The Gardener of Aria Manor Page 5

  The maid curtsied shyly. “Beg your pardon, Miss.”

  Janie smiled warmly and pointed at the vase. “Did you do that?”

  A sheepish grin brightened the young woman’s features. “Oh yes, Miss. I thought it a fine touch for a room such as yours. Oh, not that your room isn’t fine the way it is. I only meant...well, with you being who you are, you know, the ’ead gardener and all...”

  “Nice touch.”

  The maid spoke with nervous excitement. “Would you care for a cup of tea while you wait on Old Brick Face?”

  Janie decided that the woman was speaking of Bartley. Amused, she replied, “No. But thank you anyway.”

  “Did you ’ave a pleasant trip and all? Such as it was, I mean.”

  “As far as boats go, I suppose.”

  The maid laughed. “Right.”

  “Doesn’t anyone introduce themselves around here?”

  “Oh. I knew there was something I was forgetting.” The maid giggled. “Sorry. You can call me Liz.”

  “Okay, Liz.”

  “Short for Elizabeth. That was my grandmother on my mother’s side. Or you can call me Agnes, I suppose. That was my grandmother on my father’s side. Only my Aunt Bruny ever called me Charlotte. Short for Brunhilda. Oh, not the Charlotte, that was ’er sister’s name.”

  Janie felt a slight aching in her forehead. “Can I just call you Liz?”

  “Oh, yes, Miss.”

  “Thank God.”

  “What do they call you?”

  “Carolyn.”

  “Just Carolyn?”

  “Afraid so.”

  “You must be Protestant, Miss.”

  “Tell you what,” Janie replied, sitting on her bed. “I’ll call you Liz if you stop calling me ‘Miss’. Name’s Carolyn.”

  Liz giggled and flapped a hand in the air. “Right.” She dashed to Janie’s side and sat beside her. “I can’t believe the Missus ’ired someone from America.”

  “Stranger things have happened, I suppose.”

  “Bloody right about that. The other ’ead gardener wasn’t ’ere but a couple of months before we found ’is body near the vista. Slumped over on a bench, ’e was, near the rose arch. Cold dead as a cricket in winter frost. They said the poor devil had an ’eart attack and fell on ’is shears. A frightful mess.”

  “That will be quite enough gossip outta you, young lady.” A formidable voice resounded from the doorway. It was another female servant, a middle-aged woman whose scorn was tempered by the presence of a slight smirk. “I’m quite certain this nice lady could use a rest after such a long journey. Surely she doesn’t need to listen to any of your tales after just stepping through the door. At least let her take her shoes off, for Heaven’s sake.” The last she added while hustling Liz from the room. “Shoo. Go on with you.” She flung a kitchen towel at Liz and called after her, “And take the Missus her tea.”

  The woman sighed and stepped inside the room, squaring herself to Janie’s grin, her Irish flavoring the twinkle in her eyes. “You’ll have to forgive her, Miss. She means no harm. She’s just an excitable twenty-year-old.”

  “Weren’t we all?” The two laughed companionably. “Please, call me Carolyn.”

  The woman tilted her head slightly. “Pleasure to meet you. Name’s Anna. If you’ll be needing anything, I’m never far from my duties, housekeeper and cook.”

  “That should keep anyone busy in a place like this.”

  Anna snorted. “You’ve no idea.”

  After a moment, Janie asked, “Was Liz telling the truth about the last gardener?”

  Anna clicked her tongue and waved the comment off. “Oh, that ol’ dragon? He was seventy-six years old, he was, for Pete’s sake. The old buzzard should have pushed off long before he did. Was always wheezing and smoking them bloody cheap cigars from Piccadilly. Killed more blooming roses with the damned things than any good he might have done, he did.”

  Bartley appeared behind Anna. “The Missus will see you now,” he announced dryly.

  Janie sighed. “Showtime.”

