Chapter 11
‘Please don’t tell me you met Lady Porter’s ghost,’ Lara begged, as soon as they were clear of the house.
‘No, there was no sign of your friend. I am sure that particular spirit has departed and will not be returning,’ Abby reassured her.
‘Did you find anything?’ Lara asked a little nervously.
‘It is difficult to say as I could only explore a small section of the house.’ Abby looked thoughtful and tapped her riding crop against her skirt. ‘I believe we will have to find an excuse to return for a more thorough search.’
‘Yes,’ Lara interrupted, ‘and I forgot to ask Mrs M about Jason Honeybourne.’ She would be interested to hear what Mrs M thought of him. ‘Sorry, you were saying?’
Abby resumed, ‘While I was there I did see one or two things of interest. I think I can say with confidence though, that they were all of this world. There was absolutely no indication that a Haunter was in residence.’
Lara looked relieved, but reading the look on Abby’s face asked, ‘You thought there might be something, didn’t you?’
‘As I may have mentioned…’ Abby said with a touch of pride.
Lara finished the sentence for her, ‘Yes, I know, you have a knack.’
‘How right you are,’ Abby agreed with a twinkle in her eye. ‘And it is telling me at this precise moment that I should keep my wits about me.’
Lara wasn’t quite sure what Abby meant by this but turned instead to getting to the bottom of what Abby had seen.
Before she could ask, Abby cut in, ‘I do thoroughly approve of your Mrs M,’ she declared.
‘I have experience in these matters and I have often thought that many ills of the world would have been avoided if only we allowed good domestic servants to use their judgement rather than making them run around after their often deficient masters and mistresses. Mrs M is I believe an astute and capable woman.’
‘Who really doesn’t like Richard Porter, who she suspects was after his mother’s money,’ Lara said thoughtfully, ‘but who does like Dr Patil.’ Lara felt pretty sure that the next time they met Mrs M they would be able to add Jason Honeybourne to the list of people Mrs M disapproved of.
‘Yes,’ Abby agreed. ‘Plus, Mrs M clearly holds Sarah from the delicatessen in high regard.’ She watched Lara’s expression carefully.
‘If you say so,’ was Lara’s rather grumpy response.
‘Goodness me. Why does the mention of that estimable young woman’s name cause you to look like the fish has gone off?’ Abby demanded.
‘It doesn’t,’ Lara shot back at her.
‘Pollocks!’ Abby responded. ‘Yes, a couple of pollock, at least two weeks old.’ Abby turned to gaze about her.
‘Where are we by the way?’ Abby had been following Lara and now realised that rather than returning to the square via the park, they had skirted the side of the house and were walking through Lady Porter’s garden.
The garden had a southerly aspect and ran downhill from the house for some distance before meeting a tall wall.
Against the wall were a number of old stone and glass buildings that looked like they were used as greenhouses and potting sheds.
To the right of these was a wooden door set into the wall.
Lara appeared to be leading them to this door via a series of paths that skirted the lawn.
Lara was happy to change the subject. She wasn’t sure why the mention of Sarah made her so uncomfortable.
Perhaps it reminded her of the community she had hoped to join, but now felt she had no chance of becoming part of.
‘This is the quickest way to the lanes behind the square where my van’s parked.
We need to take some flowers up to the pub before we finish for the day,’ Lara explained.
Abby loitered on the path, slowly surveying the garden.
Distracted from her questioning Lara followed her gaze, but could see nothing out of the ordinary.
She was reminded of Abby’s earlier comment about keeping her wits about her.
Lara felt her pulse quicken and looked cautiously around.
All was silent. The garden stretched out before them in the last of the afternoon light.
Above the treetops the sky was tinged orange and cerise, and the dipping sun created long slanting shadows across the lawn.
At intervals dark flowerbeds dissected the lawn.
These looked neat and ordered, as if they had been clipped and tidied for the winter.
Then Lara smelt it. Faint, but unmistakable. The aromatic scent of pipe smoke. She looked sharply at Abby who appeared more than normally self-satisfied, a slow smile spreading across her face.
‘Look,’ she whispered to Lara.
Lara turned around, drawn to the sound of wood grating against stone, as an old wooden door was pushed open. With a final rasping screech a doorway was revealed.
‘Hi, Lara. What are you doing here?’ Joe asked, as he emerged from the potting shed, his jacket slung over his arm.
Lara was so surprised that all she could think to say as she hurried forward was, ‘I didn’t know you smoked.’
