TODAY, WE ARE THRILLED TO WELCOME OUR GUEST AUTHOR, ANTHONY ABERFORD, WHO IS SHARING CHAPTER 4 OF HIS NOVEL, 'THE CONSERVATORY' #RWRTeamBlog #ReadWriteRepeat
- 2 days ago
- 8 min read
Aunt Lily was preparing to ride her tricycle up the punishing climb to Orchard House and Lizzie was trying to best her, by pedalling frantically up the hill on Eddie's BMX bike, Jenny was in her extensive conservatory, potting and planting some tropical seedlings. The door was propped open by a heavy, cast-iron doorstop in the shape of a frog. Orchard House was on the south side of the Wharfe Valley, high up on the top road that marked the boundary between the outskirts of the town and Ilkley Moor.
It was a large, detached property, fronted by a tall beech hedge, with a compact gravel drive, overhung with sycamore and beech trees. Given it was one of the last houses in town before the vast expanse of moorland, they rarely encountered unexpected visitors, which was why she was surprised when she sensed the presence of somebody watching her from behind. She immediately spun around, holding a pair of secateurs in front of her. Standing in the doorway was a stranger, a man she had never seen before. She walked towards him, rubbing her hands on her heavy canvas, work trousers.
He was youthful-looking, tall, and slender, wearing skinny jeans and a long black cashmere coat over a plain white shirt, open at the neck. His straight, black hair was long and brushed back, hanging over his collar. He had pronounced cheekbones, a perfect pale complexion and the brightest sky-blue eyes that she had ever seen. There was a knowing half smile on his face that did not extend to his piercing blue eyes.
"Hello. You're not what I expected."
Jenny was confused.
"I'm sorry - who're you and how can I help you?"
The visitor looked contrite.
"No, no, it is I who should be sorry - I have alarmed you. I was distracted by how wonderful your greenhouse is. So many varieties of plants. Very impressive... very impressive indeed! You must be immensely proud. Oh, where are my manners? I am Dr Ermystead - George Ermystead, a herbalist and dealer in medicinal plants." He approached her, holding out his hand. Jenny pulled back, rejecting the handshake, showing him her dirty fingers that moments earlier had been buried in potting compost.
The man withdrew his hand and continued speaking.
"I was in the area and heard of the wonderful things that you are doing here and... I mean, I thought the collection had been lost, so I just had to visit."
Jenny was puzzled.
"Lost? What do you mean, lost?"
"Oh, nothing! The man who did the planting here, some time ago now, was known to a predecessor of mine who often spoke fondly of the collection. I was so surprised it is still in existence, and in such good shape! You obviously have the magic touch."
"Well, there's nothing magic about it."
"Oh yes, there is! There is something about this conservatory, do you not agree? My predecessor used to say that, when he visited Orchard House, he felt the plants somehow had a strong connection to each other, almost as though they had a mind of their own... I mean, if that does not sound ridiculous to you?"
Jenny looked at the man. His jaw was jutting forward and his mouth was turned down at the corners. That formerly appealing, attractive face had turned sour, ugly almost. His whole manner had changed. He waved one arm around, gesturing at the conservatory.
''All this did not happen by accident, did it? This has been designed, thoughtfully, to a plan. Have you not noticed?" He paused, looking around. "I think you know what I want. Something you have that is not yours - that has never been yours."
His harsh tone shocked her but, at that moment, she knew exactly what he was after. The man put one hand on each side of the door-frame, effectively blocking the exit. He shrugged and took a step back outside, casting his eyes upwards, towards a carved emblem over the door.
"I was not sure if what I was looking for was here, until I saw that." He gazed up at the carving of two intertwined plants that sat on a lime-wood panel above the door - the same design she was familiar with for another reason.
She immediately went pale. Some months ago, she and her friend Marjorie had been renovating the conservatory when they had found a parcel wrapped in plain brown paper. Inside it was an ancient book that, on the face of it, was a beautifully illustrated collection of plants and old herbal remedies but, in the weeks that followed, Jenny had discovered it was so much more than that.
The cover was made with vellum - it even had hair marks in the leather - over a pasteboard backing, made from layers of paper glued together. There were rectangular patterns tooled into the leather and on the spine, in gold lettering, was the title, Medicina de Herbarium. A design in gilt had been worked on the front of the book - two plants intertwined, with their stems and leaves intermingling. One plant had a short bell-headed flower, while the other was elongated and slim. That is what Ermystead had seen above the door to the conservatory. She knew the book and the conservatory were in some way connected, but she did not know how.
