We were walking more slowly than we had earlier. Miss Havisham motioned for me to walk alongside her as we crossed the vast entry hall, and as we reached the imposing carved front doors, she opened the left one herself, ushering me through.
The afternoon was perfect. Warm sunlight was streaming into the garden, through the foliage of the large shade trees. The carefully maintained lawns rolled all the way to their neatly defined edges, and stopped short like a carpet. There were insects moving over the floral hedges, and I could see a beautiful fountain to the left hand side. This was a garden in which one could spend a happy eternity.
"Tell me about what you... saw, my dear. Do you have any thoughts?" Miss Havisham gently brought my mind back to our collegiate stroll. It seemed she had drawn me outside to ask me something specific. I wondered how to answer.
"Well," I started. She gave me a moment to think, without her usual bustling impatience. "I, err... I could see that Mahogany actually enjoyed it. Quite a lot!"
She nodded, "Hmm. What else?" She took us a little way up the path where there was a perfectly quaint wrought iron bench seat, set in a small extension off to the side of the path, where the gravel was extended to accommodate the seating without impeding the main pathway. It was overhung by a large Birch of some sort, so that the light was dappled as it filtered through the foliage. She motioned me to sit.
I wondered where to begin. She turned with me and we both sat. I was reminded suddenly that my so-called dress spared no fabric to shield my bare bottom from the elements as I sat. Not a shred of it was tucked underneath me. It just surrounded me like a jellyfish settling on an outcropping of coral. For my unprotected bottom, the cold iron of the seat was very apparent.
Perhaps I drew breath or something, because Miss Havisham wore an expression of concern, "A little cold?"
I had not felt exposed in any way since entering the gates of the manor house, but with her question I suddenly felt naked again, just as I had when we met. I was unexpectedly back to a state of thrill and arousal. How did she know just how to say the very thing that would fire me up?
"I'm sure it's fine, thank you, miss," I had dropped back into the submissive persona that first interacted with her.
She turned her attention to the gardens, sitting prim and proper with her hands in her lap. My titillation subsided. A little.
"Tell me what you saw." This time it was more of a command. Half way between the authoritative bossiness she had first shown and the friendly chatter we had more recently enjoyed.
My bottom had started warming the cold metal, or perhaps numbing, so I was more comfortable already. I started to describe my experience. I talked about cliffs, and waves, and storms, and lava. I was sure it didn't make much sense, but she let me speak on as she surveyed the gardens from our little seat. I wondered if the would think me mad.
"And in the end?" She asked.
"Oh, in the end there was... that is, it felt like, or looked like... a warm meadow. With sunshine. You know, just really really nice. Wonderful, really. Is this making any sense at all?" I desperately needed to know if she was about to reprimand me, or mock me, or just send me away. I had been jabbering away, breathing and speaking urgently, trying to articulate impossible experiences with only sadly inadequate words.
"Oh," she turned to me and looked into my face. "I know exactly what you mean", which a peculiar emphasis on "exactly", the meaning of which was outside my grasp.
She turned again to look across the garden.
"What do you know about wine making?" She asked. A question completely, as far as I could tell, unrelated to anything we had discussed. It was sort of absurd, in fact.
"Wine making?" I was so surprised I simply repeated it back.
"Yes. Wine making. Making wine, dear. Are you familiar?" She gently mocked me. It really wasn't fair, though. I had no idea what she was talking about.
"Oh, no, Miss Havisham. I don't really know anything at all about wine making", I apologetically offered.
"Well, as you would presumably know, the French are particularly skilled at making fine wines." She opened.
"Oh, yes, miss. I do know that."