Eden's Garden (39 page)

‘We’d like to know more about the people who used the church in Victorian and Edwardian times,’ put in Carys.

‘And I believe my great-grandfather might have been married here,’ said David.

‘Really?’ Maggie Day’s eyebrows rose. ‘How very strange.’

David exchanged glances with Carys. ‘There hasn’t been someone looking already, has there?’

‘Oh, no. Not in the time I’ve been here, anyhow.’ She smiled at them. ‘We’ve just been clearing out at the back of the church, that’s all. It was Sam Jackson and his plans to open a museum in the old Meredith Charity Hospital that started it. We’ve just had a grant to turn the offices at the back into a community café and workshop space, so they needed to be cleared anyhow, before the building work takes place next year.’ She led them through a small doorway into a dusty room with books and files piled high all over the floor. Picking her way between the mounds, Maggie began unlocking a metal filing cabinet beneath the single window. ‘That’s when we came across this.’ She pulled out a battered and stained book. ‘It’s one of the old registries. We found it wedged down behind one of the bookshelves that used to be in here. It could have fallen by accident, of course.’

‘Or placed there for safe keeping?’ suggested David.

‘Possibly. I doubt that the church has entirely escaped unscathed from trouble over the past hundred years. Plus it was used for all kinds of different purposes during the two world wars. The dates all seem to be 1911. There’s water damage to some of the pages and the handwriting isn’t always the easiest to decipher, but I’m certain I saw a Meredith there. I assumed it must be another family with the same name.’ She steadied the book on a pile of papers and flicked through until she came to the right page. ‘Ah, yes. There we are. Could that be him?’

David bent over the faded scrawl. ‘David Paul Meredith, bachelor. Yes, that’s him.’

Carys peered over his shoulder. ‘That’s definitely an Ann.’

‘The handwriting is pretty appalling, I’m afraid,’ said Maggie.

‘That’s got to be ‘Hermione’,’ said Carys. She met David’s eyes. ‘And that scrawl looks like ‘Treverick’, to me.’

‘Widow,’ read David.

‘What’s the date?’ Carys was peering at her little notebook, to make sure there was no mistake. ‘According to the plaque in Treverick church, William died in August 1911.’

David peered closer. ‘It’s 1911, but the month is under a water stain. It’s completely blurred. And the ones above.’

‘I take it the date of the marriage is important?’ said Maggie.

‘Just a bit,’ muttered David.

‘Very,’ said Carys.

Maggie turned the book towards her. ‘I’m assuming you don’t necessarily need the exact day, just that it’s – ah – in the last six months of the year?’

‘Yes,’ said David. Carys nodded.

Maggie inspected the page. ‘For what it’s worth, I’m pretty sure one at the top of the page says September.’ She turned to the previous page. ‘There’s still damage here, but I’d say those are September, as well.’ She flicked back still further. ‘It must be. Near the end of September, I’d say. That’s the first one that looks as if it could say August.’

‘September.’ David’s face relaxed.

‘Almost exactly a hundred years ago,’ said Carys. ‘Long story,’ she added to Maggie, who was clearly intrigued. ‘Thank you for all your help.’

Maggie smiled. ‘My pleasure. I’m glad you found what you were looking for.’

‘They must have been very discreet about it,’ said Carys, as she and David made their way out of St Catherine’s, with a promise to return for a longer visit the next time they came to meet with Mr Jackson at Meredith House. ‘They must have been well loved and respected here by people who made sure their secret remained safe.’

David shivered slightly. ‘Thinking about it, I’m sure it wasn’t so much about not wanting people to know how long they had lived together without being married, but making sure that no one ever found out about Ketterford. Hard to explain, especially given the attitudes to women in those days, that Ann wasn’t really mad.’

‘You’re right,’ replied Carys. ‘And rumours of insanity would be passed on to her descendents, too. It was Nainie and your dad, and you and Huw too, they were trying to protect. No wonder we kept on coming up against a brick wall. Thank goodness we found them.’

