AVictorianGarden

                                                   A VICTORIAN GARDEN
                                                       By Kathryne Kennedy

"Elizabeth says there’s a magic garden in the center of the maze," said Lady Lydia, trying to laugh and managing only a wheezing squeak. She took a deep breath and strode purposefully across the room of her husband’s study, the flounced hoops of her dress swaying with each step.
From the corner of her eye she watched her husband, Lord Charles Grimford, blink in astonishment. That she dared enter his presence uninvited, much less his only sanctuary… she relaxed slightly when she saw that his curiosity outweighed his anger.
He opened a time-oiled mahogany box and extracted one of his favorite cigars. "The child always did have a splendid imagination." His words blew a menacing cloud of smoke unerringly towards her delicate nose.
The pungent aroma assaulted Lydia’s senses and she leaned towards the open window, breathing deeply of the summer air and fighting the urge to swoon.
"But Elizabeth’s hardly a child anymore, Charles," she replied, a tremor to her voice because she dared to contradict him. "She’s just a year younger than I was when we were wed.”
He acknowledged her statement with a grunt and several sucking puffs on his cigar. Lydia leaned farther out the window, caught a glimpse of a pink bonnet disappearing into the maze, and clutched at the edge of the sill. Her daughter continued to steal off into the labyrinth every chance she could get, despite the protests of her mother.
Lydia desperately tried to follow the progress of that pink flash of color, but the overgrowth wove a thick covering atop the paths, and at the heart of the maze several trees added to that roofing. Surely nothing natural could grow in such gloom.
   "What is in the middle of the labyrinth?" she whispered, then jumped when her husband answered her. One would think at his age that his hearing wouldn’t be so acute, but unfortunately he continued to have uncommon physical vigor.
"Why don’t you go see for yourself, my dear?" taunted Lord Grimford. And taunt it was, for when Lydia first came to her new home she’d tried to win her way through the maze. And at that time, with her dowry providing for its care, the grounds had been carefully tended and the labyrinth had seemed just a lovely green puzzle for her to solve.
Lydia shuddered at the memory of it; her childish delight slowly turning into unbridled terror when each path brought her to a dead end. Hours later she’d collapsed into a quivering pile of lace skirts and wondered what it would be like to starve to death. She’d screamed until the gardener found her, then couldn’t speak above a whisper for days afterward. Her husband’s amusement every time she rasped a word had sent her crying to her room until her voice had fully recovered.
Lady Lydia could not approach the maze without suffering from severe palpitations.
She flinched when the palm of his hand whispered dryly across the silk shoulder of her gown. She looked up into his black, glittering eyes and read a look of patronizing satisfaction.
"You needn’t be concerned," he murmured, "There’s nothing beneath those trees but a few old statues and benches."
Lydia quivered at his nearness. The things she braved for her daughter! If the girl had any idea of what she suffered for her sake she certainly wouldn’t be running off through the bushes. She’d be spending all of her time with her loving mother.
Lydia took a deep breath. "Charles, it’s time we presented Elizabeth to society." She felt him immediately stiffen beside her.
He would never admit that his hesitancy might be from lack of funds, and although Lydia would never inquire as to their present finances, she wasn’t stupid.
"Nothing elaborate," she hastened to assure him. "Just a small coming-out ball. Until Elizabeth’s recognized as an adult we cannot expect her to act like one." And then Lydia breathed a sigh of relief. There, she’d stood up to him--had not only asked her husband for something, but justified it as well. Not for herself would she ever do such a thing. Only Elizabeth.
"You’re probably right," he grudgingly agreed, slipping his hand down to her waist, pulling her against him. His cigar-tainted breath stirred the golden curls across her forehead. She tried not to pull away. "Would this make you happy?" he crooned into her ear.
She closed her eyes and repeated a litany that she usually reserved for the evenings, on those nights he crawled into her bed: He’s an earl, you Married Well, he’s an earl. It was odd how that voice sounded so much like her mother’s.
“Yes," she croaked, wondering for the thousandth time why he didn’t avail himself of a mistress, like any proper gentleman of the ton.
Lips like dried paper pressed against her own, the smell of cigar and something else, something that Lydia suspected to be a vinegar of old age, overwhelmed her. And then his tongue, thrusting into her mouth, a dusty thing that tried to suck the moisture of her youth.
