Chapter 27
The shifting of the bed woke Thea, and then a rhythmic grumbling hit her ears.
She opened her eyes to see Martha whispering to Mrs Phibbs through the door.
She turned to the other side for the source of the noise.
It was Cecily, still in the middle of the bed, head back, mouth open and snoring louder than Musket. Martha appeared at the side of the bed.
‘Mrs Phibbs will take the water to my room. We can wash and dress in there, I am sure Cecily will sleep a while longer after all that whisky.’
‘What time is it?’ asked Thea, sitting up carefully so as not to wake her bed mate.
‘Six-thirty,’ said Martha.
‘Ugh,’ said Thea. ‘I do love you, but you do like your early mornings.’
‘As much as I would enjoy a morning in bed with Mrs Knatchbull and a duchess,’ said Martha, raising her brow, ‘there is something I would like to investigate in the frame yard before the others rise. I suspect, from the quantity of wine consumed last night, that we should have a few hours at least before anyone else thinks of rising. And aren’t you curious to see the protea? ’
‘You think we can sneak out and take a look?’
‘I absolutely do,’ grinned Martha.
After leaving Cecily a cup of tea for when she awoke, they washed, dressed, slipped out of a side door and headed to the frame yard.
‘Good grief,’ said Thea as they wandered between stoves and greenhouses. ‘Look at them all.’ There were, indeed, a great many, in addition to the display house prominently situated on the east lawn.
‘More money than sense,’ said Martha.
‘Why are we here?’ asked Thea, trotting behind her. ‘Not that I’m not interested, but you seem to have a purpose?’ They nodded at a man wheeling a barrow of compost past them – it was more than his job was worth to challenge well-to-do ladies.
‘There’s something I wish to check,’ said Martha, pressing the handle on the nearest house and stepping inside. Thea followed her, the heady smell of warm compost and verdant foliage hitting her nostrils.
‘Excellent,’ she said, as that smell always calmed her. Then she looked around. What a wealth of plants it held. There were Lychnis and Geranium, Gladiolus and Bellis. The raised planters were stocked with terracotta pots full of blooming plants.
‘Abundant,’ said Martha, looking around her. ‘But nothing of note. And whitefly everywhere – look at it.’
Thea poked an Alchemilla, and a plume of tiny white flies took to the air. ‘Frankie would never have that,’ she said, and they moved on to the next house.
That one turned out to be all large trees in pots – Sumach, Euonymus, Celastrus and even an olive tree. They were crammed in together, reaching for the light. Most of the pots had a black substance coating the rim. Thea touched it. ‘Sticky,’ she said. ‘Honeydew.’
‘Covered in aphid,’ said Martha, lifting up the congested branches of a service tree. ‘And that should be outside, for a start.’
They exited that house at the other end and Martha stood with her hands on her hips.
‘Where could it be?’ she said, almost to herself.
And then a man with a beard walked past, carrying a watering can.
‘Excuse me,’ she said politely. ‘May I congratulate you in the strongest terms on the garden and plants here – they are quite exquisite.’ The man bowed awkwardly.
‘Thank you, my lady.’
Martha gave him her brightest smile. ‘We have been looking for some seedlings that I understand are rather rare. I don’t suppose you would be able to point us in the right direction?’
The man looked uncertain. ‘I am not supposed to show anyone, my lady.’
Martha held up her hands. ‘I understand, of course. It is only that the Duchess of Hartford and I have been informed by Mr Knatchbull that he has successfully germinated a new plant and we would so desire to see it, however, I believe that the gentlemen are preparing for their shoot. But we will of course, come back later when Mr Knatchbull is here.’
Thea had seen the start in the man as the word ‘duchess’ was mentioned.
It had clearly been impressed upon the staff that they were to be on their best behaviour during the visit.
This, and his instructions, seemed to provide him with a conundrum.
Martha shamelessly took advantage. ‘My apologies for not asking sooner, I assume you are a gardener here?’
‘Yes, my lady,’ said the man.
‘And you have been here long?’
‘A year and a half,’ he said. ‘I was at Tangbrean before that.’
