Chapter 3 The Lavender Fields
Despite his mother’s warning to stay away, Max returned to the library the next morning to assist Miss Cecil in her work.
He didn’t know why he humored her with a visit to the DeWitts in the first place.
Much like her name seemed to suggest, Miss DeWitt was a witless thing with no gift for conversation.
It had been a fight to fill the silence with the woman he was supposedly courting, at least according to their mothers.
He had been constantly trying to bring up new topics.
But nothing had seemed to interest her. She’d had only a smile to offer.
It was a nice one and she was arguably attractive, but while that might have been enough for some men in society, he preferred his women to have thoughts of their own.
As it was, he didn’t find Miss DeWitt the least bit interesting.
Not like Miss Cecil was, anyway.
He came to the library the next morning just so he could hear more about her childhood on the other side of the world.
She was kind enough to indulge him. As she slowly sorted books, she described marvelous things like how the sea resembled a pearl at sunset and how the whales had followed their ship on her sea journey to England.
He’d even had a luncheon tray brought in so they could continue the conversation.
“You should write this all down,” he told her. “Like Robinson Crusoe.” The book was based on a true story, after all.
Max had wanted to travel like Crusoe ever since he had been a boy. But like many of his friends and family, the farthest he’d ever traveled was London.
Even if the estate was the envy of the neighborhood, all he’d ever wanted to do was leave.
He sighed. “I’ve always wanted to travel.”
“Then why don’t you?”
“There’s always been so much going on the estate that’s needed tending.”
“Maybe one day you will.”
For the first time since he had arrived that morning, the conversation lulled and they hit a stretch of silence.
“I—” he began, but at the same time, so did she. They both laughed.
“Please, continue.” He waved out his hand.
“I was wondering…” Miss Cecil began. “If you know the grounds well—though I’m sure you do, as the estate’s owner”—she laughed at herself—“then maybe you could show my aunt around the gardens. She is dying to see them and I believe Mrs. Bell had too many appointments today. She said she gets faint in too much sun?”
That was a first. More likely, his mother didn’t want to associate with the working class woman beyond meals. She really could be a snob.
“Would you like to see them too?”
“I, uh…” She looked around at all the books piled around them. To the outside observer, it might look like a complete and utter mess, but now that he understood the piles better, there was organization and order to them.
“You’ve done enough for the day. I daresay, you deserve a break.”
She flushed.
Yes, he wanted to admit, he was very much interested in her company. Was it such a bad thing? Scandalous, maybe, to someone like his mother, but certainly not bad.
“Very well.” She brushed the dust off her hands. “If you promise to provide a full tour.”
“Of course. I must show you the lavender fields. At this time of year, they’re in full bloom. We’ll have to take a cart and a couple of ponies.”
“Only if you can spare them…”
“I shall prepare our finest. Meet me at the front entrance, say in a half hour?”
She grinned. “Aunt Viv will be delighted.”
*
And she was. Donning their bonnets, Mia and Aunt Viv waited eagerly on the portico. Her aunt hadn’t stopped grinning since Mia had told her their plans.
“The lavender fields,” Aunt Viv cooed. “I can smell them already.”
Mr. Bell pulled up five minutes early with a cart drawn by two small horses.
When Mr. Bell helped Mia into the cart, Aunt Viv cast her a look. As if there were something between them. Mia waved her away but knew it would do little to stifle her aunt’s imagination.
Mr. Bell sat in the center holding the reins with both women on either side. The ride was a bit long but pleasantly accompanied with conversation surrounding the lavender farm’s history. According to Mr. Bell, it had been there for centuries.
They smelled the fields long before they reached them. The scent of lavender was sharp and intense. Intoxicating, almost.
When they’d topped a hill, the view was like that of another world entirely. Down below, in the warm afternoon sun, lines of purple stretched into the horizon. Suddenly, Mia was very glad she’d come.
“My mother’s rose garden is nice, but it is nothing compared to this,” Mr. Bell said. “And nowhere near as extensive.”
They alighted and Mia took a deep breath. All she could see now was the sway of silvery, purple waves. It was like they were in a dream. Mr. Bell retrieved a pair of shears from the cart.
“Care to take a few to your rooms?”
“Yes, please.” Aunt Viv clapped her hands together. Mia couldn’t remember the last time she had picked flowers. Probably when she had been a child. Back then, the flowers had been orchids in the forest. They were nothing like the flowers here in England.