Lady Lydia broke from his embrace and rushed from the room, closed the door on his contemptuous laughter, and gagged softly in the cavernous hall of Grimford Manor.

Elizabeth’s dark blue eyes welled up with tears and her mother hastily pressed a lace kerchief to the lids. Her daughter’s eyes were her best feature, and already they’d begun to swell and redden.
"I thought your coming-out would make you happy, Bethy."
The girl seemed to shrink in upon herself and Lydia frowned in consternation. Hadn’t she taught Elizabeth the duties of a woman? That Marrying Well was the epitome of accomplished womanhood?
"Just think, a new gown, just for you. It shall be silk, perhaps a dark blue to match your eyes, with tiny jet beads around the bodice and matching slippers--oh, and beads twined through your hair. You shall be absolutely lovely."
Elizabeth peeked around the handkerchief and smirked in spite of her tears. Lady Lydia laughed aloud; her daughter could always make her forget herself.
"No, my darling, you shall never be beautiful. Too much of your father in you for that. But accomplished, yes, and I promise you’ll be the belle of the ball."
Elizabeth sighed. "But should I marry, I shan’t be able to live here anymore." She stood up from the pianoforte, her lessons forgotten, and walked across the room, stumbling over her feet but too upset to apologize for her usual lack of grace. She stared out the window with sorrowful, hungry eyes.
Lydia’s heart sank. She tried desperately not to think of losing the one thing she continued to live her life for. "We will visit each other often, and meet at tea and luncheons. We shall always be together."
"But the garden…"
For a moment Lady Lydia was confused. The garden? Oh, yes. In the center of the maze. And then for the first time she could remember, rage toward Elizabeth flared inside her. Her daughter worried about missing some imaginary garden more than her own mother?
"You’ll barely have time to play in the maze anyway," she snapped. "We shall be entirely too busy planning the ball."
Elizabeth turned from the window and stared at her mother as if she were looking at some fearsome beast. "But I love the garden, Mother. It’s my very own special place."
Lady Lydia walked across the frayed Persian carpet and pulled the heavy drapes over the window, sealing the parlor in gloom. "There’s no garden in the maze, Elizabeth. It’s a childish fantasy that you must put behind you."
"It’s a magic garden, " whispered the girl, "And I think you’re just jealous."
Lydia collapsed on the velvet settee and stared at her daughter. What had happened to the adoring child she’d raised? That Elizabeth would actually argue with her… "I always do what I think is best for you, Bethy. I’ve never knowingly lied to you; I put your needs always before mine. I’ve played dolls with you and sat at your bedside whenever you had the fever. I’ve devoted my life to you and this is my reward. I only asked that you grow up a little and you treat me as if I were an enemy." She paused for breath and began to cry.
Elizabeth wrung her hands together, her eyes shifting back and forth from the window to her mother’s tearful face.
"Please stop," she finally sobbed, and flung herself into Lydia’s lap. "I shall spend only one hour a day in the garden, I promise. But please, I cannot bear to see you cry."
Lydia stroked her daughter’s wispy brown hair. There, she thought to herself, much better. No one could love her child as fiercely as she did.

In her agitation, Lady Lydia actually addressed a scullery maid enlisted to clean the ballroom. "Have you seen Elizabeth? We simply must plan how to decorate this place."
"No, mum," lisped the woman. "But I ‘spect she’s in the maze.”
Lydia’s hands fluttered gracefully. "Why?" she demanded to herself, only half-aware that she spoke aloud. "Why must she always spend her hour there when I need her the most?"
The maid stared at her mistress with a calculating eye. She leaned forward and lowered her voice. "The gardener says it’s haunted, mum."
"What?" Lydia ripped her gaze away from the open doors and stared at the woman as if she’d just seen her. "What did you say about the labyrinth?”
"Well, I can’t rightly be sure, mistress. But the old gardener, Tom, says he hears voices--most specially at the witchin’ hour--comin’ from the center of the place."
Lady Lydia’s mouth dropped open in outrage at such a preposterous remark. The maid took a step back, her homely face quickly adopting its usual sullen countenance.
