Chapter 20
‘And you say you kept it flowering all winter?’
‘All winter,’ came the cheery response from the glasshouse.
‘Remarkable,’ came the reply. ‘And is that...?’
‘Lachenalia tricolor,’ said Frankie, spinning the pot on the gravel to show the flowers from a better angle.
‘But – in March,’ said Crumpacker, staring at her.
‘Forced it,’ said Frankie smugly. ‘In the potting shed with sacking over as soon as I got here. Then brought it in here, not right by the firewall mind. And look at them now.’
‘Look at them,’ said Crumpacker, clearly in awe. ‘Knatchbull has similar, but I believe it is a different species. Coincidentally, he informed me that he tried forcing for the first time this year also.’
Thea traded a glance with Frankie. Another secret gone to Mr Knatchbull from their glasshouses.
Musket sniffed around Crumpacker’s ankles and Thea watched carefully for any of the tell-tale signs that he was about to bite, but then he flipped straight on his back with his legs in the air. Crumpacker looked down. ‘What’s he doing?’
‘Oh,’ said Frankie, a smile lighting her face. ‘He likes you.’
‘He doesn’t,’ said Crumpacker matter-of-factly. ‘He’s been shouting at me since I got here.’
‘Was shouting at you,’ clarified Frankie. ‘Now he likes you.’
‘I see.’ Crumpacker stood still as if he didn’t dare move his feet with the small black dog so close.
Thea smiled from the doorway she leaned against. Frankie was right.
Musket was coming round to Crumpacker faster than Mrs Jenkins or Mrs Phibbs were, she thought. ’What do I do now?’ the botanist asked.
‘Tickle his tummy,’ said Frankie.
Crumpacker looked horrified. ‘With those teeth so close? Absolutely not. I value both of my hands.’
‘He’ll be fine,’ said Frankie. ‘You’re a friend for life. Try it.’
Crumpacker looked like he’d rather put himself at the mercy of a lion, but despite himself reached down and tickled Musket just once with the tip of an index finger.
Musket squirmed in pleasure and stayed on his back.
Crumpacker pursed his lips and braved a firmer tickle.
Musket looked delighted, and even Crumpacker smiled.
‘Told you,’ muttered a voice in Thea’s ear. Thea turned a little to see Martha grinning. ‘He’s in his element.’
It had been almost a week and the change in Crumpacker was remarkable. Since he had settled in, he had spent some time in the garden, and some in the house, looking over Thea’s growing herbarium. She was sure that Frankie kept something new to impress him with every day.
‘I think we all agree it probably isn’t Crumpacker leaking the secrets,’ she said. ‘But someone certainly is. Knatchbull knows about the Lachenalia too, although he got the species wrong.’
‘Interesting,’ said Martha. ‘And infuriating.’
‘Certainly,’ said Thea quietly, ‘but if passing some secrets to him means I get more time with you, I can bear it.’
Martha smiled. ‘I knew you’d come round to Algie.’
‘Musket is a good judge of character,’ said Thea. ‘I do rather like Mr Crumpacker too, but I would rather he didn’t tickle my tummy.’
Martha laughed, and it made Frankie look up from where she chatted to Crumpacker.
‘What are these?’ he asked as they watched, peering at some relatively weedy plants in shallow pots. ‘They seem to be growing from sticks?’
‘Swan milkweed,’ said Frankie. ‘I’m trying them from root cuttings and they’re coming well.’
Crumpacker screwed up his face. ‘But they come so well from seed.’
‘And rarely flower early enough to set seed in England,’ said Frankie. ‘I’m hoping that this way they will mature earlier.’ Crumpacker stared at her, blinking, until it started to get uncomfortable.
‘Excellent,’ he said. Martha grinned at Thea, and they ventured further into the glasshouse.
‘Your Grace,’ said Frankie, looking up and seeing them. ‘Would you join me in the next house?’ Thea followed her to a shelf by the east end where a ragtag assortment of oddities sat. Frankie looked around them to check they were alone, then stopped.
‘I wanted to say to you directly, Your Grace.’ She kept her voice low. ‘I think someone has been in here.’
‘In here?’ asked Thea. ‘Surely they’re in here all the time?’
‘I mean when they shouldn’t be,’ said Frankie, glancing past Thea again. ‘I found a couple of things fallen over and the aloe overwatered a few times. Nothing obvious, just subtle, you know?’
‘Interesting,’ said Thea. ‘I have had my suspicions too.’
Frankie nodded. ‘Had to hide this one amongst the annuals,’ she said. ‘Make sure nobody noticed it.’ She picked up a plant and held it out to Thea, beaming with pride.
Thea took it and studied it. Lots of delicate, almost translucent stems, topped by flat, umbrella-like leaves up to around three inches across.
They brought to her mind the back of a frog, as always.
