Chapter 17
‘You are certainly ambitious in your conquests,’ said Martha as she looked up from a rank of Lantana seedlings to level a stern stare at Frankie. ‘Confident in your success, I assume?’ Thea poked her from behind, but Frankie was unmoved.
‘Certainly, I am, Your, er, my Lady Foxmore,’ she said, exuding confidence in her delivery aside from her continued inability – or indisposition – to address with the correct title. ‘But I see no reason not to be. My strike rate was pretty high back in London and we’re only fifty miles away.’
‘So I hear,’ said Martha dryly. ‘I wonder if there is anything at all that you wish for in your beds that you cannot have?’ Thea was pleased that Frankie didn’t seem to have caught on to Martha’s half-hearted barbs.
‘There is always more variety,’ said Frankie, missing the title entirely this time.
‘But I am quite satisfied, especially in the hot beds.’ She looked up, directly at Martha.
‘I’ve sorted out a few individuals who were struggling to have their needs met and came to me with their specialist requirements.
Never had any complaints.’ She pushed past Martha to the firewall and gave her a theatrical wink on her way.
Of course she had caught on, thought Thea as she stifled a grin. Martha turned back to her, horrified.
‘You started it,’ muttered Thea as she watched Frankie checking for roots in the base of pots near the firewall.
She really had figured out how to use the imperfect space to its best advantage.
It looked good in a way that far exceeded what Thea had ever managed to achieve.
She couldn’t help feeling self-conscious about the paucity of the established plant collections and how disorganised the space had been when Frankie arrived.
There was little to show for her past five years of efforts than a pretty, and pretty standard, garden.
‘She needs to learn some respect,’ whispered Martha.
‘We’re working on it,’ said Thea. ‘But I suspect we will only get so far with her, and she is not the only one.’ She looked at Martha pointedly.
‘I can’t believe you kissed her,’ said Martha.
‘So you keep saying,’ said Thea. ‘And I keep telling you that it was exceedingly unsatisfactory.’
Martha shot her a look. ‘Of course it was.’
Thea shifted closer to her and reached past her to pick a yellowing leaf off a Camellia, bringing her mouth close to Martha’s ear. ‘You have no reason to be jealous, Lady Foxmore. The Duchess of Hartford is singularly in love with you.’ She felt Martha relax against her.
‘I still don’t have to like her,’ said Martha grumpily.
Thea patted her shoulder. ‘Of course you don’t.’
‘All the seeds from Mr Gordon here, Your Grace,’ said Frankie, looking over at them.
Thea moved quickly out of Martha’s space as her focus followed Frankie’s direction to the most northerly raised bed which now looked different.
‘I had Hodges build it up with sand so we can regulate the watering more effectively. And I’ve estimated the likely heat from the firewalls and the remaining risk of frost to determine the plants’ positioning front to back.
We’ll space them so there’s a temperature differential. ’
‘Excellent,’ said Thea, surprised.
‘Gentian, Iris, Cyclamen, Trilluim, Lupin, Delphinium and Chieranthus in this bed,’ Frankie went on.
‘And I have started a few new trees for the arboretum,’ she stopped and looked at Thea.
‘I meant to ask; do you have an arboretum? I toured the estate almost in its entirety in the first two days, I think, up to the farmland anyway, but I couldn’t see one. ’
‘Um, we don’t have one, as yet,’ said Thea, now realising that gave her something else to feel self-conscious about.
‘You should have one,’ said Frankie definitely. ‘Mr Gray is always going on about selling seeds for rich folk’s arboretums so I’m guessing they’re a new thing.’
‘I suppose so,’ said Thea. It had never really occurred to her, but why not grow all your interesting trees together? ‘Where would you propose we–’
‘I have started andrachne, Cornish elm, medlar, olive-leaved phillyrea, sumach, scarlet oak and nettle tree from what I picked up at Mr Gordon’s,’ interrupted Frankie. Martha’s eyes widened. ‘But we will need more, Your Grace.’
‘What would you like?’ asked Thea, beginning to worry she had bitten off more than she could chew.
‘Lilac, tacamahaca, manna ash, I think, more bladder nuts and definitely a tulip tree,’ said Frankie.
‘We should make contact with people with American stock, it’s not hard to find any more but we’d need to be sure we got the best forms. The upright Liriodendron is the best. I’m sure Mr Gray will have one and he owes me a favour.
I hear Telfords in the north has a good range too. ’
Thea nodded weakly. ‘You certainly have ambition,’ she almost squeaked.
Frankie looked up, a little alarmed for the first time. ‘That was what you wanted, Your Grace?’ She pulled at the bottom of her waistcoat a little nervously.