"It’s probably just my daughter playing," snapped Lydia, appalled that she’d actually listened to such nonsense. "Please do not spread your superstitions to the rest of the servants."
"Aye, mum," whispered the maid contritely, quickly resuming her polishing with frantic zeal.
Lydia picked up her skirts and ran across the ballroom, her slippers making tiny tracks in the dust. This was the last time her daughter would be unavailable to her. She must stay away from that maze--even the servants were beginning to talk! With a determination that only her fierce love could provide, she stomped across the lawn, straight towards the entrance to the labyrinth. She had one brief flash of cowardice and considered asking Charles to go after the girl, but he would want a reward and she’d rather face anything than that.
Lydia’s heart began to pound in her ears, drowning out the sound of chattering birds and buzzing insects. She hesitated at the entrance, ribs straining against her corset, panting for breath. She hated this feeling, sure that her heart would burst and she’d die from the panic that threatened to overwhelm her.
The maze had changed since last she was here. For the worst, surely, the overgrowth allowing only a narrow tunnel into the depths.
Lady Lydia plunged inside.
Black as pitch; red eyes peeking from between every limb of bush. Those same limbs reaching forward like fleshless arms, ripping out strands of her hair, flailing them behind her like triumphant banners of gold. Blood trickled into scratches on her cheeks, burning like acid and salting her lips.
Lydia ran, the skirts of her day dress tripping her until finally she sprawled face down in the moldy earth. She clawed at the dirt, nails ripping until they bled, wanting to scream Charles’s name yet knowing the futility of it. For her fear amused him--aroused him--and only when it began to irritate would he attempt to cease its cause. For a brief moment she allowed herself to truly hate her husband…until she recalled his precious gift, one that only he could have given her. Elizabeth.
She screamed her daughter’s name, but no sound issued from her throat. Lydia rose to her feet, ripping the hem of her dress, and oddly that tearing noise echoed through the tunnels as if they were halls of stone. Again she ran, slower now, the earth starting to tilt crazily at her, and then…
The heart of the maze. Huge, gnarled trees rose around her, their bark wrinkled as deeply as the skin of her husband. A garden of mushrooms grew in abundance; penile stalks of gray that bent drunkenly beneath the weight of their caps. Stone gargoyles hunched among the fungus, horned and scaled, their wide grins leering at her. They whispered of the evils intended for her daughter, once they had the girl firmly ensnared in their web.
Lady Lydia swayed, the back of her hand pressed to her forehead, her vision dimming to black. "Elizabeth!" she screamed.
"Mother," answered her daughter, the voice pulsing towards her as if from a long distance. "I’m here--it’s only a bad dream--wake up Mother."
Lady Lydia opened her eyes to sunshine streaming through the familiar peach curtains of her own room. Dark blue eyes filled with concern looked down at her, and on her silk vanity bench her husband sat frowning.
"But, I was in the center of the labyrinth…"
Charles stood, bones popping, and left the room.
"Yes, Mother, you were in the maze. But I found you just inside the entrance. You must have fainted."
"No, no," mumbled Lydia. "I was there, at the heart of it." She clutched her daughter’s arm. "It’s evil, and it wants to take you away from me."
"Don’t say such things," breathed Elizabeth. She turned, picked up something from the bedside table and presented it to her mother with a flourish. "I brought this for you, from my garden. See?"
Lady Lydia blinked. Her daughter cradled a flower, a white lily, whose petals flowed over her arms halfway to the floor. The pollen-tipped stamens rose quivering to her daughter’s chin and dusted it with yellow. With a trembling hand Lydia reached out and stroked the fine down that covered the gigantic blossom.
"If my garden was truly like your dream,” said Elizabeth, “could it have grown something like this?"
It was simply, thought Lady Lydia, the most exquisite thing she’d ever seen. She moaned and snatched her hand away from the deceptive flower, and it suddenly began to wither. Brown rot ate through the petals and crept toward the center of the bloom.
"It doesn’t last for long away from the garden," Elizabeth said mournfully. The thing in her arms crackled; pieces of black debris fluttered to the polished floor.
"You must promise me," Lydia demanded, "to stay away from the labyrinth."
Elizabeth wheezed, her chest straining against the fabric of her bodice. "Please, please don’t ask that of me."
