Free The Dead Queen's Garden by Nicola Slade Page A

Through another door she saw a drawing-room , papered in black and gold. Oz Granville led his guest out of the hall to a smaller chamber where his mother, upholstered in purple cashmere trimmed with black velvet ribbons and flounces, and wearing a formidable lace cap also trimmed with purple and black, rose to meet them, laying aside a large, leather-bound volume as she did so.
    ‘A history of England,’ Lady Granville explained as she graciously accepted the apologies Charlotte presented on behalf of Lady Frampton. ‘Or rather, a history of the Queens of England, one of my great interests, although I must confess that my garden absorbs most of my time.’ Her fond glance at the flaxen-haired boy jigging impatiently beside her, showed where the bulk of her interests lay and Charlotte found herself warming to such an open display of affection. Lady Granville kept her son waiting for a few moments while she waved a hand round at the room. ‘This is the morning-room, Mrs Richmond,’ she explained. ‘I find it so much more comfortable than the rest of the Abbey that I tend to spend most of my time here.’ She drew Charlotte’s attention to the Chinese wallpaper and the ebony furniture, adding complacently that it contained the only chimney in the entire house that did not have a tendency to smoke when the wind was in the north.
    Charlotte could well believe that, having observed the smoke stains on the stone lintels above the vast twin fireplaces in the Great Hall. She felt at a loss as she wondered whether condolences on the recent tragedy would be welcomed but, on reflection, she remembered that Barnard and Lily had said all that was needful, so she kept quiet. An attentive footman, clad in an immaculate livery of dark blue, appeared with Charlotte’s outer garments, which hehelped her to resume. He then silently bowed them out so obsequiously that his periwigged head almost reached waist level.
    The lady of the house, now clad in her sealskin mantle, sailed haughtily through the door without a glance at the servant, but Charlotte was pleased to see that the boy grinned and made a kind of jaunty salute in thanks.
    ‘Always be polite to the servants, Char,’
had been her godmother’s advice.
‘They see everything, hear everything and know everything and can be a gold mine of information if they are so disposed.’
Meg had looked mischievous as she added,
‘And believe me, they can cover up your misdemeanours too, if they like you.’
    Outside was a wide, gravelled walk, edged by a clipped yew hedge that reached to a height of about six feet, with a heavy wooden door set into an archway cut into the dense foliage.
    ‘I keep the garden door locked,’ Lady Granville remarked as she took an ornate key from her pocket. ‘It is my private sanctuary and the gardeners only enter at my command.’
    Looking through the entrance Charlotte saw something like a ruined castle at the far end of the garden, ivy-covered and sporting gaping windows at the top, arrow slits winding upwards around a circular tower, the whole surmounted by a crenellated battlement. A flagpole crowned the ruins and from it, a long, silken banner floated in the slight breeze.
    Lady Granville said nothing but kept a watchful eye on her guest as she waved her through the archway. A smile of gratification lightened the severity of her features at Charlotte’s exclamation.
    ‘But … but it’s Camelot!’ She turned to her hostess with her hands lifted in a gesture that seemed to encompass the scene before her eyes. ‘It’s an enchanted garden. How wonderful.’
    ‘It is almost my greatest treasure,’ confided the older woman and exchanged a smile of comprehension with her guest as, once again, Charlotte read clearly the message as to what was, without a doubt, her most beloved treasure.
    ‘I had no idea.’ Charlotte was released from the spell that had held her poised in the arched gateway and she flitted about the garden, discovering more and