  THE LARGE SITTING room was a model of eclectic splendor with its oak paneled walls and accents from around the globe. What caught Janie’s eyes, however, was a portrait above the Gothic style limestone fireplace. It was a lovely painting. A portrait of a woman that profoundly sunk into her soul with a sphinx-like whisper. As the afternoon sun streaked through the tall windows, the portrait seemed aglow with a sensual radiance that was nothing less than haunting. Perhaps it was the gown, delicately painted, like silken lace that flowed from the robes of a Greek goddess. Or, it might have been the soft features that held a demure “come hither” smile, and were framed by lush, long, red-brown curls. Or, possibly it was the eerie feeling of familiarity that crept up Janie’s spine. A sense of déjà vu raised the hairs on the back of her neck.

  “Wow,” Janie breathed.

  A woman turned from the bay window, her features lighted by the fading sun. Janie was stunned to see that the calm, composed features of her hostess were identical to those of the exquisite woman in the painting. The spell was broken when the woman smiled vaguely and held out a hand.

  “Ilene Eldridge. I’m so pleased to finally meet you, Miss Vaughn,” she said. “I’ve heard so much about you.”

  Janie pulled a hand from her trouser pocket and wrapped trembling fingers around Ilene’s soft hand, a hand that had apparently never known work any harsher than using a needle and thread to sew a button on a shirt.

  “Call me Carolyn, please.”

  Until that moment, Janie had felt that her own social manners were quite adequate; they had been practiced on the Vanderbilts and others of that class. She also believed her attire was suitable. Yet, it seemed as if Ilene’s loveliness befitted her far beyond any outfit Janie could accomplish.

  “Would you care to sit down?” Ilene asked, gesturing to a small table that was set before an expanse of windows.

  Fearing that Ilene would vanish like a specter if she looked away, Janie continued to stare at Ilene until Liz came in and started to prepare the table for two. Janie shifted her gaze to the tea and orange nutbread that was set before them, and Liz poured her a cup of tea first, then served her mistress.

  Taking a seat, Janie said, “Thanks, Liz.”

  “Well, I see the two of you have already met.” Ilene smiled as she sat down.

  “Liz was kind enough to brighten my room with some flowers.”

  “That was awfully kind of you, Liz,” Ilene said, eliciting a shy grin from the young woman. “Thank you.”

  Liz curtsied. “Will there be anything else, Missus?”

  “That will be all for now, thank you.”

  Janie was taken by the stunning views offered by the second story chamber. From where she sat, an overview of the west gardens and pool was eclipsed by the vastness of sea to the distance.

  “You have a fabulous place here,” she said.

  “I do hope it’s not too overwhelming for you.” After a moment, Ilene sighed. “You see, we’ve been without a Superintendent of Gardens since the summer. Things might look a bit bushy and untidy, if you know what I mean.”

  Janie met Ilene’s tentative grin and watched as her lips pursed around the rim of the teacup with a gentle sip. “Don’t you have other gardeners?”

  “Yes, of course. We have yard help, three of them actually. But none of them have any sense of professional direction or architectural discipline. They are lacking in the artistic abilities that a true gardener like yourself possesses.”

  Janie hid her dismay behind a bite of orange nutbread.

  “We have approximately three hundred acres,” Ilene continued. “Twenty-five of those are considered primarily garden acres. My ancestors purchased Aria Manor in the early eighteenth century. But I’m quite certain my father will tell you all about that soon enough. He loves to reminisce about his ancestors.” Pouring Janie another cup of tea, she raised an eye to her. “Are you nervous?”

  Janie was
flustered. “Tired,” she lied.

  “Yes, I’m sure. I don’t see why Father couldn’t have put you on an aeroplane. It would have been much faster than that awful liner.”

  “Actually, I hate to fly.”

  “Oh, yes. That’s right. You did mention that in a letter, I think.”

  Janie was struck by the irony. “Did I?”

  “If you should get bored with all of this out-of-the-way landscape, it’s perfectly all right to pop into town for some recreation, such as it is. I’m sure you’re partial to your city fare, pubs, and all that.”

  Janie pondered the ravages of the depressed city streets she had left behind. “Actually, I was looking forward to some secluded peace and quiet.”

  Ilene raised her head with a smile. “Good. Our housekeeper, Anna, will show you your things in the greenhouse. I do hope you’ll enjoy your employment here. The last head gardener was here about thirty years or so, I believe.”