"Promise me," Lydia repeated.
Her daughter’s lips turned blue at the edges. "I can’t!"
"Promise me."
Elizabeth crushed the remains of the flower between her two hands. She squirmed and struggled for breath, as if she actually, physically, fought against some smothering weight. "I shall??I shall spend my days with you Mother," she finally panted. "All of them. I promise."
Lady Lydia sighed, her fingers relaxing on the twisted remains of her bed linen. There, she thought, Bethy’s still mine.

The candlelight lit the ballroom with a soft glow, helping to hide the worn spots on furniture and tapestries. The guests displayed their best finery, waltzing in pairs of flowing silk and intricately tied cravats. Lydia smiled, pleased with her work. True, there was a touch of shabbiness to the room, but the master of the house was an earl, and these walls had once entertained royalty.
Her smile faded into a frown as she watched her daughter stumble across the room to stare longingly out the open balcony door. Over the past few weeks Elizabeth had quickly withered, like the blossom she’d plucked from her garden. Without complaint she continued to suffer from a worsening condition that robbed her of breath. She seemed to be slowly suffocating, yet resigned to the fact of it.
"You shouldn’t have forbidden her the maze," said Charles.
Lydia jumped. "You startled me."
He ignored her, seemingly so used to her reaction that it required no comment on his part. "It was Elizabeth’s only freedom. Not a place of evil or magic. Only a clearing in the labyrinth where she could go to be by herself."
Lydia stared in astonishment at her husband. He barely acknowledged the girl’s presence, and now to criticize her care of Bethy…of course, that was it. It didn’t particularly matter to him, it was just that his age impelled him to bestow wisdom whenever he could.
"Excuse me," she said, "I must see to Elizabeth’s dance card."
Lady Lydia wove her way through the throngs of people, nodding and greeting when required, but always keeping her eyes fixed on the abject form of her daughter. She stopped to exchange pleasantries with the overly plump Lady Windsor, when she noticed such a startling change in her daughter’s demeanor that she failed to reply to the lady’s polite inquiries.
Elizabeth suddenly tilted her head back and laughed, a full-throated cry of delight that held not a hint of a wheeze. The clumsiness that Lydia thought was a part of her daughter’s character vanished, and with the grace of a queen she approached the balcony door. In the opening stood a boy, resplendent in the most astounding shade of green attire, with hair as brown as the earth and eyes bluer than the sky. And in his arms he cradled an impossibly large, white lily.
Lady Lydia swooned. The Lady Windsor squeaked in alarm. Several guests began to wave their lace fans at her face. Charles abruptly appeared, squeezing her arm in a painful grip, his face a mask of barely disguised embarrassment.
"What’s wrong with you?" he growled in her ear.
Her mouth opened and closed several times before she could answer. "She won’t come to them, so they have come to her."
"What are you talking about, woman?"
"The garden! What else, but Elizabeth’s garden!"
Lord Charles Grimford steered his wife over to a velvet-upholstered chair and covertly shoved her into it. He handed her his glass of port and demanded she drink it.
Under no circumstances, thought Lydia, should a lady partake of alcoholic beverages.
Charles glared at her and she emptied the goblet, choked until tears came to her eyes, then grinned when a delicious feeling of warmth spread through her body.
"They’re waltzing," she said dreamily.
Charles looked up, spied his daughter and the green-attired boy, and Lydia watched with satisfaction as his enormously bushy brows rose in surprise. The boy held their daughter gently in his arms, and Elizabeth, oh--Elizabeth! She shined with a radiance matched only by the bewitching allure of her partner.
They danced with an intricacy of moves that spoke of long practice, whirling through the other couples until they were the only dancers on the floor, the guests standing aside to watch the pair weave their magic around the room. Bethy’s eyes sparkled; the beads in her dress and hair caught the candlelight and threw it back at the crowd. She dipped and spun with fluid symmetry, her eyes aglow with a light that miraculously transformed the features of her face into a beauty unequaled.
Lydia sat spellbound like the rest, hearing the comments of her guests, waves of sound that flowed with the music of the waltz.
