The Winter Garden Read online

  “Like what?”

  “Spirits still learn in the afterlife, they can know things the living can’t, God is an intelligent creator. I don’t know, ask my mother. All I know is this is just a party to celebrate Samhain.”

  From the vanity mirror, Emmeline could see the manicured lawns and the burnt orange and brown leaves of the trees that obscured the lights of the shrunken houses on the other side of the field. In front of the house, jack-o’-lanterns glared and grimaced. Flames lapped in their cavernous mouths and flared through their eyes with each gust of wind. Servants heaped log after log onto an unlit pyre as the girl’s mind drifted to stories of martyrs and saints who had been set ablaze.

  “What’s Samhain?” Adele asked dreamily.

  “It is a feast for the dead. Mama says we deal with them so often that we should honor them even if it is a pagan festival.”

  The child’s eyes widened at the prospect of half-rotten couples in torn dinner suits and gowns popping out of the lawn like daisies and sitting beside her at dinner. She imagined an eyeball plopping from a dead man’s socket into her soup. “How dreadful! I don’t want to see a dead person!”

  Emmeline sighed as she glared at the girl through her reflection in the glass. “Don’t be hysterical, there won’t be any—”

  “They’re here!” Adele squealed with delight. “The London Spiritualists are here! I cannot wait to see their costumes. They always have the latest fashions.”

  Emmeline and the twins bustled over, shoving the younger girl out of the way to get a better view of the caravan of steamers rolling toward the portico below. The liveried footmen opened the doors of the cabs, allowing the brilliantly dressed lords and ladies to enter the masquerade in grand style. The three faces pressed against the panes as a set of broad shoulders clad in carmine velvet and a blonde head emerged from the coal steamer and swept out with a great flourish of his silk cape. He extended his hand to the lady who trailed behind in an equally gay costume of red and black, whom Emmeline recognized as the opera singer Henrietta Wren. Her nose crinkled in thought. She could have sworn that last time she was in London he was courting Lord Waters’s daughter.

  “What is Lord Rose dressed as? I couldn’t see with your big head in my way,” Emmeline scolded as he slipped out of her line of sight.

  “A devil. All the London Spiritualists are devils!”

  “Well, Annette, as I was saying before, that is what Samhain is about. Mama says it is the day when everything in the spirit realm comes into our world. All the ghosts—”

  “He has the body of a pugilist,” Adele sighed, her nose still pressed to the glass.

  Emmeline settled back in at the vanity and began adding the subtle details to her costume while picking through her box of pins and earrings to find the enamel and pearl forget-me-not brooch her mother allowed her to borrow. “When have you ever seen a pugilist?”

  “I haven’t, but I have seen pictures.”

  The twins appeared on either side of her reflection. “You know what they say about him. He won medals for gymnastics at Cambridge supposedly, and he climbs cliffs all over the countryside.”

  “I don’t know why you three even bother to look at him,” the dark-haired girl began. “I am the one going into society this year, and he will obviously be interested in me.” She narrowed her eyes as the other girls suppressed peals of laughter. “Why wouldn’t he? He is only seven-and-twenty. Older men marry young girls all the time, and it would only make sense to pick me. He is the head of the London Spiritualist Society, and mama runs the Oxford branch. He is one of the queen’s favorites, and mama and her brother are very close to Her Majesty. I am the obvious choice.”

  Before the girls could reply, the maid, who had slipped out when they rushed to the window, poked her head back into the room. “Her ladyship requests you come down to the party now.”

  Emmeline grabbed her silk and boning fairy wings from the bed and slipped them onto her back. Abigail cranked the clockwork mechanism, and with a faint click, the wings began to flutter. With one final look in the mirror, they marched into the hall with Emmeline in the lead and Adele trailing behind. They held their heads erect with their backs and necks straight to give the illusion of maturity and grace. It was their first real ball, and they had to make a good impression just in case their future husbands or mothers-in-law were down there.

