Page 105 of The Garden of Forgotten Wishes
‘It’s dated 1849,’ he added, then gave me a quizzical look. ‘I don’t think I can resist reading this now, even if it’s not relevant to the garden, can you? Elf will be cross that we found it after she’d finished writing her book!’
‘It’s irresistible,’ I agreed, though little did he know I had a personal interest in it …
There were several stiff, crackling yellowed pages inside the inner envelope, closely written on both sides and not very easy to make out, especially when I was leaning over Ned’s shoulder.
‘Why did she use such tiny writing?’ he complained, spreading them out on the table under the lamp.
‘Have you seen the little books the Brontës wrote when they were children?’ I asked. ‘The writing is minute!’
He pulled out a pair of narrow, gold-rimmed glasses from his pocket and put them on: he looked a very learned lion now.
‘I didn’t know you wore specs?’
‘Only for reading fine print, but I forget them half the time.’
‘You should wear them more often; they make you look almost intelligent.’
‘Gee, thanks! Now, perhaps you’d like to get out of my light and sit down, and I’ll read it out aloud?’
He pushed the glasses up his broad nose, cleared his throat slightly self-consciously, and began:
I, Elizabeth Grace, once Lizzie Vane, have decided to set out this account of my life, which I will leave for my beloved son, Thomas, to read when I am gone.
I have survived my dear, kind husband by many years and only now, when I feel myself fading like the last rose of summer in the garden he created for me, do I feel this need to speak the truth.
My son is aware of my past misfortunes, but has never questioned me on the subject of this and the rift it led to with the rest of the family, the Lordly-Graces – and, indeed, the lasting estrangement from my own family at Cross Ways Farm. I have been as one dead to them since my elopement so many years ago.
I would like to tell the whole tale now, painful as it is, for I have known both the worst and the best of men, and would set the record straight. My husband, Richard Grace, knew the whole story and yet bestowed a lasting love upon me that I felt unworthy of.
Ned looked up. ‘The plot thickens,’ he said. ‘But it confirms when the rose garden was created. Shall I read the rest of it?’
‘Go on,’ I urged, fascinated, and he set off again, forefinger moving along under the closely-written words.
After a while, Ned looked up. ‘This all sounds like a Victorian melodrama, doesn’t it? The jolly squire, the younger son … But is she ever going to get to the point where she elopes, before my throat silts up with paper dust?’
‘I’ll make some more coffee, shall I?’ I suggested. ‘Then you can finish reading it. There can’t be much more.’
‘OK,’ he agreed. ‘And you’re right, there’s only a couple more pages to go …’
Lizzie
This fairly happy existence continued until the year I was to turn sixteen. Susanna was a year older and I began to dream of accompanying her to London as her lady’s maid when she had her Season. While I secretly cherished romantic thoughts of her brother Neville, I knew very well that nothing would come of them, but hoped that perhaps one day, I might meet and marry a man of my own station in life, while in the service of my mistress …
But these modest hopes were to be shattered, for one Sunday my father informed me that as soon as I had turned sixteen, I was to be married to Mr Hodgekins, Minister of the Thorstane meeting house! He was not only older than Father and ill-favoured, but a harsh, disagreeable man of whom I went in fear, like all the women in his congregation. He had recently buried his second wife and I had secretly thought she must have been pleased to escape him, even by death.
Nothing I could say would sway his decision and his anger was terrible when, in my distress, I let slip some hint of my hope to accompany Susanna to London. He said the marriage would take place immediately upon my attaining my sixteenth year and once the deed was done, Mr Lordly-Grace could have no say in my future.
I was thrown into great despair by this and did not know which way to turn, until it occurred to me that if Mr Lordly-Grace were to learn ofmy father’s plans for my disposal before the marriage could take place, he might very well intervene – for after all, I had been trained up as a maid in his house and Miss Susanna would be extremely upset should she have to do without me.
Next morning Master Neville, who was now an officer in the army and had been home on leave, was to return to his regiment, garrisoned near York. This would normally have caused me to weep into my pillow, but my present predicament was all I could think of, and I resolved to appeal to Mr Lordly-Grace to intervene with my father, as soon as he left the breakfast table for his study next morning, as was his habit.
But I was to discover that I was most grievously mistaken in my hope that he would have any desire to help me.
32
Flight
Ned laid down the sheet of paper and picked up the next. ‘I think we can work outwhyLizzie ran off with one of the sons, if it was her only hope of escaping marriage to a man she loathed,’ he said.
