The Forgotten Garden (13 page)

‘Could we not journey there?’

‘Alas,’ said the crone, ‘the way is far, and the road
paved with danger and deprivation.’

By and by, the seasons changed, and the crone
became weaker and paler. One day, when the princess
was on her way to pick apples for the winter store, she
came upon the crone, sitting in the fork of the apple tree,
lamenting. The princess stopped, startled, for she had
never seen the crone upset. As she listened, she realised
that the crone was speaking to a solemn grey and white
bird with a striped tail: ‘My eyes, my eyes,’ she said. ‘My
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end approaches and my sight will never be restored. Tell
me, wise bird, how will I know my way in the next world
if I cannot see myself?’

Quickly and quietly, the princess returned to the
cottage, for she knew what she must do. The crone had
sacrificed her eyes to provide the princess shelter and
now must this kindness be repaid. Although she had
never travelled beyond the forest rim, the princess did not
hesitate. Her love for the crone was so fathomless that if
all the grains of sand in the ocean should be stacked up
end to end, they would not run so deep.

The princess woke with the first dawn of morning
and wandered forth into the forest, stopping not until she
reached the shore. There she set sail, crossing the vast sea
to the land of lost things.

The way was long and hard, and the princess was
bewildered, for the forest in the land of lost things looked
vastly different from that to which she was accustomed.

The trees were cruel and jagged, the beasts ghastly, even
the birds’ songs made the princess tremble. The more
frightened she became, the faster she ran, until finally she
stopped, her heart thundering in her chest. The princess
was lost and knew not where to turn. She was about to
despair, when the solemn grey and white bird appeared
before her. ‘I am sent by the crone,’ said the bird, ‘to lead
you safely to the well of lost things where you will find
your fate.’

The princess was much relieved and set off after the
bird, her stomach grumbling for she had been unable
to find food in this strange land. By and by, she came
upon an old woman sitting on a fallen log. ‘How fare you,
Beauty?’ said the old woman.

‘I am so hungry,’ said the princess, ‘yet I know not
where to seek food.’

The old woman pointed to the forest and suddenly
the princess saw that there were berries hanging from
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the trees, and nuts growing in clusters on the ends of
branches.

‘Oh thank you, kind woman,’ said the princess.

‘I did nothing,’ said the old woman, ‘except to open
your eyes and show you what you knew was there.’

The princess continued after the bird, more satisfied
now, but as they went the weather began to change and
the winds grew cold.

By and by, the princess came upon a second old
woman sitting on a tree stump. ‘How fare you, Beauty?’

‘I am so cold, yet I know not where to seek warm
clothes.’

The old woman pointed to the forest, and suddenly
the princess saw brambles of wild roses with the softest,
most delicate petals. She coated herself with them and
was much warmer.

‘Oh thank you, kind woman,’ said the princess.

‘I did nothing,’ said the old woman, ‘except to open
your eyes and show you what you knew was there.’

The princess continued after the grey and white bird,
more satisfied now, and warmer than before, but her feet
began to ache for she had walked so far.

By and by, the princess came upon a third old woman
sitting on a tree stump. ‘How fare you, Beauty?’

‘I am so tired, yet I know not where to seek carriage.’

The old woman pointed to the forest, and suddenly,
in a clearing, the princess saw a shiny brown fawn with
a gold ring around his neck. The fawn blinked at the
princess, a dark, thoughtful eye, and the princess, who
was kind of heart, held out her hand. The fawn came to
her and bowed his head so she might ride upon his back.

‘Oh thank you, kind woman,’ said the princess.

‘I did nothing,’ said the woman, ‘except to open your
eyes and show you what you knew was there.’

The princess and the fawn followed the grey and
white bird further and further into the dark forest, and as
days passed the princess came to understand the fawn’s
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soft and gentle language. As they spoke, night after night,
the princess learned that the fawn was in hiding from a
treacherous hunter sent to kill him by a wicked witch. So
grateful was the princess for the fawn’s kindness, that she
undertook to keep him safe from his tormentors.

Good intentions pave the way to ruin, however, and
early next morning the princess woke to find the fawn
absent from his usual place by the fire. In the tree above,
the grey and white bird twittered in agitation, and the
princess jumped quickly to her feet, following where the
bird led. As she drew deeper into the nearby brambles,
she heard the fawn weeping. The princess hurried to his
side and saw there an arrow in his flank.

