The Old Rose Garden

A Victorian Romance and Erotica short story
by Lady T. L. Jennings

There were all kinds of different types of roses in the garden, from slender-stemmed roses to climbing roses and massive thick rosebushes. The roses varied in size and shape, but they were all white, from the faintest ivory to soft cream colours. I did not know their names or species; however, I did not need to know what they were called to appreciate them or the tranquillity that the old rose garden offered me.

I never did any gardening myself; however, some of the white roses still flowered dutifully every season, even though no one took care of them. Perhaps they did not bloom as vigorously and plentifully as they could have, but there were more than enough to please me.

But apparently, all that is going to change now, I thought and slowly sank down on the stone bench under the large magnolia tree.

The magnolia tree was still flowering, even though it was June. It was the only tree in the garden, and underneath it stood a stone bench where I often sat. The magnolia tree had been planted on a low hill, and from the stone bench you had a pretty good view over most of the garden. Sometimes I would bring a book or my crocheting, and during the early spring or late autumn, I brought a woollen blanket and draped it over my shoulders, just like Lucinda had done when I was a child.

These days, however, no one ever came to the old rose garden anymore, except for me.

As always, the garden had a calming and soothing effect upon me, and I was already starting to regret my outburst towards Stuart. I knew that he only meant well; however, I could not help that I did not like all of the new changes that he was carrying out around the manor. I admired his dedication and the way he was always striving forward, especially now that he had taken over the full responsibility of Halifax from our father.

However, while I could appreciate the effective modernization of the estate with the newly installed water pipes and the renovation of the chimneys, I did not like that he was about to alter the parklands, especially not the old rose garden.

It does not need to be changed, I thought with a small sigh and looked out over the overgrown roses, the ivy-clad marble statues, and the old stone pond that was filled with greenish water. All my earlier anger had left me, and instead I felt oddly empty and a little bit sad. Why can he not see that it is beautiful the way it is?

*

Despite my protests and pleas to Stuart, the following week the workers from the village arrived at Halifax manor.

I watched them from behind the curtains in my private sitting room when they arrived in the morning.

There were almost a dozen of them. Most of them were in their middle-age, stout men with broad shoulders in sturdy leather boots and coarse linen shirts and with wide suspenders that held up their worn woollen trousers. I did not like meeting new people at all, and the workers looked harsh and crude in my eyes, and they scared me a little, even though I was safe in my own room.

Nearly all of the hired men were sitting on a horse-drawn wagon that also contained various kinds of garden tools, except for a few of the younger men, who were walking behind the wagon.

Even the two large working horses seemed out of place and strange in my eyes. The robust chestnut horses were heavy animals with bushy manes and rough knotted tails. They looked absolutely nothing like the slender horses that we kept at the estate. I did not ride myself, but my sisters used to ride before they got married and left Halifax, and Stuart had always liked horses. Just as the wagon passed by under my window, one of the younger men who was walking behind the wagon suddenly looked up.

*

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Copyright © 2012 Lady T. L. Jennings