David came to a halt. ‘You don’t think it was the madness thing that Edmund was on about, do you? I don’t fancy having to fight off suggestions that the Merediths are lunatics. My grandfather took Nainie’s name when they got married, so that there would always be Merediths in Eden. It would be a bit ironic if the Meredith name helped Edmund start mudslinging and suggesting we’re all raving lunatics who shouldn’t be allowed out after dark.’

Carys thought for a minute. ‘Even if he does, it’s hardly going to matter now, is it? Not with those incredible drawings. They are so clear-eyed and compassionate. Like Mr Jackson said, the drawings have already established a reputation of being the work of a hugely talented artist. Just because the artist turns out to be a woman rather than a man, doesn’t change that. Her drawings will form Hermione Meredith’s reputation. Nothing else.’

‘Yes, you’re right.’ David tucked her arm through his. ‘And at least Edmund can’t say Nainie was the result of a bigamous marriage and therefore the daughter of criminals.’ He gave a wry chuckle. ‘I suppose a scandal like that from the past might have brought the tourists into Plas Eden, but I think we can manage without the ghoulish obsessives, whatever happens.’

‘Definitely.’

He tightened his arm around hers. ‘Cousin Edmund must have known Dad would have done anything to protect Nainie from any hurt and public humiliation, whatever his son thinks now. Dad always said Edmund was a liability. He was so right. I hope we never hear from Edmund Jnr again.’

‘Me too.’

Carys, he discovered, was busily counting on her fingers. ‘What?’

‘Nainie always said she was a miracle baby. She was right: at their age, they must have given up the idea of having children at all. Nainie was born just six months after they were able to marry. I wonder if they knew, that day they came to St Catherine’s?’

‘I hope they did. Or guessed soon after,’ replied David, with a smile. ‘I think Nainie would have liked that.’

They walked for a little way in contented silence, until they reached the busy thoroughfare of Westminster Bridge.
Open-topped
buses lumbered by, as David and Carys dodged tourists taking photographs of each other with Big Ben and the Houses of Parliament. At the centre of the bridge, they paused side by side to look down the river towards St Paul’s, with the London Eye slowly turning, its little capsules full of passengers admiring the view.

‘So what happens now?’ said David.

‘I don’t know,’ replied Carys.

‘With you and me, I mean,’ said David earnestly. He clasped her hands. ‘Cari, what I’ve been trying to say all this time is that I love you. That I want to be with you. I don’t care how, I don’t care where. I just know that you are the most precious thing in my life, and I couldn’t bear to lose you. Not again.’

‘I love you, and I don’t want to lose you, either,’ said Carys. Crowds or no crowds, his arms came around her, as she was swept into his kiss. Carys held on tight, feeling the warmth of him being absorbed into her, until she could no longer tell which was which. His kisses were becoming more insistent. She could just relax, let go, and let happiness overwhelm her.

‘We could still sell Plas Eden, you know,’ David murmured against her mouth.

‘Oh?’

‘Mmm. Huw could buy a holiday home in Barbados and set up any business he wanted.’ He kissed her again. ‘We could make Rhiannon put herself first for once. And you and I –’ His kiss was longer, this time. ‘We’d never have to worry about money for rest of our lives. We could do whatever we wanted.’

Carys gently disengaged herself. ‘And you’d be happy?’

‘Yes. If I was with you.’

‘Rubbish,’ she said softly. ‘I love you more than ever for saying so, but life isn’t like that. I think, in our hearts, we both know it. We’re neither of us into buying things just for the sake of it.’ She put her arms around him again, holding him tight. ‘An eternal holiday sounds fine in theory. But everyone needs a purpose in life. You included. You’re a Meredith, through and through. Plas Eden is
your
purpose. Always has been, always will be. How could I be happy unless I knew you were happy, too? I’m not sure love would survive, unless both of us can follow our dreams.’

