The Garden of Stars Read Online Free PDF

Metford. Would you like a cup of tea and a piece of cherry cake?’
    Â â€˜Thought you’d never ask. I’ll have four sugars in mine and make it a large slice. Mind if I smoke?’
    Â She’d already lit up before I could answer.
    Â â€˜So how old is Metford Manor?’ I asked as I put the kettle on the stove.
    Â â€˜It’s pre-Georgian, so it’s older and wiser than any other building in this town. It’s watched this town grow up, and I should think it’ll watch it fall down, too. In fact it’s the reason this town got its name, not that anyone would be bothered about that now.’
    Â â€˜I’d like to know,’ I said, gently. There was something about her abrupt, forthright manner that I found enormously comforting.
    Â â€˜Metford Manor was originally a riding school which hosted regular shooting parties at the weekends. Did so right up until my pa popped his clogs. Most of the local people’s livelihood came from Metford Manor’s livery, hence the area was called Livery Meadows.
    Â â€˜It was beautiful when I was a child, surrounded by lush meadows, full of the prettiest flowers you ever saw – primroses, buttercups, and masses of bluebells in the spring. It looked like the whole place was covered in purple carpet. When I was a girl I used to run and play in those bluebells, hiding so my brothers couldn’t find me. Anyway, where was I?’
    Â â€˜The town’s name?’
    Â â€˜Oh yes,’ she said, lighting another cigarette with a large silver lighter. ‘As the town grew a sign was put up – this was before I was born, of course – a sign was put up, saying “Welcome to Livery Meadows” so the hunting folk from further afield could find it for their parties.
    Â â€˜Over time the letter “L” fell off “Livery” and nobody got around to replacing it. People began to refer to it as “Ivery Meadows” and gradually over time it stuck. But “Ivery” didn’t sound right, so outsiders naturally assumed it was “Ivory”.
    Â â€˜It’s written that way on the ordinance survey maps now so I imagine that’s how it will stay – even if everything else about it changes. It seems somehow appropriate now that our town is just as precious and hunted as those beautiful ivory tusks of elephants.’
    Â She chuckled into her tea and lit another cigarette, stubbing out her last one even though it was only half smoked. Her hard features had faded, and she looked slightly melancholy through the haze of smoke.
    Â I told Miss Metford I must check on Rosie. She’d scampered up to play in her room the moment we got home. It all seemed unusually quiet as I made my way up the creaky staircase. I opened the door to her room and there she was sound asleep on her bed, flat on her back and still fully dressed. Down at the river that afternoon she’d insisted on running from one spot to another, making sure no single duck, goose, or swan was left out at feeding time, giggling to herself as she threw them crumbs of bread and clearly assuming I had no idea about the sneaky morsels passing between her own lips. It must have quite worn her out. It wore me out just watching her. Now, gently sighing and smiling in her sleep, she looked so pretty, so peaceful. I pulled the bedcovers over her, gently kissed her forehead, and tiptoed back down the stairs.
    Â â€˜I’ve bought some old damson gin for you to try,’ said Miss Metford, abruptly, as I walked back into the kitchen.
    Â With that she hauled a dusty bottle out of her bag.
    â€˜Father made it. It had been a family tradition for years – suppose they had no other use for all the damsons in the garden so they decided to get squiffy on them instead.
    Â â€˜Thought all this had been drunk but I was clearing some space the other day and found ten bottles. Corked forty odd years ago, they were.