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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

April 1837

My dear Beatrice,

I am sorry for my long silence. I have been having such a glorious time since our wedding that I cannot seem to find a spare moment for correspondence these days. In addition we have been most blessed and are expecting our first child in December, so I expect I shall soon be busier than ever.

I am sorry that I have not replied to your many queries over the past months about the pop-up book. Sadly, I am afraid there is little point in your returning to England to see it. The truth is that it was somehow lost in the move to Raven Hall. I am not sure how it happened – only that I have not seen the book since our arrival here. I am sorry.

All my love,

Rosa

CHAPTER TEN

Sarawak, Malaysia – May 1837

Beatrice leaned back in the canoe, taking in the sights and smells of the river. The water was simply alive with boats. Little wooden houses clustered at the bank, raised up on tall stilts and almost lost within the lush foliage of areca and cocoa-nut palms. The scene was everything she had hoped it would be, everything she was travelling for in the first place. And yet she could not summon up any wonder or joy at the sight.

She’d felt a dark mood hovering over her all day, that familiar feeling of a broken angel’s wing draped across her shoulders that she’d felt as a child when her mother had died. The feeling had been building and building over the last few months. She’d felt that angel’s melancholy embrace as she toured the Great Gardens of Japan, and when she’d gone on to see the snow monkeys of Yudanaka. The feeling had been there when she’d watched the dance of the red-crowned cranes and experienced the snow festival of Hokkaido. And now it had followed her to Malaysia as well.

How much more straightforward it was to bear a physical illness or malady. You need not do anything but rest, and the body simply healed itself. Miseries of the mind, however, were quite another matter; they were a sticky spider’s web, and Beatrice had learned that the more you struggled against them, the tighter the strands seemed to bind you.

She ought to have known by now that travelling to a different part of the world would not help. The relentless sun warmed the air, making it smell swampy. Sweat ran down her back and dampened her underarms, but she didn’t mind the discomfort. It was all as far away as she could imagine from any English drawing room, which was a blessing at least. There wasn’t a dainty teacup in sight.