Chapter 19
‘No, no, no,’ she heard Crumpacker saying as soon as they stepped through the glasshouse door. ‘How on earth do you plan to order your collection correctly if it is all over the place?’ He began to move some pots from one side to the other.
Oh goodness, they were too late.
‘What are you doing?’ asked Frankie, following him and grabbing the pots back. Both of them were entirely oblivious to the countess and duchess watching them.
‘I am putting them in an order,’ said Crumpacker.
‘Well stop it,’ said Frankie.
‘Order is the way we will understand the world.’
‘Order is the way you will kill my plants if you carry on. This greenhouse is not set up for consistent heat, and so the plants have to be placed where they will have the most appropriate conditions for their successful growth.’
Crumpacker appeared to abruptly cease his endeavour as understanding hit. He looked around himself for the first time, first at the walls, then at the beds, then at the glass and finally at the plants. ‘Oh,’ he said. ‘Why didn’t you say?’ Thea hoped the tirade might be over, but it only got worse.
‘Then what are these funny marks on the pots?’ he asked, and Thea’s eyes widened. Not that. ‘Why aren’t you labelling correctly?’
Thea wondered if Frankie might actually explode. ‘Because I can’t read and write,’ she stated, obviously unimpressed at the rude man in her glasshouse.
‘Oh,’ said Crumpacker, still looking at the plants but much calmer now. ‘Then why didn’t you say that either? I will label them, and we will ensure that they are in an order you understand – but I will need you to tell me how you work.’
Frankie looked furious at this but uncrossed her arms. ‘Fine,’ she said. ‘You could have asked before coming in here and grabbing plants.’
‘I suppose I could,’ said Crumpacker, looking at her earnestly and without a hint of derision. He was unlike anyone Thea had met in her life, but she thought she had better intervene. Both Frankie and Crumpacker looked up, alarmed, when she cleared her throat.
‘I am delighted to see you have met,’ she said, giving Frankie a pointed look.
‘Frankie, I understand that Mr Crumpacker will be helping us to understand our collections more deeply, in addition to studying them to ascertain how we may add to them with interesting specimens. Is that correct, Mr Crumpacker?’
‘Yes, Your Grace.’ He fiddled with his hair.
‘And we will assist him in his endeavours, Frankie.’
‘Yes, Your Grace.’ Frankie looked sulky, but Thea knew she would embrace the new knowledge eventually.
‘And Lady Foxmore has sent for more newly-sourced plant material from a new landing which she will speak to you about when it arrives, won’t you, Lady Foxmore?’
‘Yes, Your Grace,’ said Martha, but still didn’t look at Frankie. Thea poked her with an elbow. Martha went on, grudgingly. ‘Mr Crumpacker will soon understand how the glasshouse is ordered and will work within that structure. Won’t you, Mr Crumpacker.’ Crumpacker looked up at her.
‘I will, my lady,’ he said. And actually smiled. Not a big one, but it definitely curled the corners of his mouth upwards.
‘And you will be polite to Mr Crumpacker,’ said Martha to Frankie.
‘If he’s polite to me,’ said Frankie. Martha looked like she was about to say something else, but Thea cut her off.
‘Why don’t you show Mr Crumpacker your jacobaea lily?’ she asked, encouraging Frankie with her eyes. They all walked over to the hot bed by the wall.
‘Blooming already!’ said Martha, almost forgetting how much she disliked the gardener.
Frankie broke a smile, a little cocky. ‘Yes, lady. Put it out for a cold spell. I know the duchess had her concerns but it–’
‘Did you get that idea from Neville Knatchbull?’ asked Crumpacker.
‘No,’ said Frankie, the smile fading.
‘Why do you ask?’ asked Thea, her interest piqued at the mention of Neville’s name.
‘Because he mentioned to me the possibility of doing the same,’ said Crumpacker. ‘Recently. I have not yet heard how they fared.’
Thea saw Frankie’s eyebrows twitch.
‘In fact, Knatchbull has a great many similar plants to you,’ said Crumpacker, clearly oblivious to the tension between the households. ‘But more, and better glasshouses, obviously.’
‘Obviously,’ said Thea, gritting her teeth.
‘Well,’ said Martha with an uncharacteristic cheery tone. ‘I think we could all do with a cup of tea, don’t you?’
Thea recognised the attempt to diffuse attention. ‘Absolutely,’ she said. ‘Thank you, Frankie.’
She began to walk back to the house with Martha and Crumpacker, but a thought nagged at her.
‘I will join you in the parlour,’ she said, and looped back to the glasshouse.
Annie had joined Frankie with the children, and Frankie had Abigail in her arms, holding her up to touch the tendril of a Scindapsus.
She ignored Thea in favour of the plant.
