of country estates at the end of the London season. You will see.”

  “I hope you are right. But I still see no reason why we could not have gone to London.” Mrs. Kirke pouted and took a sip of her wine. “Would you not have liked that, Susan?”

  This was a frequent dispute between her parents. In the past, her sympathy had been with her father’s point of view, that she was not ready for the evils of London society. Now, for the first time, she found herself wishing that her mother’s argument had prevailed. If it had, the family would be in London now, far from the accursed garden and the cold, heartless gardener. “Yes, Mother. I believe I would have enjoyed the London season.”

  “Good God, now I have all my females against me!” her father shouted. “It will nearly drive me mad!” He finished off his wine in one angry gulp and handed the glass to his footman. “Bring on the next course, Sutton. We have had enough of this one.”

  ***

  The next morning, Susan went as usual to her mother’s dressing room when she thought her mother would have completed her toilette. She knocked on the door, entered almost immediately, and was surprised to see the butler sitting on a chair at her mother’s side. The servant sprang to his feet like a Punch and Judy puppet and said “Will that be all, madam?”

  Susan looked on, astonished, as the embarrassed servant rushed out the door.

  “You m
ust not come to a hasty conclusion, my dear Susan. Sutton was not doing anything improper, I assure you. He asked to sit down as he had some important information that he did not wish the other servants to overhear. He was sitting so close to me in order to whisper these extraordinary allegations.”

  Susan’s expression must have revealed her disbelief because her mother hastened to add, “You need not act so superior about the matter, my dear. His remarks concern you and his discretion was to the advantage of your reputation.”

  “Whatever do you mean, Mother?”

  Her mother hesitated. “My dear Susan, it has come to my attention…. In short, you have been seen engaged in intimate conversation with a man of a very common sort.”

  Susan was brought up short by her mother’s accusation. “How can that be, Mother? I assure you, I never pass my time with ruffians.”

  “Did I say ‘ruffians,’ Susan? I most certainly did not. I only referred to the man as a ‘common sort,’ that is to say, a person of the common class, someone not at all an equal to your status. In short, you have been seen in close conversation with the head gardener, Mr. John Dean. What have you to say to that?”

  Susan did not know what to say for a moment. A glimmer of understanding was beginning to peep through the clouds of gloom that envelopped her for days. “Why do you listen to the idle gossip of servants? I can assure you that nothing of an improper nature has ever passed between Mr. Dean and myself.”

  “You do admit that you have spoken to the man?”

  “Yes. I have on some occasions spoken to the man. What is improper in that?”

  “As I mentioned earlier, this man does not belong to the class of people with whom you should be spending any time. There can surely be no need for you to speak to the gardener. You are not at all responsible for the condition of the garden on the estate. So what has been the topic of these conversations?”

  “Although I am not responsible for my father’s garden, I am very much interested in it. Mr. Dean has been so kind as to teach me the names of some of the plants and their methods of cultivation.”

  “Do you think such an education is proper for a woman of your station?”

  “Yes, I do, for surely one day I will be the mistress of a great estate, and I will be responsible for overseeing the choice of plants and the correct procedure of planting them.”

  “I should hope your husband would have a gardener to look after such mundane affairs. I can assure you that I know no more about flowering plants than that they are beautiful to look upon. Perhaps you will learn more than you ought to about things you ought not to know if you continue to consort with common people, Susan.”

  “That is the most absurd notion I have ever heard.”

  “Take care how you address your mother.”

  Susan bowed her head and spoke to the floor. “Yes, madam.” Inside she seethed at the hypocrisy of the woman whom she had just found in close conversation with a servant herself. But she knew the futility of speaking any further.

  “In the meantime, you are not to spend time in the company of the common gardener.”

  Susan knew it was useless to respond. Instead, she went straightaway through the house to the front door. Once outside, she allowed herself to feel the fullness of joy that had slowly grown in her during the preceding conversation. She had barely been able to keep from smiling as her mother had chastised, and she had begun to realize the truth. Perhaps Dean had been ordered by her father not to speak to her. Why had he not told her so? Why had he allowed her to believe that he no longer cared for her? She was determined to find the gardener and ask him to explain himself at last. She went with unerring directness, as if some unknown force guided her straight to him. He was walking in the same direction ahead of her on the serpentine path, so that he did not see her until she was right behind him.

  “You will not elude me any longer, Mr. Dean.”

  He jumped off the path, startled by her voice.

  “I know the reason for your peculiar coldness to me now, and I wish to speak to you about it.”

  “If you know the reason, then you know that I am forbidden to speak to you.”

  “Who forbade you, sir?”

  He looked around, and drew her off the path, closer to him. “Your father, and my employer.” He spoke softly.

  “Why do you listen to him? Are you a hypocrite?”

  “What do you mean? Why do you accuse me of hypocrisy?”

  “You yourself told me that you believe that all men are created equal by God. So, if my father is your equal, why must you follow his orders?”