‘But what about Cornwall? I don’t want you to throw that away.’

She kissed him. ‘Of course I was tempted by Karenza’s suggestion. Who wouldn’t be? A few months ago I would have jumped at the chance. But not now. Oh, I want to visit there, just like we’ll be coming back to London, and I want to get to know Karenza better. I’ll always love Cornwall and be glad it’s a part of me. But I’m a Pont-ar-Eden girl at heart. Then there’s Mam. I’m not sure I’d want to live so far away as Mam gets older. Not now. I’ve learnt so much during the time I’ve been looking after Mam. Most of all, I’ve learnt that Pont-ar-Eden is where I belong, too.’

His gaze was earnest. ‘Are you sure? Are you absolutely sure? I lost you once before because of Plas Eden. I couldn’t bear losing you again.’

‘You won’t,’ replied Carys, smiling. ‘In those days, I was a child. I didn’t know who I was, or what I wanted. I saw Eden as a trap I could never escape, and that would suffocate me.’

‘It might well do yet,’ returned David.

‘I don’t think so. In fact, I’m certain it won’t. It was your great-grandmother who taught me that.’

‘Really?’ said David, in surprise.

‘Yes. I’ve been wondering, ever since we got back from Cornwall, how I’d feel if my husband had shoved me into a lunatic asylum just to get rid of me. I’m not sure I’d ever be able to love or trust in anyone ever again. But Ann did. She made her life in Plas Eden without even the protection of being married. In those days, that meant she could have been thrown out on the streets at any moment, with no means of supporting herself.’

‘I suppose so,’ said David, with a shudder.

‘I couldn’t imagine what gave her such mind-blowing courage. But then, when we were waiting in that courtyard for Mr Jackson just now, it suddenly struck me. It was love that gave her the courage to go with your great-grandfather to Plas Eden. She wasn’t afraid of taking on the responsibility either. I’m certain she helped him with his work, as well as setting up the Children’s Hospital. I realised it was love that gave her true freedom, too.’

‘How do you mean?’

‘The statues,’ said Carys. ‘Ann’s drawings are amazing, but Eden’s ghosts are something else. They are so ambitious, so alive, and so beautiful. So few women in the past ever had the time or the confidence to achieve anything like that. They are the work of someone who has been able to reach their full potential. I think that’s something money could never buy, and the greatest freedom and happiness anyone could find. That’s what I want to find, too.’

David kissed her. ‘I know exactly what you mean.’ He grinned. ‘Now all we’ve got to do is persuade Huw and Rhiannon and work out exactly what we are going to do with Plas Eden.’

Carys smiled. ‘Oh, I think between us we’ll be able to come up with something. We make a pretty invincible team, remember?’

David laughed as he pulled her towards him. ‘You can say that again.’

They stood together in silence for a while, looking down into the ever-flowing waters of the Thames. Then, arm in arm, holding each other close, they made their way through the cheerful jostle of the crowds. Past Big Ben and St James’ Park: making their way towards Buckingham Palace and the green heart of the city.

 ‘It looks just like it used to when you were children and your dad was alive,’ sighed Mair Evans on the morning of Christmas Eve, gazing round at Willow Cottage with the happy gleam of nostalgia in her eyes. ‘You’ve worked miracles, Carys.’

‘Oh, I don’t know about miracles,’ replied Carys, mentally checking off her list of preparations for Gwenan and Nia and their families to descend complete with carols at midnight in Pont-ar-Eden square. ‘As long as it looks festive. And I think we’ve certainly managed that between us.’

Mam smiled. She was looking tired after the exertions of shopping for presents and sorting through the old decorations during the past few weeks, but there was colour in her cheeks and a gleam in her eye. She hadn’t had all her children home together for Christmas in years, and who know when it might happen again. She was going to make the most of it.

