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Rootbound
Flat No.14 · Ch.1
A night establishing shot of a long Victorian glasshouse ridge glowing warm amber from within under a low moon, with a lean woman in a moss-green apron standing at the dark iron gate before it.
Fern walks down a long arced glasshouse corridor with a moss-seamed slate floor and warm round pendant lamps every nine metres, carrying a brass key ring.
Fern steps into a humid orchid house full of blue and coral orchids on dark timber staging. An elderly ghost in a 1950s tweed coat and round spectacles, Opal Renwick, stands at the east bench holding a single long dried blue orchid stem.
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A night establishing shot of a long Victorian glasshouse ridge glowing warm amber from within under a low moon, with a lean woman in a moss-green apron standing at the dark iron gate before it.
Fern walks down a long arced glasshouse corridor with a moss-seamed slate floor and warm round pendant lamps every nine metres, carrying a brass key ring.
Fern steps into a humid orchid house full of blue and coral orchids on dark timber staging. An elderly ghost in a 1950s tweed coat and round spectacles, Opal Renwick, stands at the east bench holding a single long dried blue orchid stem.

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Text Version A written companion to this chapter — for accessibility, screen readers, and search.

The ghost of Opal Renwick, the garden first head gardener who died in Glasshouse 03, asks Fern for one last favour tied to a dried blue orchid she gave away in 1957. Fern search of the ledger, a grave, and an old love letter leads to Ida Thorpe, who kept the pressed blue flower all her life. When Fern shows Opal that the promise was kept, the ghost passes on, leaving a single living orchid. A cozy, melancholy murder-free mystery.

Page 1

Night. The long glasshouse ridge glows amber from within, its dark ribs and broad panes lit against a low moon. At the iron gate stands Fern Ashby, a lean woman of thirty-two in a moss-green waxed apron over an olive boiler suit, one silver streak caught in her hair. She pauses at the threshold before stepping into the warm quiet.

Page 2

Fern walks the long spine corridor, a hundred and twenty metres of arched ribs and slate floor with a pale moss seam down the middle. Warm round pendant lamps hang every nine metres, casting pooling light along the empty path. She carries a brass key ring, the numbered keys filing softly as she walks.

Page 3

Fern steps out of the corridor into a humid orchid house. Blue and coral orchids tier on dark timber staging, and faint steam hangs in the warm air. At the east bench stands the ghost of an elderly woman in a 1950s tweed coat and round spectacles, holding a single long dried blue orchid stem. Fern pauses at the door in quiet recognition.

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