  “As I recall, I said that that was John Knox’s belief. I may strive to believe it also, at least in a theoretical fashion, but only God recognizes the true equality of the human species. We live in an imperfect world, in a society that believes quite otherwise. Your father is my employer, and I must obey him or lose my employment. It is that simple.”

  “It is an imperfect society, you are right. But we must strive to improve it. We must try to right injustice whenever we are able. I shall speak to my father. I shall make him see the unfairness of his position.”

  “Please do not defy your parents on my account, Miss Kirke. They want what is best for you.”

  “They do not know what is best for me.”

  “I am afraid that I cannot agree. You are still young, and they have more experience of the evils of this world than you do.”

  “You are certainly not one of the evils, sir. You will at least allow that!”

  “Where you are concerned I am not so sure that is true. Regardless of that fact, no less an authority than the Bible admonishes us to honour our father and mother.”

  “I will not do it!”

  “Do not be willful, Miss Kirke.”

  She stopped pleading, suddenly aware that it would not move him. Her mood was quickly turning to sorrow.

  He spoke to her gently. “I am sorry that I appeared rude to you, but now that you understand the reason for it, I hope that you will understand.”

  Yes, and I thank you, sir, for assisting me with my garden plot.” She looked at him, daring to be hopeful.

  “It is part of my job. Now, we will never again exchange words.”

  Susan felt as if the world had suddenly ended. She opened her mouth to speak but knew her words would be wasted. Then her eyes slowly filled with tears, and she turned away from him. She could not even bring herself to say “goodbye.” Her feet escaped the clutches of gravity and took her with all dispatch back to the house.

  Dean watched her go with ineffable sadness. He had committed a great sin in allowing her to become attached to him; his penance was to see how she suffered for it. What is more, the absence of her company while he worked in the mornings had made him realize how close she had come to his own heart. What a fool he had been! But it was not too late to make amends by his correct and distant behaviour in the future.

  Chapter 6

  On an unusually hot day at the end of May, Susan sat fanning herself on a bench close to the house with a view of the long driveway to the estate. Her mother had warned her not to gad about but to be available whenever the visitors arrived. In any case, she no longer relished her walks in the garden. It had been two weeks since she and Dean had said goodbye and she could not bear to pass him in the garden one more time. That cool nonchalant nod of his and the way he deferentially touched the tip of his cap sometimes maddened her beyond despair. She longed for him to talk to her. She longed to hear the sound of his voice again—the way he pronounced her name with that guttural rolling sound. On the occasions when she dared to greet him with a “Good morning, Mr. Dean” and a bright, and she thought irresistible, smile, he would return not a word, just a nod and that infuriatingly dismissive touch of the hat.

  She turned her thoughts to her mother’s cousin’s family, who were due to arrive today. This was a more pleasant contemplation since the Fitzwilliams happened to have a son, a young man of marriageable age and of her
class. While spending more time at the house, she had been able to learn through the servants’ gossip and careful eavesdropping of her parents’ conversations that a business arrangement was being discussed between the families. The Fitzwilliams were looking for a wife for their son and were greatly interested in her father’s property, which might be included in the deal. There was little benefit to the Kirkes in such an arrangement—the possibility of keeping the estate within the family, albeit on the mother’s side, might be some small consolation—but they had to be resigned to the fact that, because their only child was a female, the Kirke family had few options. This was a salvage operation at best.

  It rankled Susan to be considered as if she were no more than a part of her father’s property, but there was nothing she nor anyone could do about it, so it was not worth fretting about. At any rate, she was just a little curious about this second cousin Herbert. She wondered if he would be as handsome or as intelligent as Mr. Dean. It was a preposterous notion. How could he be? And yet, she thought, if he were only a little like the gardener, she might be interested.

  Her curiosity had brought her to this seat near the house. She had decided that the moment she caught a glimpse of the carriage as it turned into their driveway at the distant gateway, she would enter the house and quickly retire to her dressing room. She wanted to know the moment they arrived, but it would not do to be seen as eager. It would make her look like an overanxious spinster, which she most assuredly was not. In fact, she meant to reject Mr. Herbert Fitzwilliam no matter how handsome or smart he was. She was not in any sort of hurry to marry. If she could not have her first choice, Mr. Dean, then she would wait. She would hold out for the Prince of Wales himself. She would wait and see. Perhaps a miracle would occur and Mr. Fitzwilliam would be so enamoured of her that he would wait, and then one day, they would own the garden together, and she could still go for walks where she would see the handsome black curls, the captivating blue eyes, and the radiant smile of her gardener among the flowers.

  Susan started from her reverie. At the end of the long drive sat a splendid coach and six with two liveried footmen standing sedately at the back, the plumes of the hats blowing in the breeze. The driver lifted his whip to urge the horses up the slope to the house, and Susan jumped from the bench and darted inside, hoping no one in the coach had seen her before she disappeared into the great house.