Willow Cottage shone clean and sparkling in the cold, clear sunlight. In order to keep Mam from taking over the broom and the mop and wearing herself out completely, Carys had kept her firmly supplied with holly and mistletoe, brought over in large armfuls from the Eden estate, defying each knowing glance as she made her way down Pont-ar-Eden high street.

Mair Evans had once been famous in Pont-ar-Eden for her winter wreaths. It was a pleasure to see her getting back into the swing of things, binding sprigs of red berries and milky mistletoe into glossy circles that adorned the front door and the kitchen. Longer swags of greenery dotted with tiny white rice-lights wound around the banisters in the hallway and over the paintings in the sitting room.

For the past few years, Mam had brought out the old faithful artificial Christmas tree, but a few days ago Carys had given in to the temptation of the largest fir leaning outside the grocery shop, and returned with Sara Jones’ husband Alun clutching the other end, clearly delighted that someone other than Rhiannon at Plas Eden was going overboard this Christmas.

The tree now took up one corner of the sitting room from floor to ceiling, sending the cut-pine scent oozing through the house, between the richness of freshly cooked mince pies and the burnt-wax smell of the fat red advent candles nestled happily amongst Mam’s tour de force of berries and prickly leaves.

Carys made room for the last of the Christmas cards on the crowded mantelpiece and stood back to admire her handiwork. ‘Tea?’

‘That sounds good,’ said Mam, who had the look of one who needed a good sit down and a nap before her family could arrive.

‘Then I suppose we’d better get changed.’ Carys peered out into the slant of morning sun that was sending the mountains into sharp relief against a pale blue sky. ‘I know they were talking about a white Christmas this year, but it doesn’t look like it at the moment.’

Mam joined her. ‘It’ll snow,’ she said. ‘Look, there are clouds gathering over Moel Eden already. Those look like snow clouds to me.’

‘Maybe,’ said Carys, not entirely convinced.

‘They are. You mark my words. Besides, you can smell it on the air.’

‘I didn’t know you could smell snow.’

‘Of course you can,’ replied Mam, smiling. She tucked her arm through Carys’. ‘It’s been good having you here,’ she said. ‘You’ve been wonderful,
cariad
.’

‘I’ve enjoyed it.’ Carys watched her anxiously. ‘And I’m not going anywhere, Mam. Even when I move into Eden Farm, I’ll still be popping in to see you, and I won’t be far away. You know you can call on me, whenever you need me.’

‘Now stop fussing. I’ll be fine. You know you’re going to have your work cut out getting a business started in Pont-ar-Eden.’ Mam sighed. ‘That’s my only regret, you know. That your dad didn’t live to see you bringing that old walled garden back to life.’

‘If I can,’ muttered Carys. Thank heaven for the mild autumn, but even with the help of the growing number of allotment holders, clearing the walled garden of weeds ready for the spring planting was proving a mammoth task. But she was determined to do it without recourse to too much machinery, rediscovering in each corner the evidence of fruit and vegetable beds left by her ancestors. After all, they were the ones who knew how best to use every patch of ground to its most productive potential.

And then there was the small matter of Plas Eden…

‘You’ll make it,
cariad
,’ Mam was saying. ‘If anyone can, you can. I never worried about you, you know.’

‘You don’t need to worry about me, Mam,’ smiled Carys.

‘No.’ Mam was thoughtful. ‘You know, nothing ever quite prepares you for being a mother. You try to be fair, and do your best. But sometimes the whole experience is so overwhelming, it’s just survival that takes over.’

‘You were a brilliant mother,’ said Carys stoutly.

‘Thank you, darling. It’s very sweet of you to say so. But I’m afraid I was not always fair.’