It wasn’t a tall plant, around five inches at most, but it trailed.
She recognised it immediately as a common nasturtium. She looked up at Frankie, quizzically.
‘Look more closely,’ Frankie suggested.
Thea turned the pot around in her hands and there it was. The flame red flower of a nasturtium, but different. Much different. It was wide, and full of red petals where there would usually be the stamens.
‘Good grief,’ she said, ‘where did that–’
‘Came from seed that must’ve set itself last year,’ said Frankie, almost beside herself. ‘Must be a sport. There’re a few others I’ve hidden around too – breed like rabbits, these.’ She held out her hands in triumph. Thea beckoned Martha over and handed her the pot.
‘Remarkable,’ she said. ‘A double flower.’
‘Exceptional,’ said Martha, turning it round in her hands. ‘But how will you perpetuate it?’ she asked, always pragmatic. ‘With no stamens or style?’
‘I’ll try splitting and cuttings,’ said Frankie definitely. ‘From later in the year. Can’t see a reason they wouldn’t come true.’
‘Amazing,’ said Thea, beaming at Frankie.
‘What an achievement. We shall send some directly to the queen herself, and…’ she paused, knowing this was even sweeter.
‘I shall write to Cecily and inform her that we shall bring one for Knatchbull for the shooting party.’ Then she caught herself.
‘If you are willing to let them go, of course,’ she said to Frankie.
‘One of the bonuses of the job,’ said Frankie, winking at her.
‘What on earth is it?’ asked Thea, peering at the yellow thing on the scullery bench.
She kept her hands behind her back. It was about the size of Musket’s head, and she wasn’t sure if she should touch it – it didn’t look anything like she had seen before and from its appearance, she had no idea whether it would be hard or soft.
The windows in here were small and the soot from the fireplace made it dark and even harder to see.
‘A sponge,’ said Martha, turning around with a pail of water from the sink. Thea had rarely been down here, but Martha had assured her it was the best place to do what she was about to do with one of the curiosities she had brought back from her travels. ‘From the Indian Ocean,’ Martha added.
‘Only half of that information helps me,’ said Thea. ‘Can I touch it?’
‘Of course,’ said Martha. ‘It won’t hurt you.’
Thea poked it with a finger first. It was quite hard but yielded a little when she applied more pressure. ‘I’m going to ask you again what it is,’ she said, ‘as all I know is that it comes out of the sea. Is it a plant?’
‘Animal,’ said Martha. Thea stopped poking it immediately. ‘We think, anyway. It sort of grows from the floor but doesn’t have any central systems – digestive, circulatory, that sort of thing.’
Thea thought back to her lectures with Dr Hunter, and this still didn’t make any more sense. ‘Right,’ she said, eyeing it suspiciously. ‘And is it still alive?’
‘Goodness, no,’ said Martha. And then put her hands on her hips. ‘At least, probably not.’
‘And what do we do with it now?’ asked Thea, bending down to put her face near it.
‘Put it in here.’ Martha hoisted a pail of water onto the scullery bench. Thea was pleased there weren’t any servants around to see them.
‘I’ll let you, I think,’ said Thea, as Martha enquired with a tilt of the head if Thea wanted to apply the sponge to the water. Martha picked it up and dropped it into the pail. They both bent over it, foreheads touching.
‘I hope we can do more of this,’ said Martha gently.
Thea closed her eyes, relishing just the gentlest touch. ‘I hope so too. It is so difficult…’
‘But we will bear it. I see how difficult it is for you now, but you must maintain your curiosity despite him.’ Thea knew who she meant. ‘A mind uncultivated grows dark and tangled, and you need the clarity of your wits.’
‘Thank you,’ said Thea, pulling back to look at Martha.
‘You always know what I need, even if I cannot see it.’ She looked around them before placing a quick peck on Martha’s lips.
Martha couldn’t control the smile on her face.
But then Thea heard a bubble break the surface of the water and looked down.
‘Good god,’ she said, turning her face back to Martha.
Martha looked down. ‘What?’ she asked, eyeing the sponge.
‘It’s getting bigger.’
‘They do that,’ said Martha. ‘It was three times as big when I got it, and it was wet.’ Then to Thea’s horror, she began to reach into the bucket. She couldn’t stop her hand slapping Martha’s arm away.
‘Ow,’ said Martha, rubbing the back of her hand. ‘What was that for?’
Thea stared at her, wondering if she had gone stark raving bonkers. ‘What if it has your arm off? It’s massive.’
Martha rolled her eyes. ‘Unlikely,’ she said, but retrieved some tongs from the fireside instead, picked it out of the bucket and placed it on a tray they had stolen from the kitchen.
Mrs Phibbs chose that moment to back in through the door, dragging a sack of linens and swearing under her breath as she noticed the trail of water Thea and Martha had splashed from the sink.