“You all right?” Sydney asked.
“You’re going to want to come to the winter garden. Emma and I found something,” he said.
“What is it?” Sydney asked.
“Come and see,” he said.
“Okay, but bring it over the wall. I’m not up to climbing ladders today,” Sydney said.
“Will do.”
While he hung up, Emma replaced the photos and closed the lid. They lashed the box closed, and Henry climbed up and over to the top of the outside ladder. Emma threw him a rope she’d tied around the box, and he hauled it up as she climbed, using one hand to steady the box with every rung she took. When she reached the top, Henry climbed down, and she lowered it to him.
Emma was just coming down the outside ladder when Sydney strode up. “What did you find?”
Emma opened the box again and took out one of the photographs. “Do you know who these two are?”
Sydney frowned. “That’s my Great-Grandmother Diana, so that must be Granddad Robert.” Sydney began to sort through the photos, flipping them over as she went. “Here, look at this. Someone’s written ‘Robin, age three’ on the back.”
“There are so many baby pictures in here. Who would bury these?” asked Emma.
“There’s more in there,” said Henry.
Sydney collected up the photographs to set them aside, revealing what looked like the contents of a child’s toy box. A set of tin army men, a toy lorry, a couple of books, a pair of baby boots with a robin stitched onto each heel, a jumper…
“What is all of this stuff?” Sydney asked.
“Look, there’s an envelope,” said Emma.
Sydney opened it and pulled out several papers. On top was an official document with an application number at the top and Certified Copy of an Entry written in red across it:
Date and county of birth: 12 March 1939; Bristol
Name and surname of child: Robert REYNOLDS
Name and surname: Diana SYMONDS
Address: Highbury House, Highbury, Warwickshire
Occupation of parents of adopted child: Housewife
Date of adoption order: 16 November 1944
“This can’t be right,” said Sydney. “My grandfather wasn’t adopted. His name is in the family Bible in ink just above his father’s recorded death, and I just found his birth certificate earlier this year when I was going through his papers.”
But when Sydney shuffled to the next page, the adoption papers were clear as day.
“Who signed them?” Emma asked, pointing to the bottom.
“Diana Symonds, Stella Adderton—”
“And Beth Hastings?” Henry asked. “Why would my nan have been a witness?”
“You said she was a land girl near here. She must have known either Diana Symonds or this Stella. She must have been allowed on the grounds to do the sketches you showed me,” said Emma.
Sydney stared blankly into space. “I don’t understand.”
Emma watched Sydney turn on her heel and start back toward the house with the box in her hands. Emma and Henry glanced at each other and immediately followed.
Sydney hurried through the house, down the corridor, and into the library. They were right behind her when she went straight up to a large book on a carved wooden stand.
“This is the family Bible. It goes back seven generations on Helen Melcourt’s side.” Sydney flipped open the front cover and traced her finger down a page of handwritten names in various shades of black ink. “Here, Robert Symonds. That’s my grandfather.”
Henry peered over Sydney’s shoulder. “Born 14 May 1939.”
“The dates don’t match, Sydney,” said Emma quietly.
“But if Robert Reynolds was adopted, then who is this boy?” Sydney asked, jabbing a finger at the Robert in the family Bible.
“Henry, remember that sketch of your grandmother’s of the two boys under the tree?” Emma asked.
“You think that there were two boys here during the war. One was Robin and the other was Sydney’s grandfather, Robert,” said Henry, reading her mind.
“Yes. I have the sketch at Bow Cottage. I can get it,” said Emma gently.
“That would be good,” said Sydney quietly.
“Are you okay?” Emma asked.
Sydney crossed her hands over her stomach. “Why would Diana have had one son and adopted another only to never mention the first boy again? The only thing I can think is that Robin must have died.”
The three of them looked down at the photograph of three-year-old Robin.
“I suspect that the war wasn’t the only thing that brought tragedy to families during those years,” said Emma quietly.
“If this date of birth and adoption are correct, Robert was only five when he was adopted. He might not have remembered much of his life before his adoption,” said Henry.
“And every family has their secrets. Maybe they just didn’t talk about it,” said Emma. “Maybe Diana thought it would be easier for him to grow up without worries. I don’t know who he was before, but life was probably easier as the son of a wealthy family.”
“Sydney?” Henry pushed a hand through his hair. “I think I’ve met Stella Adderton. My nan used to go up to London every once in a while to see dealers about getting her paintings into shows. She would stay with her friend, Stella. I don’t remember her last name, but Stella was what we would call an executive assistant now. She used to travel a lot for her job, so she left Nan the key to her flat. Nan took me up with her once when I was maybe ten. We went to the London Zoo.”
“Do you think Beth would tell Stella about how Robert was getting on?” Sydney asked.
“I’d like to think so.”
Emma was half listening, her gaze fixated on something in the family Bible. No. It couldn’t be… She couldn’t believe that an answer to a more than one-hundred-year-old question had been sitting in plain view this entire time, if only someone knew to look for it.
“Do you mind if I take a picture of this?” she asked.
“Hmm?” Sydney murmured as she began to sift through the box again.
“The family tree. Do you mind?”
“Go ahead,” said Sydney, already turning her attention again to the buried artifacts of a boy’s life.
“Hey, there’s something else in here,” Henry said.
Emma’s phone camera clicked, and she turned to see him holding a large iron key.
Sydney squinted “Is that—”
“The key to the winter garden’s gate. Let’s go find Andrew and Charlie,” said Emma.
* * *
Thirty minutes later, they stood in front of the winter garden gate. Sydney was practically vibrating with excitement, key clenched in her hand, but Emma hung back. She kept glancing at her phone, unsure if she should believe the photograph she’d taken.
“Emma,” Sydney prompted her.
Her head shot up, and she slipped her phone back into her pocket. “What can I help with?”
Her friend held out the key. “I think you should open it.”
“No, it’s your garden,” said Emma.
Sydney shook her head. “You’re the one bringing it back to life.”