CHAPTER SIX

The weekend keeps me busy enough that I don't have time to dwell on any mysteries—real or otherwise. There are nine children on the estate ranging in age from three to eight years old. It takes all of my energy to keep up with them, and since they are in school the other four days of the week, they aren't interested in lessons. I do love children, especially those still small enough to believe that all of life is beautiful and bad things only happen in movies, so I don't dislike the work, but it is work.

In any case, I'm grateful for it because when Monday arrives, I am sufficiently removed from the events of the prior week to leave them in the background of my mind. I feel a somewhat inflated sense of pride at that, as though I have gained some triumph by keeping my nose out of the Greenwood family's business.

Well, it is an accomplishment for me. I have a track record of sticking my face where it doesn't belong, and I really do hope to avoid the urge to do the same here.

When my chores are done for the day, I explore the Glens, the nine-hundred-acre oak forest that comprises the bulk of the estate. The Glens are less flamboyant than the gardens, since they are dominated by one species, but they are peaceful. The spreading canopy shields me from the harshest of the sun's rays, and the scent that fills the air isn't cloyingly sweet or fragrant but hearty and earthy and as close to natural as a manicured landscape can be. Even the birds here seem calmer, as though taking advantage of the shade to engage in gentle conversation rather than their typical enthusiastic chorus.

This peace, as is unfortunately the case more often than not with me, is short-lived. I hear footsteps approaching from the right, and when I turn toward the sound, I see a man in a polo shirt and khakis over stained work boots approaching.

He stops when he sees me and says, "Oh. I'm sorry. I didn't expect anyone to be here. The family is usually all working, and the servants tend to stay in the house."

I take a quick measure of the man. He is tall, perhaps six-foot-one or -two, and handsome in a rugged sort of way with dark curly hair, gentle brown eyes and a rough stubble on his chin. He's in his early thirties, which sadly makes him too young for me, but just because I can't order doesn't mean I can't peruse the menu. I smile at him and say, "No need to apologize. Unless, of course, you're going to tell me you're a thief hoping to rob the estate."

He laughs, a hearty sound that has no doubt won him many a heart among the younger women of Savannah. "No, definitely not. I'm Nathaniel Pierce, the gardener."

He extends a hand, and I am not too proud to say I blush when I take it. I've grown accustomed to the life of a spinster, but there are moments when I wonder what could have been.

Ah well. Life had different plans for me.

"So you're the one I have to thank for those lovely gardens."

He brightens, lending a boyish quality to his expression that only makes him more handsome. "You like them?"

"I do. They're lovely. I particularly like how you used hedges and vines to give a sense of separation from the modern world and also to make the gardens appear even larger."

He grins. "Yeah, I really wanted to pull people away from the architecture. Not that the buildings here aren't beautiful, but there's a purity to nature that architecture just can't match. I guess that's a little hypocritical. It's not like I don't alter the natural appearance of things. You won't find a sunburst pattern of flowers in orderly rows in a meadow, after all."

"No, I suppose not," I reply, "but it's gorgeous, nonetheless. And it does pull one away from the human side of things. I've always believed that one should try to escape the walls of civilization as often as possible. It's claustrophobic to be stuck inside of the memories of the dead."

I realize what I've just said and blush furiously. "I don't know why I said that. I suppose these lovely woods have me feeling romantic and maybe a touch melancholy."

"There's no need to apologize," he says with another charming smile. "I actually like the way you said that. Stuck inside the memories of the dead: that's what these old estates are, isn't it? Just a home for ghosts. It's nice to be able to take some of that and focus on life rather than death."

I think of Elizabeth in her secret garden the week before. She claimed she was simply acting out a passage from a book, but I'm not a fool. She had no book with her when I met her, and no matter how fanciful our imaginations, women in their fifties don't sneak off to play pretend.

Could she have been talking to ghosts?

A memory from the Carlton job comes to mind. The young boy under my care, Lucas, catches me staring at a portrait of a young woman who went missing on their estate the year prior to my arrival. He informs me in a blood-chilling way that the young woman is still present on their estate.

She hides in the walls. If you stare at her for too long, she'll haunt you too.

He was right, of course. Sure, there was no literal specter hiding in the timbers of the Carlton house, but the memory of Minerva Montclair hung over the estate like a fog over the moors. I stared at her for too long, and she haunted me until I brought her killers to justice.

I wonder who haunts Elizabeth Greenwood?

"I quite liked the secret garden as well."

His brow furrows. "Secret garden? What do you mean?"

"With the geraniums. The purple ones."

He cocks his head. "I'm not sure what that is."

"Behind the iron gate. The wrought iron one overgrown with ivy."

His smile fades a little, and I notice a slight tension in his shoulders. He's uncomfortable with this. Why?

"I don't think I'm aware of that part of the garden," he says. "Some of the family members cultivate little plots set aside from the main landscaping. Perhaps you found one of those."

His tone is stiff now, formal, where before it was easygoing and cheerful. What have I asked him to make him so anxious?

"Yes, it was," I agree. "Elizabeth's, in fact. I found her there. She says she goes there to act out scenes from her storybooks."

"It's a little rude of you to intrude on the mistress of the house, isn't it?"

I'm taken aback by his reproof, and to be honest, a little offended. "I was invited to join her," I tell him, "I would never intrude upon anyone."

He sighs and purses his lips. His shoulders are stiff as boards now. "All right. I apologize."

"Why are you suddenly so upset?" I challenge. "I only meant to compliment you. If you didn't plant the geranium garden, that's all right, but there's no need to be rude to me."

He lifts his hands placatingly. "You're right. I'm sorry. I just…"

He looks around as though checking to see if anyone's eavesdropping. When he looks back at me, he even steps closer and lowers his voice. "I don't know anything about any secret gardens anywhere on the estate. And you should forget about whatever it is you think you saw."

The pull returns again, stronger than ever. There is a secret here. There are ghosts on this estate, and Elizabeth Greenwood was communing with them.

Nathaniel leaves without waiting for a response from me. I watch him walk away until he disappears among the Glens. He doesn't look back once.

This isn't the first time a gardener has warned me against prying into a family's secrets. At the Carlton Estate, their gardener, Niall, warns me that digging up dirt on a family like the Carlton's is an easy way to get myself killed.

Nathaniel's warning isn't as blunt as Niall's, but there's no mistaking the subtext. It's not healthy for me to pry into this family's past.

But now that I know this family has a secret, one dark enough that it frightens Nathaniel into willful ignorance, the pull is too strong for me to ignore. I must know what ghosts Elizabeth communed with in her secret garden. Maybe I'm only avoiding the ghosts that haunt my own past, but whether I'm searching for answers to this new mystery or avoiding answers to the old, I know that I can't simply turn my back on the situation the way Nathaniel has.

Once more, I am locked into a path that leads into the mist. The only way out is to follow it to the end.