"So much like her mother--"
"It’s like turning back the clock--"
"Lydia must be so proud…"
And Lady Lydia would have been. If she’d had anything to do with it. The truth was that Elizabeth had shriveled under her loving hands, and flourished only under the care of her garden.
The music stopped and a silence that rang in the ears testified to the bemusement of the audience. The boy in green walked to the balcony doors and turned, holding out his hand to Elizabeth. The gaze of her daughter suddenly impaled Lydia, who read such overwhelming regret in the dark blues eyes that she gasped with fear. But Elizabeth turned her back on the boy and walked towards her, stumbling slightly, and the boy vanished as suddenly as he had appeared. Only the blackening lily, lying forgotten between the doors, offered silent proof of his existence.
And of course, Elizabeth. The glow faded but remained throughout the evening, ensuring her mother’s promise. Her daughter was the belle of the ball.

Lady Lydia could see the light in the heart of the maze from the window of her room. The clock chimed midnight and she dressed, throwing an embroidered shawl over her shoulders against the chill of the evening. Elizabeth had gone into the maze. She had not disobeyed, for her promise only extended to the daytime. But still--certainly not to her mother’s surprise--she’d gone to her garden.
Before she could think better of it, Lydia stole down the stairs and out the door, barely hesitating at the entrance to the labyrinth. There would be no fear of getting lost; the light led her unerringly into the heart of the place. And the tunnels were so unlike her dream, a gentle fog softening the outlines of the bushes and a serene glow, like the one that had lit her daughter’s face just this evening, illuminating the path ahead.
Something tugged on her hem and she turned to look into the disgruntled face of her husband.
"I knew you’d do this," he snapped.
"Elizabeth is here."
"Of course she is, after your foolish imaginings forced her to sneak off to it in the middle of the night.”
Lydia laughed, an echo of the tinkling sound already issuing from the heart of the maze. "It was foolish of me, wasn’t it? But Elizabeth showed me the truth of this place."
"Truth?" he growled in a dangerously low voice. "Both of you are bloody silly! There’s nothing here but an old, neglected patch of weeds. And I intend to prove it!"
Sir Charles pushed his wife in front of him, prodding her on when her skirts hampered her movements. They followed the light, and the voices that spoke with laughter and joy. When they reached the center of the maze, Charles nudged his wife again and she stumbled, falling to her knees at the edge of the clearing.
Lydia stared, the stays of her corset pinching her ribs while she gasped for breath. This was certainly not the place of her dreams.
Elizabeth sat on a carpet of flowers, her head flung back to laugh up at the boy from the ball. The gargoyle statues that had sat in the clearing for decades couldn’t be seen, for overlapping their place shone an opening of golden light, a pulsing brilliance that lit the cavern?like growth of the maze. Spilling out of it in a spray of colorful profusion grew a garden that dizzied her senses with its combined perfumes. Bluebells that tinkled, lady slippers as big as her foot, daisies that quivered with remembered sunshine, mounds of lilacs that surely would make the softest of beds… Lydia sighed.
"Mother!" sang Elizabeth, her eyes shining with welcome. The boy looked up and smiled. He had dimples on both cheeks.
"What did I tell you?" barked Charles. "There’s nothing here but a few ugly statues and a lot of dead leaves."
"Is that what you see, Charles?" asked Lydia.
"What the devil do you mean?"
The boy shook his head sadly, a lock of brown hair falling between his crystal blue eyes. Elizabeth stood and tenderly smoothed it back, turned and smiled forlornly at her mother.
"Father may not be able to see beyond the world he’s made for himself. He saw Treis at the ball only because he chose to become a part of our world for that moment." She looked at the boy with her heart in her eyes. "However hard that was for him to do, he did it just for me."
Lydia nodded and wiped damp palms across the tumble of her skirts. She squinted into the golden opening and glimpsed a world that beckoned with a promise of joy beyond the imaginings of her own fanciful mind. "Thank you, Bethy, for showing this to me."
"Showing you what?" asked Charles, his bushy brows lowered with annoyance.
"You wouldn’t be able to see it, Mother," Elizabeth answered, "if you didn’t have the heart to."
“See what?” shouted Charles.
