Suspicion

  As Dad chats animatedly with Grandfather, Uncle Charles, and Aunt Philippa, Mum pulls me onto her lap and begins rebraiding my unruly blond hair. I’m looking around for Lucia, wondering where she disappeared to, when I notice the twinkle in Mum’s eyes and the knowing smile on her lips.

  “The Stanhopes are here,” she says in my ear.

  I draw in a sharp breath, quickly hopping off Mum’s lap before Sebastian can find me in such a babyish position. It’s bad enough that I’m a mere ten years old when he’s almost a teenager—I have to at least act grown-up.

  The grass clings to my bare feet as I stand smiling, watching Sebastian Stanhope follow his younger brother, Theo, and their parents, the Earl and Countess Stanhope, through the gate and into the garden.

  Sebastian’s family lives at Stanhope Abbey in the nearby town of Great Milton, and they’ve been close friends of the Rockfords since before my parents were even born. “It’s an inherited friendship,” Dad once joked. “Two great families drawn together, for better or worse, by nothing more than proximity and influence.” To me, the Stanhopes are far more than that. Especially Sebastian.

  While the boys at my school in New York pay zero attention to me, Sebastian has been my friend for as long as I can remember. He held on to me so I wouldn’t fall the first time I rode a bike, and every summer he’s included me in his games and laughs. I feel a thrill whenever he pulls up a seat beside me, full of questions about my life in America and always calling me by the nickname he gave me, the name that only he is allowed to use: Ginny. Sebastian is different from any other boy I know; he’s like a splash of color on a dull landscape. Maybe that’s why he’s the only boy I’ve ever wanted to know.

  Just as I realize I’m staring a little too openly, Sebastian catches my eye and grins. I’m about to run over to him, when I see a lithe blond figure darting through the trees in his direction. Lucia.

  Lucia beams at Sebastian as they greet each other, and she looks prettier than I’ve ever seen her. His smile softens, his expression turning suddenly shy. Their eyes rest on each other a moment too long, neither of them making a move to turn away—and I feel a slightly sickening twinge in my stomach. Has something changed since my last visit?

  I can remember perfectly Lucia’s words from last summer: “He’ll be an earl when he grows up, and his parents are good friends with mine—but other than that, he’s just a silly boy like all the rest.”

  This summer’s Lucia seems to be singing an entirely different tune. She boldly takes Sebastian’s hand, leading him to sit beside her on the outskirts of our picnic circle. My mouth falls open at the sight of them.

  “Jolly good to see you, Imogen!”

  I manage to tear my eyes away from Sebastian and Lucia to find his younger brother, Theo—the boy with the perpetually runny nose—standing before me. I give him a reluctant smile before greeting his parents the way I’ve been taught.

  “Good afternoon, Lord and Lady Stanhope. How do you do?”

  “Just fine, thank you, darling Imogen,” Lady Stanhope coos. “And how are you? I say, you’ve grown up quite a bit since we saw you last.”

  “Really?” This perks me up slightly. “I sure hope so.”

  As the Stanhopes move on to greet the rest of the group, I sink back into the grass, and Theo plops down beside me. Mum hands us a plate of pastries to choose from, and I absently nibble on a blueberry scone while watching Lucia and Sebastian sit close together, the two of them flipping through one of his comic books. I know for a fact that Lucia doesn’t even like comics, but today she appears engrossed in Sebastian’s latest copy of Iron Man. What happened to the cousin I knew?

  Before I can get caught staring again, Oscar interrupts Lucia and Sebastian’s cozy moment and drags them over to me and Theo.

  “How would the four of you like to plant the Shadow Garden’s newest flowers?” he offers. “Max wants to show you how it’s done.”

  “Let me guess,” Lucia says, rolling her eyes. “Dad asked you to get us out of the way so he can drink and embarrass himself again. I’m right, aren’t I, Oscar?” She laughs bitterly.

  “Drink what?” I ask, confused by her strange outburst. But before anyone can answer me, Oscar shoots Lucia a stern look.

  “We’ll have no more of that smart mouth of yours, Lady Lucia. You know better than to speak about your father that way.” He clears his throat. “Now, Max was kind enough to plan a fun activity for you children, and I hope you’ll show him your appreciation by being polite.”