  Janie made a mental note of the discrepancy in stories. “Really? That long?”

  “Retired for a time, then returned. Couldn’t stand London, he said. I suppose, once one is used to the country it is hard to adjust. I never quite understood him though. He always seemed quite restless. I suppose that is what retirement does to one used to working all those years.” Ilene glanced about to the many spring blooms below. “I would think such an occupation would be filled with immense pleasure.”

  “Well, if I need an extra hand I’ll be sure to let you know.”

  Ilene retorted with a defensive chuckle. “Me? Oh, heaven’s no.”

  “Kidding, of course.”

  Ilene smiled at Janie’s jest. “I do hope once you get settled in and acquainted with it all, you find Aria Manor a delightful experience. Of course, it is my wish you fall in love with it as I have.”

  Janie thought England held a mysterious and ancient atmosphere. The ambience of the cliffside manor aroused her curiosity. Meeting Ilene’s warm eyes, Janie replied honestly, “I’m already captivated.”

  LATER THAT AFTERNOON, Janie wrapped her mind around the enormity of her task at Aria Manor. She would have to recall the practical wisdoms her Aunt Bess had taught her about flowers, as well as the flood of information she had researched about landscape design and the Latin names for the flowers, plants, and trees. She thanked God that she had been brought up in a household of foresight, where being well-prepared was a prerequisite. Her father had mastered that skill. Only now was it clear to Janie that he was, of necessity, simply covering up his shifty dealings with the mob.

  She set to work almost immediately, meeting with the yard help, as Ilene called them, with Anna providing the introductions.

  Gil was the first acquaintance. Or baptism. His unblinking eyes met Janie’s with the enthusiasm of a cow in mid-chew. She was to learn later, that was his normal look. He towered over most everyone in height, despite a permanent slouch that hid the thick, broad shoulders. She assumed the slouch came from his being self-conscious at having such a long-limbed figure. He was stern faced, square jawed, and rarely spoke. That, too, she learned was part of Gil’s makeup. He kept to his own business. Michael was a much younger man than Gil, maybe twenty-two or so. Slender, bright-eyed, and clean cut, a dimple creased his cheek when he smiled. That smile and those dark blue eyes had glanced back at Janie from the rearview mirror on the ride to Aria Manor from the train. Besides being one of the yard help, Michael was also the chauffeur. Then there was Peanut. That was what everyone called her. Peanut was an older woman who looked to be in her late fifties. Short, plump, and with the eyes of a child, she, like Gil, never spoke, but that was because she couldn’t. At least, that is what Anna told her. Despite her silence, Peanut was clearly enthusiastic about gardening, and Janie could tell it was her one true love. She sensed Peanut’s gaiety and free spirit would add a much needed humor to the gardens and lighten even the most stubborn of gray moods. Gil was going to be another story.

  A GENTLE MIST had persisted through the day, turning the lawns a deep emerald. Stone balustrades framed the long vista of lawn on the west side of the house. Janie was busying herself cleaning winter debris from the lawn and from around the lily pond. Anna came out to her under an umbrella, an oiled cotton Barbour jacket slung over her arm.

  Janie glanced up at the tall windows of the sitting room and noticed Ilene’s somber figure standing there, looking out at the sea. Janie sat back on her heels and turned an eye over her shoulder in question.

  “She doesn’t look at the sea, luv,” said Anna.

  “What else is out there?”

  “A ghost ship.”

  Janie twisted around to Anna. “A what?”

  “She’s stood there like that for five months now. She probably hasn’t told you, but she’s widowed. Mr. Eldridge was lost at sea during a big storm near Greece.” Anna sighed in sympathy. “And she looks out there believing she’ll see that ship come home. Look at that face and tell me that’s not a woman in mourning. She knows. Oh, she won’t admit it, but deep down she knows he’s not coming back.”

  Janie perused Ilene’s face. Even in her solemnity, she was a beauty untouched, unscathed by streetwise hardships such as those Janie had grown up around. No. The sun had always kissed that tender skin like a gentle lover, the dew ever moistened those lips in the morning, and the air was as fresh to her as the first moment after a rain shower. The scent of roses undoubtedly wafted to greet Ilene, and the seas were there to calm her heart with promise. If there was mourning there, Janie couldn’t see it.

