The Garden Beyond the Gate

In Edwardian England, Evelyn's carefully ordered life is disturbed by a mysterious garden across the street. Drawn by an intoxicating fragrance she cannot explain, she discovers strange crimson flowers, an ancient stone altar, and a woman who seems to know far more about her than she should. As Evelyn's curiosity slowly overcomes her fear, the garden begins to reveal that its secrets--and its desires--may be intimately connected to her own.

Chapter 1

The late afternoon sun slanted across the cobbled street, gilding the pale facades of the row houses in warm light.

Evelyn walked slowly, her gloves folded neatly against her hands, the stiff lace cuffs of her cream blouse brushing her wrists. Her skirt, a muted shade of taupe, swished softly around her ankles, the fabric heavy and formal, yet somehow confining.

Each step echoed the rhythm of a life measured and restrained.

A life in which there were things one did, things one did not do, and thoughts that were better kept entirely to oneself.

Then the fragrance reached her.

At first it was so faint she wondered whether she had imagined it.

She slowed.

There it was again.

Something earthy.

Rich.

Sweet.

But unlike any perfume Evelyn had encountered before.

She turned her head.

The scent seemed to come from the garden belonging to the house at the end of the lane.

No. 27.

She had passed the garden countless times without giving it much thought. Its wrought-iron gate was old, the paint chipped in places, and beyond it stood a tangle of trees, shrubs and climbing plants that seemed considerably less tended than the gardens surrounding it.

Now, however, something about it held her attention.

The fragrance came again.

Stronger.

Evelyn stopped beside the gate.

Her gloved fingers rested lightly against the iron.

Beyond it, the garden seemed almost to breathe.

Vines curled around trellises. Leaves shifted gently in the breeze. Flowers grew in places where she would have expected only shadow, some familiar, others strangely shaped and unfamiliar.

And somewhere among them was the source of that impossible perfume.

Evelyn took a tentative step closer.

A movement beneath the magnolia caught her eye.

She looked up.

A woman stood in the shadows.

Evelyn froze.

She was older--considerably older than Evelyn--with dark hair threaded through with silver and arranged elegantly upon her head. She wore a deep green silk gown, rich and formal in its colour, though there was something about the way she wore it that seemed strangely at odds with ordinary society.

The woman did not approach.

She simply looked at Evelyn.

Her eyes were dark.

Yet in the fading light there seemed to be something almost luminous about them.

Evelyn's heart began to beat faster.

She could not have said why.

There was nothing threatening in the woman's expression.

No anger.

No invitation.

Only an unsettling sense that she was being seen far more clearly than Evelyn was accustomed to being seen.

Evelyn lowered her gaze.

When she looked again, the woman had stepped back into the shadows.

Only the magnolia remained.

Evelyn's fingers tightened around the gate.

She should leave.

Instead, she stood there for another moment, listening to the strange silence of the garden.

Then she stepped away.

She walked home without looking back.

But the fragrance followed her in memory.

And so did the woman's gaze.

That evening, Evelyn stood before the mirror in her bedroom.

The lamplight cast a soft, steady glow across the familiar lines of her reflection.

For a moment, she did not move.

Her posture was as it had been all evening--upright, composed, contained.

Yet something beneath it felt unsettled.

As though the stillness were no longer entirely her own.

Her fingers rose to the small buttons of her blouse.

One by one, she unfastened them.

The fabric loosened and slipped from her shoulders. She folded it neatly, as she always did, and placed it aside.

Her skirt followed.

Then her hands moved to the laces of her corset.

She hesitated.

The corset had held her all day--firm, unyielding, shaping her into the form expected of her.

She had scarcely noticed it before.

Now she was acutely aware of it.

Slowly, she loosened the laces.

The pressure eased by degrees.

Her ribs expanded.

Her breath deepened.

The rigid structure that had surrounded her seemed to release its hold one small increment at a time.

When she finally slipped the corset free, Evelyn held it for a moment before placing it carefully aside.

She stood in her soft white chemise.

Without the structure beneath it, the fabric fell naturally rather than following the strict shape imposed by her clothing.

She shifted slightly.

There was something almost unfamiliar about the freedom.

Her stockings came next.

Then she reached for the nightdress lying folded upon the bed.

It was pale ivory, finely made, with delicate lace at the collar and cuffs. The fabric was light and soft, falling modestly around her.

She drew it over her head.

It settled against her naturally.

Proper.

But somehow less confining.

Finally, she removed the pins from her hair.

One by one, her auburn hair fell loose around her shoulders.

She looked at herself again.

Nothing had changed.

And yet something had.

Perhaps it was simply the memory of the garden.

Perhaps the woman's gaze.

Perhaps the fragrance.

Evelyn extinguished the lamp.

She went to bed.

The first pale light of morning seeped through the lace curtains.

Evelyn stirred beneath the covers.

For several moments she remained still.

There was something lingering at the edges of her thoughts.

Something she had dreamed.

The garden.

The flowers.

The woman.

And the fragrance.

She opened her eyes.

The memory faded almost immediately.

Evelyn sat up.

The room was quiet and ordinary.

Morning light rested softly across the furniture. Somewhere downstairs, a clock chimed.

She slipped from bed and crossed to the washstand.

As she dressed, she found herself thinking about the previous afternoon.

The woman had not spoken.

She had simply watched.

Yet Evelyn could not forget the strange impression that the woman had understood something about her.

Something Evelyn herself had barely begun to understand.

She fastened her corset.

Tightened the laces.

Smoothed her blouse.

Pinned her hair.

Each familiar action restored a little of the order she had always relied upon.

By the time she finished dressing, she had almost convinced herself that the previous evening had been nothing more than an unusual encounter.

Then she paused beside the window.

Across the street, the garden stood in the morning light.

Ordinary.

Quiet.

Harmless.

Evelyn looked away.

She went downstairs.

The day passed slowly.

She attended to her usual household duties, answered letters and drank tea.

But her thoughts repeatedly returned to the garden.

Every so often she imagined she could detect the fragrance again.

It was never strong enough to prove anything.

Only enough to make her wonder.

By late afternoon, Evelyn found herself standing across the street from No. 27.

She did not remember deciding to go there.

She simply found herself there.

The garden looked different in the golden light.

The trees were still.

The wrought-iron gate waited before her.

And then--

the fragrance.

Evelyn's heart quickened.

She took one step toward the gate.

Then another.

Her gloved hand hovered above the iron.

The rational part of her mind immediately protested.

It is not yours.

It is forbidden.

You are being foolish.

She touched the gate.

The iron was cold beneath her glove.

Evelyn remained there for several seconds.

Then she stepped back.

One pace.

Then another.

She had stopped herself.

But as she turned away, she knew something with uncomfortable certainty.

She would come back.