On the islands, the orchids were much longer lasting.
They could last for months, whereas the ones here might fade after no more than a few days, no matter how cool it was.
She could almost smell the rich dampness of the island’s forest again.
Though the air here was much more arid, it was still just as sweet.
Aunt Viv cut first, gathering several stems before passing the shears to her niece. If only Mia could take the whole field with her and the warm feeling of being here alongside Mr. Bell and her aunt.
At least she’d have a memento of sorts. She cut a modest bouquet. For however long its smell lasted, it would always remind her of this moment. That would have to be enough.
“If you dry them”—Mr. Bell broke off a stem with his hands and sniffed—“the scent will last for months.”
“We’ll have to return for more, then, won’t we?” Aunt Viv fluttered her eyelashes. Mia tried her best to ignore her.
She changed the topic. “What’s it all used for?”
“An array of things,” Mr. Bell said promptly. “To make oils, sachets, health remedies, even tea.”
Despite his supposed bachelor lifestyle, he seemed to know the affairs of the estate as good as any manager.
Mia sniffed her small bouquet.
With abundant fields like these, she didn’t know how they could ever get into debt.
It had to have been all the spending: the two fine horses and sleek, modern-looking cart, his stunning greatcoat made from the finest wool and fitted by the best tailors.
No doubt worth weeks and weeks of a working man’s wages.
She bit her lip, not liking the sudden burst of anger that warmed her face at the thought.
Mr. Bell was so friendly. She’d only known him for a short while.
And yet, so far as she could tell, the rumors weren’t lining up.
Not only was he kind, he didn’t have the liquor problem society had claimed.
He’d been sober her entire time here. Though admittedly, it hadn’t been for very long.
Was Aunt Viv right? Was the gossip not to be trusted?
Maybe they weren’t really in need of money. But if that was the case, why go through all the trouble of selling those books? Why was he so eager to find a bride?
“I didn’t know lavender could be used for healing,” Aunt Viv said, pulling Mia out of her reverie.
“Oh, indeed. The lavender on our land are believed to have almost supernatural healing properties, I’ll have you know. It can calm nerves, cure headaches… The local women even add lavender to their mattresses to ensure marital bliss.”
“Oh, dear me.” Aunt Viv laughed. “Who starts these rumors?”
Mr. Bell cleared his throat, embarrassed, perhaps, that he had been so frank about something so intimate. “The point is plants can have a great many uses. My grandfather always believed so.”
“That would explain all the botanical books.” Mia smiled.
“Yes, he was fascinated by the topic. I considered him a scientist of sorts, but some locals might have said otherwise.”
“‘Otherwise’?” Aunt Viv questioned. “Don’t tell me the locals dared disgrace your family with anything less.”
“He was accused back then of sorcery, no doubt,” Mia put in. “Just as some midwives were.”
“Mia!” Aunt Viv guffawed. “You’re going to offend our host.”
“It is no insult,” Mia argued. “You, yourself, have participated in séances, Aunt.”
“Unfortunately, things were different back then,” Mr. Bell interjected. “It was only my grandfather’s standing in society that probably saved him the hanging noose.”
Mia nodded. She really was starting to understand why his family’s association with a secret society had needed to be so secret. Not everyone was as understanding as her and her aunt, especially in the past.
“In my eyes, the term ‘sorcery’ is really only used when something is not well understood.” Mr. Bell shook his head. “My grandfather simply sought to understand.”
“Perhaps science and sorcery are not all that different,” Mia said.
“I agree.” Mr. Bell waved her forward. “Come. Let’s go see some of the roses. I promise you there are varieties the likes of which you have never seen.”
They boarded the cart again and the horses galloped lazily along the dirt road. Low on the horizon, the setting sun cast an orange hue, turning the fields a rosy pink and heralding the end of what Mia was beginning to consider a perfect day.
Of course it couldn’t last. The horses had just rounded a corner when they saw the carriage tilted on its side.
Mr. Bell yanked hard on the reins, stilling the horses.
Two men were at the back attempting to push the carriage out of the mud.
Naturally, Mr. Bell did not hesitate to assist.
“Seems we’re stuck in the mud.” A well-dressed gentleman with mud splatters on his face came forward.
“Please allow me to assist.” Mr. Bell positioned himself behind the fine black-and-gold-lacquered carriage with the other two men.