Chapter 3
F ortunately, Mirren had her laptop in her bag and could show Violet the internet properly, phones being truly too small, even with the big glasses. They looked through every variation and edition they could find. They went up to thousands of pounds – thousands – for beautiful, ornate editions, but Violet didn’t recognise any of them.
‘Are you sure it was hand-illustrated?’ Mirren asked finally. ‘I mean, you were very little.’
Violet nodded.
‘June and I weren’t allowed to touch the pictures in case we made the ink run. I remember very vividly.’
‘What were they like?’
‘Amazing. Black-and-white line drawings with a fountain pen, full of elaborate flowers and beautiful women in great headdresses, and stars and great moons ...’
Mirren frowned and typed in ‘A Child’s Garden of Verses hand illustrated’ and peered through the thicket of results.
‘Huh,’ she said. ‘Ooh.’
Mirren pulled up an old story from a literary magazine about the rumour that Aubrey Beardsley had drawn a version, which had never been published. Aubrey Beardsley was an incredibly famous artist even Mirren, who was bookish rather than arty, had heard of; his elegant black-and-white line drawings had illustrated famous 1920s and 30s books and plays, his art nouveau style often hanging up in university dorm rooms. This edition was only mentioned in passing, though; nobody had ever seen it.
‘Might it have been this guy?’ Mirren said, passing over some samples of his work – elongated women in incredibly elaborate hats and gowns, under starry skies.
‘Yes!’ Violet said, clutching at the laptop. ‘Yes! That’s it. They were just like that!’
She touched the laptop with her fingers, as if it were paper.
‘Oh,’ she said. ‘I would ... I would so love to see it one more time. The last time ... everything was ...’
A woman came bustling in, bosom first.
‘Time for your doctor’s appointment, Mrs Neale! Let’s be having you! Come on, I’ll take you to the toilet first.’
Violet looked at Mirren, and in her face Mirren saw the misery, the sheer embarrassment of every indignity she was going through at this stage of her life – this clever, interesting woman.
‘Please,’ Violet said, wincing, as the woman started heaving her off the bed, none too gently in Mirren’s opinion. ‘Please could you see if you could find it? Please?’
Mirren nodded.