Chapters (54)
- COVER
- About the Author
- ALSO BY ALEXANDRA BELL
- DEDICATION
- Prologue
- Part One
- CHAPTER ONE
- CHAPTER TWO
- CHAPTER THREE
- CHAPTER FOUR
- CHAPTER FIVE
- CHAPTER SIX
- CHAPTER SEVEN
- Part Two
- CHAPTER EIGHT
- CHAPTER NINE
- CHAPTER TEN
- CHAPTER ELEVEN
- CHAPTER TWELVE
- CHAPTER THIRTEEN
- CHAPTER FOURTEEN
- CHAPTER FIFTEEN
- CHAPTER SIXTEEN
- CHAPTER SEVENTEEN
- CHAPTER EIGHTEEN
- CHAPTER NINETEEN
- CHAPTER TWENTY
- CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE
- CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO
- CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE
- Part Three
- CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR
- CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE
- CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX
- CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN
- CHAPTER TWENTY-EIGHT
- CHAPTER TWENTY-NINE
- CHAPTER THIRTY
- CHAPTER THIRTY-ONE
- CHAPTER THIRTY-TWO
- CHAPTER THIRTY-THREE
- CHAPTER THIRTY-FOUR
- CHAPTER THIRTY-FIVE
- CHAPTER THIRTY-SIX
- CHAPTER THIRTY-SEVEN
- CHAPTER THIRTY-EIGHT
- CHAPTER THIRTY-NINE
- CHAPTER FORTY
- CHAPTER FORTY-ONE
- CHAPTER FORTY-TWO
- CHAPTER FORTY-THREE
- CHAPTER FORTY-FOUR
- Acknowledgements
- THIS IS JUST THE BEGINNING
September 1836
Dear Beatrice,
I would send the book, but I fear it is too heavy for the pigeon to carry such a vast distance, and I’d hate to trust it to the international post. It’s so unreliable, and an old book like this would not like such rough treatment. It is quite delicate in places. Don’t worry! It will be here waiting for you as soon as you return home to England. Certain developments mean that I may well be making England my permanent home in the future. I hope to say more of that in due course!
Your friend,
Rosa
September 1836
Dear Rosa,
I have decided to be frank with you. I was utterly astonished to receive your letter regarding the pop-up book. You see, I lied when I said that I had owned such a volume as a child. It was all I could think of when you questioned me about the peacock.
The truth is, the Winter Garden does not merely exist within the pages of a child’s book – it is real. It came to the grounds of Half Moon House when I was only a girl, shortly after losing my mother. It was also around the time my father sent me for that dreadful surgical procedure, which was meant to correct my stutter but simply had the effect of almost robbing me of my capacity for speech for good. I could not speak a word at that time.
So, you see, the book you describe is my own story, and I do not understand how it can possibly exist in such a form. I never told another living soul about the garden, except for my nanny and father, neither of whom believed me.
Your perplexed friend,
Beatrice
September 1836
Dear Beatrice,
I was most charmed to receive your last letter. My dear, you can’t honestly believe what you wrote to me about the garden? I’m sure you must be pulling my leg, you wicked creature!
Of course you must have owned the book as a child, and it so affected your imagination that I can well believe you would play at discovering the Winter Garden for real. But, honey, that’s all it could ever have been – just child’s play or a particularly vivid dream. How wondrous it would be if such a place could actually exist, though! I regret it cannot be so in this world of ours.
I hope you are keeping well and haven’t fallen into any more pits full of spikes!
Your affectionate friend,
Beatrice