‘The witch hath found me,’ spoke the fawn. ‘As I
collected nuts for our journey she ordered her archers to
shoot me. I ran as far and as fast as I could, but when I
reached this spot I could go no further.’

The princess knelt by the fawn and so great was her
distress at witnessing his pain that she began to weep over
his body, and the truth and light from her tears caused his
wound to heal.

Over the next days the princess tended the fawn, and
once his health was restored they continued their journey
to the edge of the vast woods. When they broke finally
through the rim of trees, the coastline lay before them
and the glistening sea beyond.

‘Not much further north,’ said the bird, ‘stands the
well of lost things.’

Day had ended and dusk thickened into night, but the
shingles of the beach shone like pieces of silver in the
moonlight, marking their way. They walked north until
finally, at the top of a craggy black rock, could be seen
the well of lost things. The grey and white bird bid them
farewell and flew away, her duty discharged.

When the princess and the fawn reached the well, the
princess turned to stroke her noble companion’s neck. ‘You
cannot come with me down the well, dear fawn,’ she said,
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‘for this must I do alone.’ And summoning up the bravery
she had discovered on her journey, the princess jumped
into the opening, and fell and fell towards the bottom.

The princess tumbled in and out of sleep and dreams
until she found herself walking in a field where the sun
made the grass glimmer and the trees sing.

Suddenly, as if from nowhere, a beautiful fairy
appeared, with long, swirling hair that glistened like spun
gold and a radiant smile upon her face. The princess felt
instantly at peace.

‘You have come a long way, weary traveller,’ said
the fairy.

‘I have come that I might return to a dear friend
her eyes. Have you seen the globes of which I speak,
bright fairy?’

Without a word, the fairy opened her hand and in it
were two eyes, the beautiful eyes of a maiden who had
seen no ill in the world.

‘You may take them,’ said the fairy, ‘but your crone
will never use them.’

And before the princess could ask what the fairy
meant, she woke to discover she was lying by her dear
fawn at the top of the well. In her hands was a small
wrapped parcel in which lay the crone’s eyes.

For three months, the travellers journeyed back
across the land of lost things, and over the deep blue sea,
to arrive once more in the princess’s home land. When
they drew near to the crone’s cottage, on the edge of
the dark, familiar wood, a huntsman stopped them and
confirmed the fairy’s prediction. While the princess had
been travelling in the land of lost things, the crone had
passed peacefully to the next world.

At this news, the princess began to weep, for her long
journey had been in vain, but the fawn, who was as wise
as he was good, told his Beauty to stop crying. ‘It matters
not, for she did not need her eyes to tell her who she was.

She knew it by your love for her.’

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And the princess was so grateful for the fawn’s kindness
that she reached out and stroked his warm cheek. Just
then, the fawn was changed into a handsome prince, and
his golden ring became a crown, and he told the princess
how a wicked witch had put a spell on him, trapping him
in the body of a fawn until a fair maiden might love him
enough to weep over his fate.

He and the princess were betrothed and lived together
happily and busily evermore in the crone’s little cottage,
her eyes watching over them eternally from a jar atop the
fireplace.

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13

London, 1975

London, England, 1975

He was a scribble of a man. Frail and fine and stooped from a knot in the centre of his knobbled back. Beige slacks with grease spots clung to the marbles of his knees, twig-like ankles rose stoically from oversized shoes, and tufts of white floss sprouted from various fertile spots on an otherwise smooth scalp. He looked like a character from a children’s story. A fairy story.

Nell pulled herself away from the window and studied again the address in her notebook. There it was, printed in her own unsightly hand: Mr Snelgrove’s Antiquarian Bookshop, No. 4 Cecil Court, off Charing Cross Road—London’s foremost expert on fairytale writers and old books in general. Might know about Eliza?

The librarians at the Central Reference Library had given her his name and address the day before. They’d been unable to rummage up any information on Eliza Makepeace that Nell hadn’t already found, but had told her that if there was anyone who could help her further with her search, it was Mr Snelgrove. Not the most sociable of fellows, that much was certain, but he knew more about old books than anyone else in London. He was as old as time itself, one of the younger librarians joked, and had probably read the book of fairytales when it was hot off the press.

A cool breeze brushed against her bare neck and Nell gathered her coat tight about her shoulders. With a deep, clear breath of purpose, she pushed open the door.

A brass bell tinkled in the doorjamb and the old man turned to look at her. Thick spectacle lenses caught the light, shone like two 93

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K a t e M o r t o n

round mirrors, and impossibly large ears balanced on the sides of his head, white hair colonising them from within.