The Lost Garden by Katharine Swartz

Author:Katharine Swartz
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Lion Hudson
Published: 2015-08-14T04:00:00+00:00

CHAPTER FOURTEEN

Eleanor

May 1919

In the first week of May the Sandersons went to London. Anne had long been a lover of opera, and she was keen to see the new season at Covent Garden. Andrew agreed, thinking everyone could do with an outing, and Katherine was still in search of the elusive lace for her wedding gown.

Eleanor did not think she would particularly enjoy the opera, although she’d never been to it before, but she was looking forward to being in London. She had not gone since before the war. The journey was six hours by train and had been even longer during the war, when troop trains took over the rails, causing passenger trains to be endlessly delayed.

Despite her excitement at travelling to London, she was a bit reluctant to leave Goswell – and Jack Taylor. He’d barely spoken to her since that afternoon when she’d played croquet and then cried; in fact, Eleanor had the distinct impression that he was avoiding her. She’d come out several times to give him a drink of water, and he’d taken the glass with a murmured thanks before turning rather quickly away. Eleanor had not been able to think of a reason to stay and talk, although she’d wanted to.

Part of her was ashamed and embarrassed that Jack had seen her so undone, in tears, her shoulders shaking with sobs. But another part of her was fiercely glad; she’d cried, and he had comforted her. It felt, in a strange way, like the most intimate of communications, and had created more of a connection with him than she’d felt with anyone else in a long time.

And so she boarded the train to London with some reluctance, despite all the amusements the city was sure to offer.

“You’ve gone rather quiet, Eleanor,” Anne remarked as they settled themselves in their carriage. “I hope you’re not unwell.”

“You do look a little pale,” Andrew added as he sat across from his wife. “Thank heaven this dreaded ’flu is coming to an end. The government says the worst is over.”

“How many times have they told us that?” Katherine interjected. She turned to look out the window, her lips pursed. “I don’t think anyone can ever know if the worst is over.”

Eleanor didn’t answer any of them. She was too busy staring out the window as the train pulled away from the platform; as it left the station she could just glimpse the bottom of the vicarage garden, past the sheep pasture. She could see the blurred spots of pink that were the first rosebuds; she could imagine Jack Taylor bending over them, his cap and coat shed, his brown hair gleaming in the sunlight…

“Eleanor?” Anne spoke more sharply this time. “My dear, you are miles away.”

Eleanor turned from the window, blinking guiltily. The train was heading towards the sea, where the rail line ran along the coast, all the way to Barrow. “Sorry, Mother,” she murmured. “I was miles away, as you said.”

“And what were you thinking about?” Anne asked, a small smile playing about her lips.

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