  From the upper railing, Emmeline watched as the couples below collided and twirled in brilliant pinwheels of silk and brocade to the lively notes of a waltz. In the nebulous light of the candles and gas lamps, the cast of revelers were transformed into an otherworldly parade of demons, fairies, and spooks. She could scarcely believe they were real as she descended the staircase and entered their world. Her eyes roamed over the throngs of guests in their elaborate costumes they had made especially for the party, but she closed them, taking in the energy from all around her. There was something different about this party. It wasn’t a dull dinner party where the guests never seemed to leave the table or one of the barely audible parties she had listened to from the upper rail at her governess’ side. Tonight the guests seemed less inhibited, the dances faster, the music louder. It had a life of its own that pulsed with the tempo of the orchestra and filled every room of the manor with heat despite the brumous day.

  A hand lightly gripped Emmeline’s arm. She looked up expecting to see her mother when she met the light eyes of Henrietta Wren behind a devil’s mask. “Have you seen Lord Rose?”

  She shook her head, but as she opened her mouth to reply, the woman released her arm and disappeared into the crowd in a huff. Suddenly, the music stopped and a hush fell over the guests. Emmeline turned to see hundreds of masked faces staring up at the grand staircase. Standing on the center landing was a Pre-Raphaelite goddess bedecked in purple crepe and jewelry of the richest gold. Her jet hair tumbled down her back, but in the front, it was interwoven around a crown of spikes. Emmeline never heard a call for order or saw a hand raised for silence; her presence was enough to snuff out their voices.

  “Welcome to the Oxford Spiritualist Society’s Samhain Ball,” Lady Jardine began, her voice ringing through the foyer as if it were empty. “Many of you may not know the origin of Samhain, but it is an ancient pagan festival, old as England herself, marking the end of the harvest and the beginning of winter. Tonight is the night when the dead walk among us and our worlds spin closer until they nearly touch. To keep the demons and fairies at bay and lead our dead to the otherworld, we will appease them with food and drink and a bonfire to light their way to the afterlife.” The great doors were thrown open to reveal a massive pile of wood stacked on the lawn. “May you all find peace and safety in the coming year.” The torch kissed the kindling and within seconds, a fire roared up toward the moon. “And may our loved ones find their way home.”

  Applause erupted, but by the time Emmeline’s eyes moved over the revelers who began to drift into the parlors and drawing rooms, her mother was gone from sight. The Raleigh sisters giggled with delight as the orchestra began to play a familiar song and rushed off to find dance partners, but as Emmeline was about to be pulled back into the throng, she spotted the familiar blonde head of Lord Rose. She tugged her hand out of Abigail’s and pushed her way through the forest of fabric, watching his head bob in and out of sight. She cursed her height as she lost him in a crowd of particularly tall gentlemen in front of the dining room. Her mother was holding court near the tables of elaborate puddings and steaming dishes of meat and poultry, so Emmeline tiptoed casually past the doorway, hoping she would not be noticed and called in. She walked toward the back parlor and sighed; he was gone. A sweet yet acrid vapor wafted from the unfastened mullioned door. The fairy stepped onto the balcony and found her devil with his head resting against the brick façade of the house, blowing smoke rings into the midnight air.

  She let her gaze rest on him for a moment. Lord Alastair Rose was the most handsome man she had ever laid eyes on. Every time he was near, her pu
lse raced and heat flushed her breasts, making her acutely aware of their swollen prominence beneath her camisole. He was perfect; tall, strong, and the third son of a marquess. He was her Lancelot, her Darcy, her Prince Charming even if he didn’t know it yet. Finally his persimmon eyes languidly fell on her before rolling back to the copse of trees ahead of him. He brought the cigarette back to his lips and drew a long breath as if she was not even there.

  “Are you enjoying the party, Lord Rose?” Emmeline asked, deepening her voice until it sounded like her mother’s.

  He flicked the burned out nub into the bushes and pulled a silver cigarette case from his jacket and lit another. “It’s a party.”

  “The Sleeping Beauty Waltz is coming up soon. It is one of my favorites.” She leaned closer, glancing up at him from beneath her dark lashes. “I asked mama to have them play it just for me, but I have not found a partner yet.”

