BooksBarbecue
Back The Winter Garden Save as PDF
Chapters (54)
  1. COVER
  2. About the Author
  3. ALSO BY ALEXANDRA BELL
  4. DEDICATION
  5. Prologue
  6. Part One
  7. CHAPTER ONE
  8. CHAPTER TWO
  9. CHAPTER THREE
  10. CHAPTER FOUR
  11. CHAPTER FIVE
  12. CHAPTER SIX
  13. CHAPTER SEVEN
  14. Part Two
  15. CHAPTER EIGHT
  16. CHAPTER NINE
  17. CHAPTER TEN
  18. CHAPTER ELEVEN
  19. CHAPTER TWELVE
  20. CHAPTER THIRTEEN
  21. CHAPTER FOURTEEN
  22. CHAPTER FIFTEEN
  23. CHAPTER SIXTEEN
  24. CHAPTER SEVENTEEN
  25. CHAPTER EIGHTEEN
  26. CHAPTER NINETEEN
  27. CHAPTER TWENTY
  28. CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE
  29. CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO
  30. CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE
  31. Part Three
  32. CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR
  33. CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE
  34. CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX
  35. CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN
  36. CHAPTER TWENTY-EIGHT
  37. CHAPTER TWENTY-NINE
  38. CHAPTER THIRTY
  39. CHAPTER THIRTY-ONE
  40. CHAPTER THIRTY-TWO
  41. CHAPTER THIRTY-THREE
  42. CHAPTER THIRTY-FOUR
  43. CHAPTER THIRTY-FIVE
  44. CHAPTER THIRTY-SIX
  45. CHAPTER THIRTY-SEVEN
  46. CHAPTER THIRTY-EIGHT
  47. CHAPTER THIRTY-NINE
  48. CHAPTER FORTY
  49. CHAPTER FORTY-ONE
  50. CHAPTER FORTY-TWO
  51. CHAPTER FORTY-THREE
  52. CHAPTER FORTY-FOUR
  53. Acknowledgements
  54. THIS IS JUST THE BEGINNING

Rosa felt herself start to tremble as she stared into the painted eyes of her old friend. The golden plaque at the bottom of the frame clearly read: Beatrice Hamilton, the Twelfth Duchess of Chalkley. That other life was still trying to push through this one, even after all Rosa had done. Her eyes stung from smoke and fatigue and she removed her soot-stained glove to rub at them with cold fingers. When she opened her eyes, the portrait was of her once again and her name was the one that appeared engraved upon the plaque. Yet as she stared at it, it seemed to Rosa that she could still see a trace of Beatrice hovering about her own painted mouth – another face on the canvas beneath her own, just waiting to come through.

Suddenly exhausted, she turned her back on the portrait and the painted eyes of the other unfortunate duchesses and went to her own bedroom. Once there, she went through to her dressing room, collapsed upon the chaise longue and stared at the plum in her hand. Was what she’d done worth it? Or had it achieved nothing at all? If sabotaging Beatrice’s garden had been enough, then surely Beatrice’s face would not be appearing in the gallery, and the other woman’s son would not still be wandering the corridors? What more must she do? What could she do?

Rosa felt a sudden sense of despair that she would ever have Ada back in her arms again, warm and squirming and giggling, those small hands clasped about her neck. She wondered if her daughter would ever smile and laugh again, after whatever Margaret was doing to her – scolding, and beating, and bleeding; trying to force her into the same mould as Eustace. It was too much and a great sob racked her body.

For a wild moment she wondered whether she ought to walk down the corridor to Eustace’s bedroom right now. Knock upon his door and tell him he could have his heir. She could feel in her soul that it would break something in her to willingly permit Eustace to lay a finger on her again and to lie beside him in those cold, clammy sheets. What kind of mother could she be, to Ada and any other children that resulted, if her own spirit was broken? Yet she must get Ada back, she simply must.