A smile. The letter I slipped into Isaac’s room had a line for my father for him to leave.Don’t dig up the oak tree.I left the same line when I went into the army.
“Did you?”
He shakes his head. “No. It’s still there. I assume her ladyship wants me to maintain the maze as usual this summer. I might add a few more perennials: foxgloves, hollyhocks -nothing too tidy as I know she likes it wild.”
I try not to smile at his description.
“She likes the maze.”
“Aye.” He picks up his gloves again, puts them on. One hug for the year has probably broken his allowance. “You might have children playing here one day.”
My eyes roll to the back of my head. Blair has mentioned children at least three times a day for the last week. We had a very brief conversation about not using any contraception and what that meant for the child and their paternity.
“Maybe.”
He smiles.
“Best thing I did, taking this job here.”
“You’re not retiring any time soon?”
“No. Got two apprentices starting in a couple of weeks. They can do more of the lifting than I would.” He passes me a pair of gloves. “In the meantime, you can help. Unless you’re needed elsewhere?”
I take the gloves. “An hour. Then I’ll make sure I’m needed elsewhere.”
I follow him outside to the walled garden that I know is his favourite. He points out a bench, carved from what looks like oak.
“Debated using your tree until I found out you weren’t dead.” He points to the two plaques and I go over to read them.
One is for Paden, a simple one with just his name and no title. The other is my mother.
“She did her best, Ben. Don’t think of her badly.”
“Was she what Majjie thought?”
“No. She was always Majjie’s excuse. When she needed one. Now, see that stump there?”
I groan.
That’s not going to come up easily.
Isaac
We find her in the ballroom.
A chandelier hangs from the vaulted ceiling, the paintwork fading and peeling like dead skin after a long summer. Blair stands in the middle of the room, every sheet discarded from every statue and sculpture.
She doesn’t look at us, completely unaware that we’ve spent the last hour trying to find her, both of us dampening the fear inside our chests that something has happened, something that we should’ve prevented.
“I think we should reuse this room.”
Her gaze is still to the chandelier. It’s probably French and antique, the glass droplets dull with dust and I hope I’m never responsible for having it cleaned.
“What for?” Ben stuff his hands in his pockets.
Blair finally looks at us. “Dancing. Exhibitions. I don’t know but something. Something to make this place alive.”
Her eyes are brighter today. Some darkness that has blanketed her since that day when she killed Franklyn has finally lifted and she’s coloured with hope.