  With an emphatic sniff, Oscar leads the way to the flower beds on the other side of the garden. Apart from Lucia’s parents and our grandfather, Oscar seems to be the only person allowed to give her a talking-to, and I’m always surprised when my willful cousin actually listens to him. But although she falls silent and follows Oscar along with the rest of us, her face settles into a frown. When a fly innocently whirs past, she catches it in her fist and squashes it in her hand, before carelessly tossing its corpse onto the grass. I shudder, looking away. I wonder if Sebastian noticed, if he even cared—or if I’m the only person in the world who could feel anything for a dead fly.

  Max, the scruffy, middle-aged gardener, waits for us by a patch of empty flower beds. He hands us each a small bucket of water, a shovel, and bag of seeds as we form a line in front of the soil. I find myself standing beside Sebastian, and I feel my cheeks redden.

  “Today we’re planting the lovely bell-shaped flowers known as Canterbury bells,” Max announces. “I’m afraid they take at least a year to bloom, but that means you have something exciting to return to next summer, Imogen!”

  I try to look as enthusiastic as Max clearly expects me to be.

  “Your first task is to pull out any weeds that you might find in the soil. Then you’ll dig a small hole and pour a bit of water into the dirt. Sprinkle in your seeds, and then pat the dirt over them like so.”

  The four of us follow Max’s instructions, and Lucia begins to sing under her breath as she works, a melancholy song I’ve never heard before.

  “I know dark clouds will gather round me,.

  I know the road is rough and steep.

  But golden fields lie just beyond me,

  Where weary eyes no more will weep. …”

  Running my hands over the dirt, I suddenly feel an unfamiliar, electric charge buzzing through my fingertips. I jump back, hands trembling.

  “Are you all right?” Sebastian asks, his green eyes glancing down at me with concern.

  “Mm-hmm.” I look away in embarrassment before returning to my task, gingerly spreading more dirt over the seeds. The buzzing shoots through my hands once again and my eyes squeeze shut in pain.

  And then I hear Sebastian gasp. I open my eyes as Lucia shouts, “Where did her flower come from? Is this a trick?”

  Bewildered, I glance in front of me—and stifle a scream.

  A glorious Canterbury bell stands in full bloom, where moments ago there were only seeds. Its violet petals are damp from the water I just sprinkled over the dirt, and I gape at the impossible sight in disbelief.

  “That patch was empty,” Max says shakily, rubbing his temples as he stares at it. “I could have sworn there weren’t any flowers there. How did you—you couldn’t have—”

  “You must have missed this one. It was there all along. I saw it when I first walked in,” I lie, my voice coming out louder than I intended.

  Sebastian gives me a sharp look, and my stomach drops. He saw me do it.

  “I know every inch of the gardens. I would never miss a rogue flower like this one.” Max gives me an uncomfortably perceptive look, as if he is probing for my secrets. “What did you do, Imogen?”

  “I didn’t do anything!” I snap. “What could I have done? Flowers don’t appear out of thin air. It was there before.”

  But it wasn’t. I know it wasn’t.

  Max finally seems to accept my explanation, and I release the breath I’ve been holding as he moves out of the way, i
nstructing us to return to our planting. I turn to Sebastian, standing on my tiptoes to whisper in his ear.

  “Whatever you saw—please don’t tell.”

  “I don’t know what I saw,” he whispers back, his face pale. “One minute the flower bed was empty, the next …” He swallows hard. “That thing appeared. How did you do it?”

  “I—I don’t know. I’ve never done it before.” Tears well in my eyes, and I turn away before he can see them. “Please, just promise me you won’t tell anyone.”

  “Ginny,” Sebastian says gently. “It’s okay. I won’t tell, I promise. But you have to promise to tell me if it ever happens again.”

  I nod, hoping with all my might that I’ll never have to. I back away from the flower, which seems to taunt me with the knowledge that something is wrong, that I’m a freak, and I glance back up at Sebastian, wondering if I’ll now see fear written across his face. But to my surprise, though he stares at me as if seeing me for the first time, he doesn’t look afraid at all. How can that be? Still, I know I have to get out of this gardening exercise before I do anything else … unexpected. While Max and Theo seem to have moved on, Lucia keeps eyeing me curiously.