‘Mam…’

‘No, listen
cariad
. Nia was always so clinging, and Gwenan … well Gwenan was always a bit of a handful, if I’m honest. Always so set on getting her own way. I never knew quite how to deal with her. I was such a dreamer when I was a girl; I never thought what it would be like to be grown up. And, well it wasn’t anything you really talked about, in those days. Then it happened so fast, once I met your dad. I think maybe I was still in shock for half of my life. And you were always the one that was so quiet. So sensible.’ With her free hand, she was adjusting the set of a bunch of holly on the windowsill. ‘I should have known. When I used to help with the children’s reading at Pont-ar-Eden Primary, it was always the quiet ones that were overlooked. You noticed the very good and the very naughty. But sometimes, it seems to me, it’s the ones in the middle, who simply get on with things and don’t demand your attention, who are the ones who may need the most, after all.’

‘You’re my mam, and I wouldn’t have you any other way,’ said Carys, kissing her mother.

Mair smiled. ‘Dear me,’ she said, feeling in her pocket for a tissue, ‘we haven’t half finished, and those girls will be here any moment.’

‘They’re going to meet at the hotel first,’ replied Carys. ‘Gwenan’s arranged for them all to have lunch there, and then come on here for the evening.’

‘What were they thinking of?’ said Mair, who had entirely forgotten this arrangement in the flurry of preparations. ‘There’s no need for that. We’ve plenty of food here.’

‘Gwenan thought it might be easier if they all got themselves settled first,’ said Carys. ‘And, anyhow,’ she added with an affectionate smile, ‘we all want to make the most of you for the next few days, and we don’t want to tire you out straight away. Where would the fun be in that?’

‘Nonsense. I’m not in the least tired,’ stated Mam, who was by now heading for the nearest chair, hardly able to keep her eyes open.

‘I’ll make that tea.’ Carys slipped out into the hallway so that Mam didn’t have to fight the doze that was rapidly overcoming her.

As she reached the kitchen, the telephone rang. Carys grabbed it hastily, cutting off the summoning peal before it could disturb Mam.

‘Nia hasn’t got here yet,’ came Gwenan’s voice, tired and decidedly in full night-before-Christmas stress. A cacophony of squabbling teenagers erupted in the background. ‘Her mobile’s switched off. We’ve got lunch booked in half an hour.’

Carys took a deep breath. ‘They’ll be there,’ she said, soothingly. ‘I expect the traffic from Birmingham is really busy. You know what the reception is like once you get near the mountains. They’re probably just going through a bad spot…’ She jumped as the mobile in her pocket bleeped and vibrated. ‘Just a minute, Gwenan. I think this could be Nia now.’

‘I keep on getting ‘missed call’ from Gwenan on my mobile,’ wailed Nia’s voice, though a crackle of breaking signal and a background of Sam and the children halfway through ‘Silent Night’. ‘Tell her we’ll be there as soon as we can. Sam forgot his toothbrush, so we called in Talarn first.’

‘I’m sure they’d have had toothbrushes in Pont-ar-Eden,’ came Sam’s voice, over a mildly hysterical ‘our Sav-ior is
boorn
’ from William and Alexandra in the back seat.

‘Not electric ones, and you know they are much better for your gums,’ said Nia.

‘Chri-ist our Sav-iour is born,’ roared out Sam, in reply.

Carys stifled a giggle. ‘Look, don’t worry about it, Nia. I’ll let Gwenan know. She can always put back the lunch booking if need be.’ Nia mollified, Carys turned her attention back to the landline. ‘They’re nearly there, Gwenan. They’re just on their way back from Talarn. Something about last minute Christmas presents,’ she lied blithely.

‘Nia is always so disorganised,’ sighed Gwenan.

At a padding of footsteps behind her, Carys turned to find Mam back on full alert, watching her with an anxious expression, and clearly with motorway pile-ups and suddenly collapsing bridges looming large in her mind.

‘It’s fine,’ she mouthed silently, before turning her attention back to her elder sister. ‘Look, Gwenan, why don’t you see if you can arrange for lunch to be put back a bit. I’m sure they won’t mind if you let them know now. After all, they know you’re both coming quite a distance, and traffic is always bad on Christmas Eve, so it can’t be entirely unexpected. That way, you can all get unpacked and have a relaxing drink before you eat. We’re not going to have a meal until late here, anyway.’