  Smoke seeped from his nose as he exhaled, keeping his eyes locked on the conifers and oaks beyond the ring of the balcony. His eyes flickered and slowly he half-turned toward her. “Where is your mother?”

  “In the dining room.”

  Lord Rose abruptly dropped the hot cigarette and nearly crushed it out on the hem of her dress. Before she could speak, he pushed past her and walked inside. Emmeline lingered in the haze for a moment as the cold air dashed the burning in her eyes. Other people were dancing inside her Headington Hill home. Their faces were alight with the laughter she longed for, and she could hear their jubilant cries above the clinking of glasses and scuff of slippers and boots. Several songs passed before she took in a ragged breath and charged back inside toward the dining room. She would get her dance even if her mother had to make him do it. The dining room was empty by the time she got there, but as she turned back down the hall, voices rose behind the shut pocket-door of the library. Emmeline pressed her ear against the wood, fighting the apparatus of her wing as she tried to get close.

  “I will not allow that! She will not be dragged into something like that, Alastair,” her mother snapped.

  “It will not only benefit her but both of us.” The reply was cool and barely audible above the din of the ball.

  “I don’t care who it benefits. Emmeline will not be going to London with you.”

  “She would have to go to London. That is the only way it would work. I would see to it that she wants for nothing.”

  “I forbid it. I will not let you take my child from me.”

  The girl’s eyes widened with glee. She picked up her skirts and hurried off in a dither to find her company of fairies. By the time she found them at the edge of the dance floor, her face was flushed and all she could do was stammer.

  “Did you see one of those ghosts your mother was talking about?” Annette chided as she looked around Emmeline for the young man she had been dancing with earlier.

  “Even better! Lord Rose wants to marry me.”

  “Of course he does.” The younger girl stood on tiptoe as she peered over her friend’s head. “Have you seen John Pemberley?”

  “No, it’s true. I heard him and mama in the library. He wants to take me to London, and he said it would benefit both of us. What else could it be but marriage?” When the girl continued to ignore her, she stepped closer until all Annette could look at was the flat, beaded bodice of her friend’s costume. “Mama, is highly opposed to the union. Isn’t that romantic? All the best romances are forbidden, aren’t they?”

  “John!” Annette squealed as she nearly knocked Emmeline over and caught the edge of her dress with her heel.

  Emmeline watched in horror as the edge tore half way to the dance floor before the girl’s heel finally dislodged from the trim. That was it, that was all she could take for one evening. She grabbed the piece of fabric and trudged back to the balcony in the rear parlor. The night air soothed her tears as she fitfully pulled the rest of the lace off and tossed it over the railing. She hated them all for ignoring her. After all, she was the important one, and her friends just threw her over for someone else. If it hadn’t been for me, the Raleigh sisters never would have even been invited since none of them had been presented into society yet, Emmeline thought as she sat on the edge and looked out at her kingdom.

  Her waltz was playing. The little fairy closed her eyes and hummed as she pictured herself dancing in Lord Rose’s arms. She checked to make sure no one was around before she held up her arms and carefully spun in measured steps to Tchaikovsky’s airy melody. Something clicked behind the girl, and as she gracefully turned with her skirts sweeping behind her, a rag-clad hand clamped over her mouth while the other pulled her into the shadows. Emmeline’s body stiffened and buckled, but as she raised her hand to her assailant’s, it drooped. The sickeningly sweet odor engulfed her senses as the Samhain ball faded away.

  Chapter Four:

  Penny Dreadfuls

  “Emmeline! Wait, Emmeline! Bring her back!” her mother screamed in the crackling darkness. She sounded so far away, and Emmeline was too drowsy to lift her eyelids to see where. The voice died away until she was left with only warm, passive blackness. The steady cadence of her breaths moved in time with her dream of fairy waltzes and red devils.