  “I—I have to go tell my mum something,” I say to no one in particular.

  Without waiting for permission, I cross to the other side of the Shadow Garden, returning to the picnic. I find Grandfather napping in his wheelchair under the shade of the trees, while my parents, Aunt Philippa and Uncle Charles, and Lord and Lady Stanhope talk in a huddle, their voices hushed. At the sound of my footsteps, their conversation breaks off.

  “Imogen.” Mum’s voice sounds unnatural, nervous. “Why aren’t you with the other kids?”

  I curl up beside her, hoping my mother’s touch will calm my racing heart and make everything normal again.

  “I decided I don’t like gardening,” I tell her. “I’m no good at it.”

  The rest of the picnic flashes by in a blur. I keep to myself, sitting quietly beside Mum and only half listening to the grown-ups’ chatter, as my mind replays the image of the Canterbury bell blooming out of thin air. A small part of me itches to go back to the flower beds and see if it’s still there, but my terror overrides my curiosity.

  As the sun begins to set, Mrs. Mulgrave and Maisie reappear to clear the remains of our picnic. Mum and Aunt Philippa collect our belongings, while Uncle Charles gently wakes Grandfather, and Lord and Lady Stanhope gather Lucia, Sebastian, and Theo. It’s time to go inside, but where’s Dad? It occurs to me now that I haven’t seen him in over an hour.

  “He went inside ahead of us,” Mum says when I ask her. “The wind was giving him a chill.”

  I wrinkle my nose. Since when is Dad afraid of a little breeze?

  The Stanhopes and Lucia are the first to head out of the garden, followed by Uncle Charles and Aunt Philippa, and Mum pushing Grandfather’s wheelchair. I hang back, the last one out of the gate. I watch the others continue straight on the path toward the house, but I don’t follow—because a quick glance at the Rockford Maze reveals something moving in its hedges.

  I slowly turn to face the Maze, which towers high beside the Shadow Garden. Bordered on all sides by ten-foot-tall pine hedges, the Maze is rumored to be a marvel of a puzzle, filled with treacherous plants and surprises that make it suitable only for “mature children” and adults. I’ve never been inside, but Mum and Dad have promised that I can finally enter when I turn thirteen.

  My breath catches in my throat as an arm snakes through the hedges. A familiar shock of brown hair emerges, and I exhale with relief.

  “Dad! What were you doing in there? Mum said you’d gone inside.”

  He looks taken aback at the sound of my voice, but then he smiles.

  “Imogen, darling. Can you keep a secret?”

  “Of course I can!”

  Dad seems different somehow—his face is redder than usual, his eyes glassy—and I have the fleeting thought that perhaps he’s eaten one too many tea sandwiches.

  “There’s something hidden in the Maze,” he says quietly.

  “Really?” My eyes widen. “Like buried treasure?”

  “Something like that. But you’ll have to be my good little girl and wait,” he cautions. “We can’t go get it, not for a while.”

  I frown, unaccustomed to waiting. Sensing my displeasure, Dad takes my hand.

  “It’s there for when you really need it. You’ll know when that day comes.” He looks at me intently. “If I’m not here to show you … just remember the hydrangeas. When you see them, that means you’re close.”

  I squint up at my father, wondering if he’s gone mad.

  “What do you mean? Why wouldn’t you be able to show me yourself?”

  Dad’s expression turns teasing.

  “Because I’m your awfully important and busy father, that’s why! Come on now, let’s race back to the house.”

  I feel my trepidation start to fade, and I grin as he calls out, “On your mark … get set … go!”

  Two summers ago, Lucia convinced our parents to let us have a slumber party in the Rockford boathouse—as close as we could get to sleeping under the stars while still being sheltered from the unpredictable English weather. After the night patrolman promised to keep watch outside the door, our parents gave in, and Lucia and I spent a jubilant evening sharing a treacle tart baked by Mrs. Findlay while watching our favorite movie, Harry Potter and the Prisoner of Azkaban, with the patter of rainfall outside adding to the ambience. The summer slumber party became our tradition, but tonight I’m surprised when Lucia reminds me about it. Watching her gaze at Sebastian and hold his hand earlier, it seemed to me that I was witnessing her growing up, leaving me and our childish rituals behind. But maybe I was wrong—because tonight finds us heading down the South Lawn toward the boathouse, Lucia carrying a covered pie dish from Mrs. Findlay while I aim the flashlight straight ahead.