For some time, she had studied the strange texts in the back of the Medicina de Herbarium, to the point that it had started to become an obsession. Every spare hour was spent in her basement, which she called her pharmacy, studying the book. She had neglected friends, family and had even taken to skipping meals. She picked through dictionaries and used online searches to unravel the Latin and Middle
English spoken between the time of the Norman conquest and the 1500s.
The remedies and gardening sections were written in the Early Modern English of Shakespeare's time, with its recognisable poetic pronunciations and sentence structures. In the darker passages, at the back of the book, she could decipher the guttural tone of the Norse and German tribes that formed the basis of Old English. She knew that this was the script used to write the Lindisfarne Gospels and the Irish Book of Kells, which she had once seen at the Trinity College Library in Dublin.
It was not just the book that exerted a pull on her. The conservatory also seemed to have found a voice that called her, not in a vocal sense, as such. It was more a need, like that of a newborn, except the conservatory had none of the helplessness of an innocent. Her wariness of it increased, yet it demanded her attention. It was all so inexplicable. She did not fully understand what was happening to her. Now, this visitor was standing in front of her, demanding the book, his presence and purpose further confusing her.
"You have been either very clever or very stupid - it is obvious you do not realise what you have here," he said. "Yes, there are one or two old wives' remedies in that book, but nothing you cannot buy on the high street or get from a doctor. You know, I am alerted when someone is using the book. I sense it."
The man called Ermystead ignored her and wandered into the conservatory. Jenny moved to the other side, keeping the long line of potting tables between them. He stopped and squatted down, taking some leaves and rubbing them between his fingers.
"Mmmmm. Scented geranium. Always a favourite of mine." He paused. "So? Where is it?"
His menacing voice alarmed her.
"Get out now! I've no idea what you're talking about. You're frightening me. My husband's inside - I'll scream!" She was lying; Bob had only just left to post some letters.
The man nodded at her.
"Oh, there is no need for you to be frightened. Get the book, bring it here and give it to me - freely and willingly. I will reward you richly. You obviously have a fascination with the book. You have kept it all to yourself, is that not so? I can tell. You guard the knowledge jealously. It has that effect on people. It comes at a cost, though, does it not? In case you have not realised, it eats into you. But you are only scratching at the surface of the knowledge I can give you." He flashed her a winning smile. "Or you can refuse me - and I will still get the book in the end, even at the expense of you and maybe your family - Bob and Lizzie, is it?" The smile had gone.
"What do you mean, at the expense of my family? What've they done?"
"I will give you a chance - join me. Think about it. I can show you the true wonders of the book and more besides. So much more!"
"You're talking in riddles.Just go away!"
The man moved to the end of the potting tables, in a subtle attempt to approach her. She shuffied backwards, away from him.
"I think you understand me, even though you pretend not to. There are possibilities that you could never imagine. I need open-minded people who are willing to follow me - to help me. You have felt the book's power in this greenhouse. That does not come from nowhere. Join me and learn to understand its real purpose. You have read it, I assume? All of it? But you do not understand it, do you? So, you know, all of this..." he gestured again, waving his arm around the conservatory "... is just a part of it. It is your choice. Either way," he smiled, "think about it, carefully. I will see you soon."
With a little wave he walked out of the door, turned to face her for a moment, then spun on his heels, leaving her gasping for breath. As she recovered, she smelt something - a foul and unpleasant odour. At her feet was the scented geranium, its leaves and petals wilted and lying in a soft, liquifying brown mound. The stench of rot made her retch.
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AUTHOR BIO
Tony Gartland (writing as AJ Aberford and Anthony Aberford) has enjoyed a varied career, having been both a corporate lawyer and a partner in a Leeds based private investment company. In 2005, he also founded a leading Yorkshire craft brewery, which he owned until 2024. Changing direction again, he started writing during the Covid lockdown when he penned the six books in the Inspector George Zammit crime and thriller series.
Never one to let the grass grow under his feet, The Conservatory, written under the name Anthony Aberford, is the first in a new series of cosy mysteries featuring the eccentric and mysterious Aunt Lily and the ladies from the Ilkley Wellness Centre.
Tony lives primarily in Malta, which is the inspiration for the Inspector George Zammit series, but keeps his house in Yorkshire, so he can draw on his love of his home county as the background for The Conservatory and the new series.
Tony lives with his wife, Janet, and has two grown-up sons and grandchildren. He is a keen cook, an adventurous traveller, a cyclist and is currently writing the next two books in the Aunt Lily series.
Twitter: @AJAberford
FB: AJ Aberford
Insta: @ajaberford
Threads: ajaberford
TikTok: @ajaberford109
Bsky: @ajaberford.bsky.social
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COMING SOON: On Monday, 1st June, our amazing team member, author Lorraine Carey, is sharing an extract from her novel, 'Jonathan's Locket'.
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