Joe laughed. ‘Lara, what are you on about? I don’t smoke.’
‘Oh, but he does,’ said Abby softly, looking at the gnarled, bent figure of a man who was standing just behind Joe.
But she knew as soon as she said it that Lara couldn’t see the old man, any more than Joe could see her.
It seemed that while Gillmore House did not have a ghost, the garden most assuredly did.
The door was slowly swinging closed and Abby knew she needed to act quickly.
She gave Lara swift instructions, trusting that Lara was as quick on the uptake as she believed her to be.
‘Lara, you need to do exactly as I tell you. Go over to Joe and keep him talking. You must stay in the garden and you need to make sure the door to the potting shed is kept open. I have found a Haunter and he has just disappeared into the shed. I have to see if I can persuade the gentleman to talk to me.’
Lara flicked a glance in Abby’s direction but with barely a pause edged closer to the potting shed. ‘I’m sorry. I’m going mad Joe. I’m not seeing things but I’m smelling them. I thought I smelt smoke,’ she said with a fair attempt at nonchalance.
He nodded his understanding. ‘You do catch the smell of smoke around here,’ he agreed. ‘I think the gardener next door is overfond of burning leaves. But it is odd – I’ll give you that – as you can only usually smell it in this spot.’
‘Umm…’ was all Lara said non-committally.
‘How’s the ankle?’ he asked, glancing down.
‘Okay, thanks. I didn’t know you did Lady Porter’s garden,’ Lara continued, leaning on the potting shed doorframe and opening the door behind her with her foot.
‘Nicely done, Miss McGregor,’ Abby murmured, as she whisked past her and into the shed.
Inside it was almost completely dark. By now the sun had sunk low in the sky and very little light penetrated the gloom of the building.
Abby stood patiently staring into the darkest spot waiting for her eyes to adjust. The air smelt not unpleasantly of old leaves, apples and compost. Abby was alerted by a sudden gritty scraping sound and she turned her head towards the glow of a match.
There in the corner sat the old gardener with his pipe in his hand and a mulish look on his weathered face.
His mud-caked boots were planted firmly on the stone floor as if proclaiming ownership of this small world.
The shed was quiet apart from the puffing of the pipe and the faint sound of conversation from outside.
This was growing fainter as Joe and Lara walked together around the garden.
Glancing towards the door Abby saw that Lara had propped a large flowerpot in the doorway to keep the entrance open for her.
Abby’s Aunt Augusta used to warn her that flattery was the Devil’s tongue at work.
But then Abby had never liked her aunt and had definitely never heeded her warnings.
‘I very much admire your garden,’ she began, ‘I can see that there have been some alterations made in recent years – I am not sure all of them for the better – but it is clear to see that the true shape of the garden was laid down many years ago and that this has stood the test of time.’ She was rewarded by a grunt from the corner and the old man chewed more noisily, and extremely unpleasantly, on the stem of his pipe.
‘It seems that you are a true plant man and I imagine your employers were extremely grateful to have your services.’
‘What, tha’ lot?’ came the deep dissatisfied drawl from the corner.
Abby groaned inwardly. For all she knew an employer could have been responsible for his demise.
She decided on a more sympathetic approach.
‘Nevertheless, anyone who has a true appreciation of gardens can see that it has been worked on by someone with rare skill.’ The ancient ghost coughed and spat on the floor.
Abby had no idea if this was a good sign or not, but continued anyway, ‘I believe that my grandfather, the Earl of Dunster, would have given his prize boar to have procured the services of a man like yourself. And I do not say that lightly.’
‘A pig man, were he?’ the old gardener queried.
Abby could have clapped her hands. Instead she said, ‘He certainly was. He was one of the first to breed the Improved Essex and he swore by the British Saddleback.’ Abby blessed the fact her grandmother’s fussing had driven her to take refuge in her grandfather’s study on more than one occasion.
‘Aye, that gives a grand bit o’ bacon,’ was the promising response.
‘Ah, you are a pig man yourself… Mr...?’
‘Thomas, you can call me Thomas, Miss,’ the gardener grunted.
‘Thank you, Thomas. Did you keep pigs here in this garden?’ Abby asked, trying to steer things gradually back to the more recent occupants of Gillmore House.
Thomas nodded. ‘But tha’ be a fair few years ago, Miss, now it’s all hybrids and floribunda. Not even a decent marrow or tatty.’