The Rose Garden

The gown – for that was what it was – was plain but beautiful. The bodice had a low round neck and straight three-quarter sleeves, and was stiffened at its seams with supple boning, like a corset. The skirt was plain as well but full. It ran like silk between my fingers when I touched it, and its colour shifted in the light from blue to grey and back again.

It seemed so strange to think of wearing clothes like these, but then again, if I were truly stuck here in this time I couldn’t very well walk round in my pyjamas.

And it was easier than I’d expected, sorting out how everything went on. First came the undergarment, a simple plain chemise with rounded neck and sleeves that fit quite closely to my elbows and below that widened into tiers of lace, so when I put the bodice on, that lace peeked out from underneath the bodice’s three-quarter sleeves and softened the effect. I ought to have put the skirt on, really, before the bodice, but I managed to get everything adjusted – the skirt tied round my waist and the bodice smoothed down over that, so it all looked like one piece.

Both the slippers and gown fitted me well, which surprised me. I’d thought that I might be too short or not slender enough, but the skirt brushed the floor without trailing too much and the bodice, while snug, was not tight, though I found it a bit of a challenge to fasten. It closed at the front and was held not with buttons but pins, so I pricked myself painfully trying to do it, and swore out loud once in frustration. I was sliding in the last pin when the room’s door was flung open and a man angrily asked, ‘Who the devil are you?’

I could not have mistaken the voice of the Irishman, but his appearance surprised me. He wasn’t a large man, as I had expected. He stood average height with black hair and a face that I guessed would ordinarily have been quite friendly.

It wasn’t, though, just at the moment.

He glowered. ‘I said, who the devil might you be?’

‘I’m Eva.’ It sounded inadequate, even to me, and too late I decided I shouldn’t have spoken at all, since the sound of my accent had narrowed his eyes.

‘Eva.’ Planting himself in the doorway, he folded his arms firmly over his chest. ‘Tell me, where do you come from? And how did you come to be here in this house?’

Neither question was one I could easily answer. I didn’t feel safe with this man, like I had with the other one. There was anger and open distrust in his eyes, and no promise that he would behave like a gentleman. Not that I thought he would actually hurt me. I only suspected he wouldn’t much care either way if he did.

I tried calming the waters. My memory raced backward in search of his name. ‘Fergal. That’s your name, isn’t it? Fergal?’

His gaze narrowed further. ‘And who told you that?’

‘He did.’

‘Who did?’ he challenged me, moving another step into the room.

Damn, I thought. I had no clue what his name was. ‘The man …’

‘Which man would that be?’

‘The man who lives here.’

He took one more step and the black eyebrows rose in a mocking expression. ‘He told you my name?’

‘Yes.’

‘’Tis odd, do you not think, that he’d tell you my name and not tell you his?’

I had no easy answer to that one, and so I said nothing while Fergal advanced.

‘So he told you my name. And he gave you that gown, no doubt.’

Something in how he was looking at what I was wearing felt wrong, but I didn’t know why. ‘Yes.’

He spat the word, ‘Liar.’

I lifted my chin. I was scared and confused but I still had my limits, and deep in me I felt the stir of rebellion. ‘It isn’t a lie.’

I’d surprised him with that. I saw his flash of hesitation and drew strength from it.

‘You go and ask him,’ I said bravely. ‘Go and ask him where I got this gown. He’ll tell you.’

‘Will he, now?’ His tone was still belligerent, but he had lost a little of the righteousness. He tipped his head to one side while he looked at me and thought. And then he said, ‘All right then, if you’ve got a mind to test the devil, we’ll go ask him, you and me together.’

‘Fine.’ I said it bravely, though I didn’t really have a choice. He’d taken such a firm hold on my arm that I could not have broken free of it if I’d been fool enough to try.

The whole way down the stairs he kept on muttering his certainty, as much for his own ears as mine. ‘Haven’t I known him these twenty long years and he’s never once done a thing yet without telling me first, and he’d be burning that gown with his own hands I think before he’d let another woman wear it in his sight, you mark me …’

On and on the tirade went, as Fergal dragged me with him through the hall into the kitchen. He apparently expected me to show the fear appropriate for somebody about to have their lie exposed, but all I really felt as we got closer to our goal was the relief of knowing I would soon be proven right. The fact that I was growing calmer by the minute didn’t help his mood.

‘All right then,’ he repeated, when we reached the back corridor and the door leading outside. ‘We’ll just see who’s telling tales, now.’

He had thrust me through the heavy door ahead of him, so when I stopped abruptly on the threshold there was nothing he could do but stop as well and swear an oath, and it was luck alone that kept us both from going down like dominoes.