The Wonderful Garden or The Three Cs

Caroline ascertained that yew meant life; but Charles was considered to have made the hit of the afternoon by his discovery that Jacob’s ladder meant ‘come down,’ which was, of course, exactly what they wanted the lady to do.

The gardener knew what Jacob’s ladder was, though the children did not; and their fear that it might be a dull shrub with invisible flowers was dispelled when they beheld its blue brightness.

‘We ought to wear coronilla ourselves,’ said Caroline – ‘a new piece every day. It means “success attend your wishes.”’ But the gardener had not heard of coronilla. ‘The book says it’s “a flowering shrub of the pea family,”’ Caroline read from the Language Of, which, as usual, she had been carrying under her arm, ‘“with small pinnate leaves” – whatever they are. “An elegant bush with reddish-brown blossoms when first expanded, varying to yellow at a later period of their graceful existence.”’

‘Oh, that!’ said the gardener, ‘that’ll be scorpion’s senna. That’s what that be. Something to do with the shape of the stars in the sky. Old women sells it for a charm for shy sweethearts.’

‘In our book it says, “Success crown your wishes.”’

‘Just so,’ said the gardener, ‘and she names the day. That’s it, along there.’

The garlands looked very handsome and the wreaths very beautiful. It was Caroline who made this distinction. And their dark foliage and the bright pink and blue and yellow of their flowers showed charmingly against the green curtain.

‘And now,’ said Caroline, ‘we’ve just got to wait, and Charlotte and I must stick to our glove and handkerchief cases if they’re going to be ready to go in time for mother’s birthday. And, Charles, if I were you, I should get Mr. Penfold to show you chip-carving like he offered to, and do a box for her. And we mustn’t forget that we’re not to look behind the curtain.’

‘I shan’t forget that,’ said Charlotte. ‘What I should like to forget’s my head. It feels twice its proper size.’

‘I’ve got a headache too,’ said Caroline. ‘I expect it’s the sun.’

‘If it was the sun, mine would ache too,’ said Charles, ‘but with me it’s the nose. I’ve had four hankies since breakfast; and one of those was the Wilmington’s.’

‘Well, let’s go and get on with our embroidery. All my silks are frightfully tangled.’

They were not disentangled that day. The headaches were worse. I will not dwell on the development of the catastrophe. The doctor put it in a few brief, well-chosen words the next day:

‘The girls have got measles right enough, and the boy hasn’t yet.’

CHAPTER XXIII

THE END

You see the tragedy? Measles, with Lord Andore’s party and Rupert’s return both fixed for the week after next. No words of mine could do justice to the feelings of the three C.’s. I think, perhaps, on the whole, it was worse for Charles, who was suspected throughout of impending measles, of which he was wholly innocent, his cold being only a rather violent example of the everyday kind. He was kept out of draughts and taken for walks by Mrs. Wilmington and not allowed to bathe, and he became bored beyond description. Really the girls were better off in bed, with a brightening vista of jelly, beef tea, fish, chicken, leading to natural beef and pudding and getting up to breakfast.

When the three were reunited it was the very day of Lord Andore’s party, and of course they were not allowed to go, ‘for fear of chills.’ Charles, after tea had been taken away, shut the dining-room door carefully and said:

‘I’ve got something to confess.’

‘Well?’ said the others, as he stopped short, and displayed no intention of ever going on.

‘I don’t suppose you’ll ever care to speak to me again when I’ve told you.’

‘Don’t be a copy-cat,’ said Charlotte sharply. ‘If you’ve done anything really, say so. You know we’ll stand by you,’ she added more kindly.

‘Well, then,’ said Charles, ‘I’m very sorry; and I do hope it hasn’t spoiled the whole show; but you don’t know how fed up I was with being alone, and the Wilmington fussing, and the Uncle never out of his books for more than a minute at a time. And I did it one day when I felt I couldn’t bear anything another minute.’

‘Did what, dear?’ said Caroline, trying to be patient.

‘Looked behind the curtain,’ said Charles miserably.

‘I knew you would,’ said Charlotte; ‘at least I mean I should have known if I’d thought of it. It’s exactly like you, and I’ll never do any magic with you again.’

‘Oh yes,’ said Charles, ‘rub it in.’

‘I expect it has spoiled it all,’ said Caroline. ‘Oh, Charles, how could you?’

‘I’m much more sorry than you are,’ said Charles wretchedly, ‘because the magic had begun. She’d gone out of the frame.’

‘Gone!’ said the girls together.

‘Quite gone. It was all black behind the curtain. She wasn’t there.’

‘Are you sure?’

‘Certain sure.’

Both girls sprang towards the curtain, and both stopped short as Charles hastily grabbed an arm of each.

‘Don’t!’ he said; ‘you wait. I’ve thought about it a lot. I haven’t had anything else to do, you know.’

‘Poor old Charles!’ said Charlotte. ‘I’m sorry I scratched, but it is aggravating, now isn’t it?’

‘Not for you it isn’t,’ said Charles. ‘You haven’t looked behind the curtain. You haven’t broken your part of the magic. It’s all right for you. You’ll see her right enough. It’s me that won’t. You’re all right.’

‘But I expect your looking broke the spell and she’s back again,’ said Caroline, reaching out a hand to the curtain.

‘Don’t!’ shrieked Charles, ‘the spell didn’t break. It went on. Because I looked again to see if it had. And she wasn’t there.’

‘How often have you looked?’ Caroline asked severely.

‘Every day since,’ said Charles in a low voice.

‘And when did you look first?’

‘The day you went to bed,’ said Charles in a still lower voice. ‘She wasn’t there then, and she isn’t there now. Oh, don’t rag me about it. I shan’t see her. That’s jolly well enough, I should think, without you going on at me.’

‘We won’t,’ said Caroline heroically, and turned her back on the picture. ‘But you won’t look again, will you, Charles?’

‘I shan’t want to, now you’ve come back,’ he said. And this compliment quite melted the hearts of his sisters. Nothing more was said of Charles’s unjustifiable indiscretion.

The next day the Uncle asked Caroline if she and Charlotte would care to dust the drawing-room.

‘Mrs. Wilmington’s going to Lord Andore’s fête,’ he said, ‘and she is very busy.’

Mrs. Wilmington gave them the key and they dusted with earnest care and thoroughness. Charles tried to help, but he was not an expert performer with the duster. More to his mind was the watching of the mandarin’s old slow nod, his painted smile, his crossed china hands.

‘Oh, to think that the Wilmington’s going, and the Mineral woman, and Rupert, and everybody but us,’ wailed Charlotte.

‘Never mind,’ said Caroline; ‘there’s the Flower of Heart’s Desire to look forward to, and Rupert coming back. And think of all the grapes Lord Andore sent us, and the chocks from Mr. Alphabet.’