29th March, 1888 — Mulciber Home, Parlor
"Is that meant to look Oriental?" Ernest asked his wife in a faux-casual tone, apropos of nothing. He probably ought to have given her some indication of what he was talking about, as the conversation had not had anything to do with the garden. Ernest wasn't entirely sure what the conversation had been about, because he hadn't really been listening, but he assumed his wife had been saying something or other. The more pressing matter at the moment, however, was the view through the parlor windows. Rufina had announced her intention to have the garden redone in preparation for one of her upcoming Events, which he had, at the time, had exactly no opinion about. Now that it was actually in progress, however — he could see dirty workmen carting about plants from where he sat reclining with his tea — he was finding, quite surprisingly even to himself, that he did have opinions on it after all.
The tree (he supposed it was a tree, although it could have been a very oddly shaped bit of shrubbery or even some sort of strange magical creature which tried and largely failed to disguise itself as a tree) was in the process of being wedged into the garden area through the door to the street. It was rather too squat for that, however, which had forced two or three of the grubby workers to gather around staring at it while it sat in all its distorted ugliness on the sidewalk outside.
"Are we meant to have an Asian garden the entire year?" he asked, sparing Rufina a quick glance before shifting his attention to his cup of tea, which he sipped slowly as he shifted the book on his lap. "Or do you intend to redo the entire thing again come May?"