  Lucia unlocks the French doors and we enter a single airy room decorated entirely in whites and blues. White flowers peek out of blue vases; blue pillows adorn white couches; even the tile floor insists on an ivory-and-navy scheme. This is the most casual room at Rockford, the place where Lucia and I are free to play and snack indoors without worrying about breaking some priceless object or spilling soda on ancient linens. But instead of savoring our slumber party, like I normally would, I feel myself tense up every time Lucia speaks, afraid that she’s going to tell me things I don’t want to hear—about her and Sebastian, or worse, about what she saw me do with the Canterbury bell. Luckily she doesn’t mention either, and I breathe a sigh of relief when she turns on Prisoner of Azkaban.

  We curl up in sleeping bags on our respective couches in front of the TV, and I’m just drifting off to sleep at the end of the movie when I hear her speak softly.

  “You’re not upset about me and Sebastian … are you?”

  My eyes snap open. Me and Sebastian. The phrase alone knots my stomach, but I force myself to lie.

  “No.” Still, I can’t help asking, “Is he your boyfriend?”

  I see her head bob up and down.

  “I think so.”

  I turn to lie on my side, hugging my knees to my chest. I don’t want to hear, but I’m desperate to know more.

  “Have you … kissed him?”

  “A peck. It was nicer than I expected,” she giggles. “I’m so glad you don’t mind, Imogen. I know you fancy Sebastian, but he and I are the right age for this sort of thing, you know? Maybe you and Theo will get together when you’re older, and the four of us can double-date! Wouldn’t that be brilliant?”

  I open my mouth to speak, to tell her that I’ve always felt older than my years, that I belong with Sebastian just as much as she does. But I can’t. So Lucia continues chattering on, oblivious to the tear trailing down my cheek. And I’m grateful for the darkness that hides my face.

  I wake in the middle of the night to the earsplitting sound of sirens. The thick smell of smoke wafts its way into the
boathouse, and I sit up frantically, turning to Lucia—but her sleeping bag is empty. Where is she?

  I jump off the couch, heart in my throat. My shaking fingers make it impossible to switch on a lamp, so I use my hands to feel my way forward, stumbling over an ottoman in my path.

  The door bursts open, revealing my cousin in a flash of light. Her pajama bottoms are caked in dirt, her face wet with tears or perspiration—I can’t tell which.

  “Imogen. Thank God you’re okay,” Lucia pants. “Something’s happened.”

  “What’s going on?” I whisper. “Where were you?”

  But Lucia doesn’t answer. She grabs my hand, silently pulling me toward the door. Once we’re outside, I see a crowd of people—all watching the flames as they rise from the Shadow Garden and lick their way toward the Maze.

  “There’s something hidden in the Maze.”

  Remembering my father’s words with a jolt, I drop Lucia’s hand and race toward the smoke, ignoring her shouts.

  “Imogen, stop!”

  I cry out as Lord Stanhope blocks my path and sweeps me up into his arms, looking ridiculous in his velvet robe and bedroom slippers. I glance around wildly, struggling to register my surreal surroundings, which are so far removed from the idyllic picnic of just yesterday.

  Fire trucks skid onto the lawn while Oscar and Mrs. Mulgrave race forward, shouting out instructions. Lady Stanhope wails hysterically on the back terrace, clutching Sebastian and Theo, surrounded by the rest of the disoriented staff in their pajamas. Maisie Mulgrave holds on to Grandfather’s wheelchair, swaying in shock. The only people I can’t seem to find are my aunt and uncle—and my parents.

  The firemen leap out of the truck, blasting their way into the garden. Lord Stanhope covers my eyes with his hand.

  “Don’t look, Imogen.”

  But I have to. I pry his fingers away from my face, watching in silent horror as the firemen haul four stretchers out of the Shadow Garden—bodies covered with sheets. A limp hand dangles out from under one of them, and I shake my head violently when I see the silver chain adorning the pale wrist. It is the bracelet I picked out for my mother on her last birthday.