Thea thought. It was what she wanted, and it was why she had taken on Frankie.
It was also why George had let her, if they sowed a few more seeds for his gifting.
She shouldn’t let her own anxieties affect Frankie.
‘It is exactly what I wanted,’ she said reassuringly.
‘I will have Hodges and Briggs out to the fields to clear space for whenever the seedlings will be ready.’
‘Already scheduled in for the autumn,’ said Frankie, back to her cocky self.
Thea couldn’t help but allow a laugh to escape as she noticed Martha’s stony lips and raised eyebrow.
‘Careful around the begonias!’ came a shout from outside the glasshouse. Three children tore into the space, hotly pursued by Annie who panted after them.
‘Apologies, Your Grace,’ she shouted behind her, grasping at Edward as he tried to keep up with his sister. ‘Still enjoying the garden after being cooped up in London.’
Thea waved away her concern. ‘I’d much rather have them out here enjoying themselves.’ She grasped at Samantha’s hand as she tried to pass her again. ‘Children, please be polite and say good morning to Lady Foxmore and Frankie.’
‘Good morning, Lady Foxmore and Frankie,’ chorused the children politely.
‘Oh now,’ said Martha, a gentle smile softening her faux-stern tone.
‘I have been thinking. Given that you were all so kind to welcome me into your house yesterday and we had such a nice time reading books, I thought that perhaps you could all call me Martha. As long as you don’t mind me calling you Edward and not Lord Axbury, and that you won’t insist on me addressing you as Lady Samantha and Lady Abigail?
’ She addressed each of them in turn, suggesting it as a serious proposition. ‘What do you think?’
Samantha and Edward looked at one another, knowing they would get nothing out of Abigail who was poking a patch of sand with a stick she had carried in.
‘She did bring the rain stick,’ said Edward, referring to a fat piece of bamboo Martha had given them as a present, which sounded like heavy rain when it was tipped from end to end.
Samantha nodded earnestly. ‘Yes,’ she said. ‘Will you come and look at snails with me, Martha? They hide under the old pots at the back of the potting shed.’
Thea grinned and saw Martha do the same. Martha put her hands on her hips. ‘I would love to look at snails with you,’ she said. And Thea suspected she actually would.
Samantha took Martha’s hand making the grin grow even wider, and led her out of the glasshouse, Edward following meekly behind.
‘The arboretum visit may be delayed for snails,’ said Thea to Frankie, who emerged from behind a vine. ‘Where’s Annie?’
‘Just having a minute while the children are engaged, I think,’ said Frankie. Abigail’s face lit up at the sound of her voice, and she reached her arms up to the gardener. Frankie looked uncomfortable.
‘I think she wants you to pick her up,’ said Thea.
‘I wasn’t sure if I was supposed to,’ said Frankie. ‘What with her being a lady and all. Aren’t we banned from touching you all?’
Thea almost snorted. ‘That didn’t seem to stop you with Mrs Henry.’
‘She paid for it,’ said Frankie.
‘And Abigail is giving you her consent in a different way,’ said Thea, watching her daughter tug at Frankie’s skirts. ‘I should like her to be her own woman.’
‘She certainly is that,’ said Frankie. She scooped Abigail up, but rather than the horror that had been on her face the last time Thea saw the two of them together, she looked almost comfortable.
‘I shall have to be training you up to help me in here Lady Abigail, you are quite the strongest out of your brothers and sisters.’
Abigail looked delighted in her three-year-old way. ‘Yes. Carry things.’
Frankie chuckled. ‘I am sure you can do more than that.’
‘Read too.’
Thea expected Frankie to look horrified, but she just said, ‘alright, I’d like that. Thank you for the invitation.’
Before Thea could express her surprise, Abigail wriggled free of Frankie’s grasp, picked up her sword stick again and, grasping it with both hands at one end, hit Frankie firmly across the shin. ‘Harrr!’ she announced, delighted.
‘Abi!’ said Thea, horrified.
‘Ow,’ said Frankie, rubbing her shin but overegging its impact. ‘You are strong. Where on earth did you learn that?’
‘Glators,’ said Abigail, now swinging her sword at the edges of the planting beds.
‘Ah,’ said Thea, understanding dawning. ‘It was her favourite thing we did when Mrs Henry was trying to cheer me up in London. We went to see the fighting gladiators.’
‘I see,’ said Frankie, turning her question back to Abigail. ‘And were the gladiators big, strong men?’
Abigail shook her head theatrically. ‘Ladies,’ she corrected.
‘Ladies?’ asked Frankie, looking quizzically at the small child. ’Fighting?’
‘With sowords.’ came the enthusiastic response whilst the stick was wielded above her head.