‘Okay.’ The stress eased a little in Gwenan’s voice. ‘If that’s okay with Mam, of course.’

‘Mam’s saying yes,’ replied Carys, smiling at her mother, who was shaking her head in mild exasperation.

‘Okay. I’ll talk to them.’ Gwenan’s voice sharpened. ‘And what are all those cameras doing at Plas Eden?’

‘Cameras?’

‘A full film crew,’ said Gwenan. ‘They were heading into the woods where the statues are. The van said ‘BBC Wales’ on the side.’

‘Oh, right,’ said Carys. ‘Long story. They must be wanting to get some pictures of Plas Eden before the work starts. They’re going to be following David over the next year. It’s turned out to be quite an exciting project, especially the statues. We’ll tell you all about it over supper.’

Gwenan suitably intrigued, Carys placed the phone back in its receiver. Her eyes met those of Mam’s. ‘It seems they’ve started filming already.’

‘Well, then let’s hope it snows for them,’ said Mam. ‘Plas Eden always did look like a picture postcard in the snow.’

‘Mmm,’ replied Carys. A sudden feeling of sadness had overcome her. ‘I can’t imagine Plas Eden without Rhiannon next year. It won’t be quite the same, will it?’

‘But at least Plas Eden will be there,’ said Mam. ‘Even if she doesn’t live there any more, Rhiannon will be back to visit. I know she’s looking forward to it, and this thing in America is a marvellous opportunity for her, but I’ve got a feeling there’s part of Rhiannon that will stay in Plas Eden forever. And that, in the end, is what counts.’

‘Like Nainie’s mother, and Grandmother Judith, and all those people from Pont-ar-Eden.’

‘Exactly,’ said Mam. ‘I think it’s wonderful. And so clever of you to spot it.’

‘I didn’t really,’ smiled Carys. ‘It was you and everyone at the Boadicea going through all those old photographs and finding out about all the people in them. Without that, I’d never have made the connection. And anyhow, it was you and Dad who took me to that exhibition of Julia Margaret Cameron’s photographs when I was a kid. That’s what was niggling at me, the moment I saw the old photographs of Plas Eden. I should have known.’

‘You mean because Julia Margaret Cameron used her domestic servants as models for her photographs?’

‘Yes. I wonder if that’s what gave Nainie’s mother the idea to use the people of Pont-ar-Eden as models for her statues?’ She frowned, searching her mind. ‘And I suppose Granddad’s photographs of the ordinary people around him, as well. Except I have a feeling it was more than that. When I look at the statues now, it feels as if she just simply loved human beings, in all their strengths and their weaknesses. And I suppose the story of a life you can see in a face.’

‘My argument for not having Botox, any day,’ said Mam, brightly.

Carys laughed. ‘Me too.’

‘And maybe it was Pont-ar-Eden,’ said Mam.

‘Pont-ar-Eden?’

‘Yes. You know, I’m sure both those women were happy here. Nainie’s mother creating the statues, your grandmother creating the garden for them. Both of them doing what they loved, and with husbands and children, and a community that accepted them for what they were, not for some idea of what they ought to be. I think Nainie’s mother created those statues out of love, not just for her husband and her children, but the people in the village, too. It’s like I’ve always said,
cariad
:
Pont-ar
-Eden isn’t such a bad place to live, after all.’

‘Yes, Mam.’

Behind them the kettle boiled.

‘Perhaps we should make that a sherry,’ said Mam. ‘It is Christmas, after all. Although I’m sure you’d prefer a glass of red wine.’

Carys smiled. ‘Well, maybe. But I know you like sherry.’ She peered out of the window. ‘I think you’re right, Mam. Those clouds are thickening over the mountains. Looks like it might snow, after all.’