  “Here now,” Anna said as Janie slipped into the lily pond. “You’ll catch yourself a death being out here like that. At least take this coat.”

  Standing thigh-high in the pond, Janie smiled at her. “I have a feeling, Anna, if I wait for only the sunny days around here, I’ll be fired very quickly for getting no work done.”

  Anna chuckled. “Well, at least you can hold off any more wet getting to ya.”

  “Just a minute.”

  Janie waded through the chilly water to the fountainhead near its center. “I turned this on a while ago, but nothing’s come out.”

  Anna frowned. “Oh, luv, that thing hasn’t worked for a while now. Gil won’t even mess with it, if that tells you something.”

  Janie eyed the fountain and fiddled with the components at its base, removing some lily debris before giving the base a good whack with her pliers. A powerful spout of water surged up into Janie’s face, knocking her off her feet and plunging her backward into the water. Anna squealed, both in delight and from shock at Janie’s drenching. Janie managed to glide over and grab hold of the stone ledge that ringed the pond. Exasperated, she slid out of the water and sat on the ledge. In response to Anna’s suppressed giggles, she eyed the housekeeper coolly.

  “I don’t think I’ll be needing that jacket now, Anna,” Janie said finally.

  IN THE ENSUING days, Janie had her people raking, weeding, planting, and mulching like clockwork. For Anna’s sake, she kept a close eye on the vegetable garden and medicinal garden, and once in a while she’d notice Ilene standing at the window, looking for her ghost ship out at sea.

  One afternoon, Janie had stepped out of the servants’ bathroom after showering, and was walking down the hall toward her room when Liz called out to her. Turning at her door, she eyed Liz’s grin and slight curtsy.

  “Oh, that is a beautiful robe,” Liz exclaimed. “Where’d you get it?”

  “Chinatown.”

  Janie knew that the robe, silk cream with red and blue embroidery of a dragon across the back, made a statement.

  “Ooh, I’ve always liked China. What I’ve seen in travel brochures, I mean. Pictures, you know.”

  By now Janie had gotten used to Liz’s flighty absentmindedness. “You came to ask me something, Liz?”

  “Oh. Right. The Missus would like you to join ’er for afternoon tea in the drawing room.”

  A grin played around Janie’s lips. “How can I refuse?”


  Liz snorted a laugh and nudged her with an elbow. “You can’t.”

  The drawing room provided an intimate retreat from the rest of the manor. With white plaster moldings for wainscoting, the walls were of deep red-brown Spanish leather stitched with motifs.

  “So glad you could make it,” Ilene announced warmly at Janie’s entry. “I do hope I haven’t disrupted your schedule by asking you to join me.”

  Janie noted that Ilene was sitting at the head of the table, where she sat confidently, despite it being reserved for the head of the household. Her father had been away in London on business for as long as Janie had been at Aria Manor. She took a seat beside Ilene.

  “Actually,” Janie replied, “I had just gotten cleaned up after doing repairs on the greenhouse. There were a few windows in desperate need of upgrading, and I thought I’d fix them before winter sets in.”

  “My, you are handy.” Ilene smiled, elated. She passed Janie a dish of unadorned biscuits and shortbreads. “The only thing I could ever repair was a missing button. And only then it was after much effort and many finger pricks.”

  The two laughed comfortably.

  Janie bit on a piece of shortbread and stirred a lump of sugar into her tea. “Never cared much for the typical womanly household duties. You might say I was the son my father never had.”

  “Have you never been married?” When no answer was immediately forthcoming, Ilene flushed. “Oh, forgive me.”

  “No. No, you’re fine.”

  “I don’t mean to interfere in your affairs.”

  “Really.” Janie chuckled. “I don’t mind. As the saying goes, I came about as close to marriage as I did to being run over by a train, with about the same amount of fear and loathing at the prospect of not wanting anyone to see what you look like after the fact. I guess I’ve never considered marriage a serious institution. Now see here. Do you take this man to be your lawfully wedded husband, to do as he says, come hell or high water, till death do you part when one of you kills the other?”