‘Did you tell anyone?’ Thea asked in a low voice, ‘about leaving the lily outside?’
Frankie shook her head. ‘Nobody apart from those who work here, I was thinking the same myself.’
Thea nodded. ‘Could be a coincidence.’
‘Could be,’ said Frankie, but she didn’t look so sure.
When Thea arrived in the parlour Crumpacker already had his head in a book. One of the new maids whose name Thea couldn’t quite remember brought tea, and she sat sipping quietly with Martha while Crumpacker perused the pages.
‘Did you enjoy your time at Upper Plumbthorne, Mr Crumpacker?’ Thea asked, slipping a candied cherry off the plate in front of them.
‘Tolerably well,’ said Crumpacker, his eyes on the page. ‘My room was a little draughty and Mrs Knatchbull is a little overenthusiastic for my tastes, but the plants made the visit worthwhile. I only spent a fortnight or so there.’
Thea wasn’t sure whether to be impressed or alarmed by Crumpacker’s unfailing honesty. It was unusual in society, but she found it strangely refreshing. ‘I understand Mr Knatchbull is having significant success with his growing.’
‘Yes,’ said Crumpacker, not looking up. ‘His gardener is at least. Knatchbull is only interested for his social endeavours. Extensive stove ranges. A wealth of plants but also significant pests. It is quite the living collection, Your Grace.’
‘And do you still have links there?’ she asked. ‘Contacts with the gardeners?’
‘I am in regular correspondence with Mr Knatchbull,’ he said simply. ‘When there is a specimen of note or a query on cultivation. Do you have a requirement of them, Your Grace?’
Thea swallowed. She knew she would get an honest answer to her next question but wasn’t sure she wanted one. ‘Is he having any luck with his protea, do you know?’
Crumpacker finally raised his head but fixed his gaze out of the window. ‘Ah, fascinating plant. Has one common scaly periantheum and noticeably bristly styles. Obtuse stigma, too.’
Thea struggled to follow this information but was almost certain that he hadn’t answered her question.
‘And were there any at Upper Plumbthorne, Mr Crumpacker? The bristly styles?’ She glanced at Martha who sat with her arm across the back of the chair next to her, a smile on her face.
Thea got the impression she could have intervened but was enjoying this exchange.
‘Plenty,’ said Crumpacker.
‘Plenty?’ said Thea, not sure about what he meant. ‘Of the protea? At Knatchbull’s?’
‘Absolutely,’ said Crumpacker. ‘Tens of them in the stove waiting to go out for the summer.’
‘Oh,’ said Thea, her heart dropping. She glanced up at Martha and knew she could see her own disappointment reflected on her face.
‘I suppose that’s it then.’ If Knatchbull had germinated the protea, he would have the plants to the queen before the year was out.
And she would, yet again, be left behind, and seen as the woman that did not achieve.
‘The king protea?’ Martha asked Crumpacker, sitting forwards. ‘Protea cynaroides?’
Crumpacker’s eyes flicked to her and back to the window.
‘Of course not, nobody can get that from seed. I am talking about the Lepidocarpodendron types. You really should try to be more specific, Your Grace, when talking about species. It is why the use of Linnaeus’s botanical naming system is so important. ’
Thea was beginning to understand why Mrs Jenkins had stormed out of the carriage, and come to think of it, she had been keeping a low profile ever since.
Having a lie down, she expected. She opened her mouth to suggest that Crumpacker may like to be more respectful, but Martha held out a hand to stop her.
‘How did those Gorteria seeds go?’ she asked, giving Thea a not now look.
‘Gorteria?’ asked Crumpacker, dropping the book on his lap and sitting up. ‘You have them here?’
‘Just out in the glasshouse,’ said Thea, ‘by the…’ but she trailed off, as Crumpacker had already left.
‘And you said Frankie has little respect,’ she said, eyeing Martha as she sipped her tea.
‘He has plenty,’ said Martha. ‘His understanding of it simply doesn’t come from rank or status. It comes from earning it, and I find that refreshing.’
‘I did not get the impression that he was looking forward to his time here,’ said Thea. ‘In fact, he practically told me he wouldn’t be impressed with the garden before he saw it.’
Martha put down her cup. ‘Algie approaches every new situation with the expectation that it will be difficult. It is only because he is anxious. Give him a week and he will be waxing lyrical over your plants.’
‘Algie?’ asked Thea.
‘Yes, Algie,’ said Martha. ‘We spent a long time at sea together and I can vouch for the fact that he is a good man. You said yourself that everyone has different circumstances and should be given a chance. He is a wonder but struggles a little in society.’
‘Hhmph,’ said Thea, still smarting a little from his rebuke. ‘As you respect him, I will give him the time. And he could be useful; I do want to keep an eye on Knatchbull.’