Lady Lydia blinked into the golden light. Beyond the garden a waterfall cascaded from a mountain of glittering diamonds to splash into a pool of soothing blue. A winged horse with golden hooves pranced in a meadow of glittering green, and in the far distance scarlet banners of fire flew from a castle of gleaming white. She shook her head. "I’d never have seen this without you. What’s it called?"
Elizabeth looked at Treis, then shrugged her shoulders. "It doesn’t have a name but the one you’d give it. The door opens and some of that world spills into ours, although nothing can stay for long."
Charles’s voice cut through their conversation, the tone of it dangerously low. "I will not be ignored."
Lady Lydia looked from the shining face of her daughter to the beautifully sculpted face of the boy. She’d never doubted that he came from the garden. "Then he can’t stay with you in our world."
The dimples faded from Treis’s cheeks as he nodded solemnly and gazed at Elizabeth with desperate longing. Lydia could feel Charles’s anger like a tangible thing behind her, ready to explode.
"You cannot go into his world?" she asked quickly.
"Oh, yes!" cried Elizabeth. "But I dare not."
"Why?"
"Because once you go, well, it’s not that you can’t return to our world--it’s just that you won’t want to."
Charles’s frustration finally spewed forth. "Bloody Hell! You’re both talking nonsense. Lydia, get up. Elizabeth come here."
Lydia still didn’t understand. If her daughter could go to such a place, a place that made her own world dreary by comparison, why hadn’t she gone? Why worry about returning if life could be so wonderful you wouldn’t want to?
“That didn’t answer my question, Bethy. Why haven’t you gone?”
"Oh, Mother!" laughed Elizabeth. "I couldn’t leave you. Whatever would you do without me?"
Lady Lydia felt the pain when her husband grabbed her arm and jerked her to her feet, but it was a faraway thing compared to her thoughts. In her arrogance, she’d thought she loved her daughter best, that nothing could match her fierce, overwhelming feelings. Her throat tightened up and tears burned her eyes.
Her love was nothing compared to her daughter’s.
"This place has made you mad," said Charles. "Neither of you will ever come here again??if I have to lock you both up!"
For a moment Lady Lydia felt a rush of gratitude toward her husband. Yes, lock them away and then Bethy would still be hers. Absolutely, completely…selfishly hers. Lydia’s stomach twisted when she remembered the pale, gasping girl she had created. Her daughter had sacrificed her happiness for her mother. Could she do any less?
"Go," whispered Lydia, then louder; "Go!"
Elizabeth frowned in confusion, but Treis smiled and tugged on her hand, leading her towards that golden opening. The boy stepped through the door, his hand still tightly clasped with hers. Elizabeth planted her feet before the threshold. "Mother, I can’t leave unless you come with me."
With strength only a mother’s love could provide Lady Lydia twisted free of her husband’s grasp and sped across the clearing.
She flung her arms around Bethy and held her tightly, wishing that she’d never have to let her go. But she finally stepped back, looked into the smiling face of the most precious thing in her life, and pushed Elizabeth through the golden door.
Lydia could see her on the other side. A fleeting shadow of concern crossed her daughter’s face, as if she’d misplaced something important then forgot what it was. But Treis called out to her and she turned towards him, her face glorious with joy. And then they were both running, through the meadow and towards the castle, the boy only stopping their flight long enough to pick flowers and twine them in Elizabeth’s hair.
"She…she’s gone," whispered Charles. "She just vanished!" Something in his voice made Lydia turn and stare. He ran a trembling hand through thinning gray hair, his back suddenly bowed with the weight of his years. For the first time since she’d known him, he looked unsure of himself. "That means--you’re not going with her, are you Lydia?"
Lady Lydia’s eyes widened. He loves me, she thought; in his own strange way, he truly loves me. She looked at the golden doorway, saw the glow begin to fade, and knew that it would never return.
"Of course not," she replied. "Whatever would you do without me?"
Lydia walked back with Charles through the complicated, sometimes frightening maze of paths that had led them, eventually, to their hearts.


                             Copyright @ 2007 by Kathryne Kennedy, All Rights Reserved.
             No part of this work may be reproduced or reprinted without written permission from the author.

This short story was written long before I ever imagined the alternate magical world in Enchanting the Lady. In this story, there are no established levels of magical power, nor is magic considered real...except perhaps to those who've had an unusual experience, like Lady Lydia...