  Emmeline shivered and opened one eye and then the other only to see her hair hanging in front of her face. As she pushed it to the side, she started up in bed, rattling the flimsy iron cot with her sudden motion. The room was silent except for the creaking as she stood up with the woolen blanket wrapped around her shoulders like a shawl. The chilled room was half the size of her bedroom and lacked all character or personal touches as there were no photographs, paintings, or even wallpaper hanging on the cracked, plaster walls. No, she was definitely not in the servants’ quarters in Headington. Standing in the corners were dusty specters, but when she pulled away their white mantles, all she uncovered were pieces of chipped and worn furniture. As she inspected the looming wardrobe, her eyes finally fell upon the peeling door.

  Emmeline held her breath as she reached for the knob and felt it easily turn in her hand. Behind the door was a narrow hall with two more identical oak doors catty-corner to each other and a wooden panel on the opposite wall. Her heart pounded in her ears as she noiselessly padded down the hall, careful not to alert an unseen presence to her flight. She feared what lay behind the nearest door, but as she wrapped her gloved hand around the limp, brass knob, the door squealed open.

  Emmeline’s heart sank at the dingy bathroom staring back at her. The once white toilet and sink had dulled to a sallow bone, and under the faucet of the tub, rust cascaded and crumbled in streaks of dull red. As her eyes ran up the cistern, she noticed that concealed behind some brown paper was a window. She looked over her shoulder and listened for any signs of life before carefully climbing onto the toilet seat. Emmeline teetered on the rim as she tore the paper away from the window, but when she finally created a big enough hole and stood on the tips of her toes for a better view, she could only make out the bleak, brick façade of the neighboring building less than a foot from the glass. Where am I? As she blinked away the remaining grogginess, the fear fell heavy in her breast. How did she get here? As she tried to recount the previous night’s events, her satin slipper slowly slid until her ankle rolled and her foot unceremoniously plunged into the cold water of the toilet.

  Her shrill shriek reverberated in the tiny space before she could stop herself as she hopped down from her perch with her foot held out in horror. She didn’t want to touch it, but the water was rapidly seeping through the delicate fabric. Grasping the dry lip of the shoe, she flung it from her foot and against the far wall with such force that it bounced back and nearly touched her. She sneered at the shoe one more time before rushing toward the only door left in the hall. If someone did hear her, she would need to escape now. This time, the door would not budge. Emmeline pulled on the knob with all her might until her sore hands slipped off and refused to grasp its surface. As she drew back with tears of frustration pooling in her eyes, th
e floorboards rhythmically creaked overhead. She froze as she listened to the tread of boots stop above the hall.

  Something scraped and squealed in the cavernous space behind the panel. Her brown eyes locked onto the wall as the straining noises grew louder until they terminated in a dull thud. Emmeline eyed the panel with suspicion, too afraid to open the pocket door but not knowing was too much for her to bear. She threw open the hatch and discovered a pot of tea, a tin of biscuits, and a plate of roasted mutton and carrots along with utensils and an empty cup on a chipped, wooden tray.

  “How are you feeling?” a nasally voice intoned, echoing from seemingly nowhere.

  The young woman spun around with her food in hand, sloshing tea as she searched for the source of the man’s disembodied voice. “Hello? Who is there?”

  “I asked how you were feeling.”

  She placed the plate and tin back in the miniature elevator before scanning the walls of the hall and the door at the end, which she was certain had not opened. “Scared.”

  “Physically, miss. I need a baseline.”

  “Fine. Cold?” Swallowing her fear, she cried, “Let me out! When my mother finds out what you did, you will be sorry you ever kidnapped me!”

  Her eyes finally came to rest on a brass pipe running down the wall above the dumbwaiter that ended in an open tube. Tiptoeing into the bedroom, Emmeline returned with a chair and placed it right below the pipe. The young woman drew in a deep breath and released a long, ear-piercing scream with her mouth directed toward the ear of the man upstairs. When she thought it would end, she drew in another deep breath and continued the shrill note. She always fancied that the great operatic divas would have envied her lung capacity, especially compared to her petite stature.

  The nasal voice at the other end cried sharply. “Stop that! You aren’t getting out any time soon, miss. Not until we’re finished.”