Thea saw Martha’s eyes widen. ‘With the waterlilies? Oh my goodness, how I would appreciate your advice. I have one or two in my lake, but they go so mushy and brown over winter. I would, of course, not presume to take your valuable advice for free.’ Thea saw the man’s eye dip to the flash of silver in Martha’s hand.
‘Of course, my lady, ah, Your Grace,’ said the gardener. ‘Why don’t we go inside out of the breeze?’
‘How terribly kind of you,’ said Martha, turning back and winking at Thea. They followed the man into the largest and most grand of the glasshouses.
He turned back towards them, now they were out of the way of prying ears. ‘I suppose the seedlings you were after might be around here too?’
Martha’s grin was wide. ‘That would be even more valuable information, I am sure.’ His answering smile told her they were on the same page. It also told Thea that he felt very little loyalty towards his employer.
The grandest glasshouse, thought Thea, of course this is where Knatchbull would want to bring his fellow gentleman growers to show them his prize seedlings. They made their way to the centre of the house where a large, raised brick sand bed jutted out into the middle of the floor.
‘What an exceptional space,’ said Martha, looking around. ‘This must be an amazing place to work.’
The man opened and closed his mouth. And then said, ‘Yes, my lady.’ He then pointed at some seedlings in the centre of the bed. ‘This is them, my lady.’
‘Thank you so much,’ said Martha, and Thea saw her slide two pennies across the top of the bricks towards the gardener.
He palmed them smoothly. ‘Thank you kindly, my lady, do let me know if there is anything else I can do for you.’
Martha smiled at him again and then looked at the seedlings. Thea saw a beat pass, and then Martha turned back to him. ‘You will have to forgive me as I am not sure what I am looking at,’ she said. ‘These are… prostena?’ asked Martha, feigning ignorance.
‘Protea,’ said the man, now significantly warmer in his address. ‘From the Cape of Good Hope.’
‘Well,’ said Martha, peering at the seedlings closely. ‘How delightful. Mr Knatchbull must have excellent growing standards and very talented gardeners.’
The man paused. ‘Talented growers certainly, my lady.’
Martha cocked her head at him. ‘The methods here are not quite up to your standards?’ Thea wasn’t sure what Martha was getting at, but she was treading a delicate line. They both knew that the Tangbrean collection was almost legendary, and this man must have pride in his work.
He looked around him to ensure no prying ears.
‘It isn’t my place to say, my lady, and I usually wouldn’t, but you are clearly a lady of understanding.
I would not want you to think that the condition of some of the plants meets my exacting standards.
I do plan to look for another position in the coming months, and any recommendations are valuable. ’
‘I see,’ said Martha. ‘I had noticed that some of the trees do not look so healthy.’
‘Packed too close,’ said the gardener. ‘Should have more room but the master is insistent we should have more and more each year. That’s the reason for me wanting to move on.
Too many pests, no time to sterilise compost, floors and glass not washed, it’s only a matter of time before we have big losses, you mark my words. ’
‘I see,’ said Martha again. ‘And so, I assume that it is the skill of you or one of your other excellent gardeners who has figured out how to germinate these rare plants from the Cape?’
The man dropped his voice. ‘Nobody here had any idea. The master had a tip off from someone on how to do it – the benefits of his connections I expect. Look.’ He pointed at the surface of the compost where decomposing slimy blobs could be seen.
‘I’ve never heard anything like it, but it seems that eyeballs were the thing. From sheep,’ he added, carefully.
There was a commotion from outside the stove house and the man started, eyes wide.
‘Lord, if I’ve been heard…’ He ran down the paved path of the stove house and out of the door at the end.
Thea heard a muffled curse, presumably from whoever had been lurking outside of the glass.
There was a scuffle, and then the man had someone by the collar.
Thea and Martha hastened to the door to investigate.
‘What’choo doing out there,’ the man was demanding to the figure he grasped by the back of the collar. ‘I’ll have you for sneaking around in…’
‘Mrs Phibbs?!’ said Thea as the scuffle settled and she got a better view. The man stopped, and Mrs Phibbs froze. ‘It is you, Mrs Phibbs,’ said Thea, stepping forward. ‘What on earth are you doing out here?’
‘Just came to find you and Lady Foxmore, Your Grace,’ said Mrs Phibbs, extracting herself from the man’s grasp and straightening her dress.
‘I was wanting to know whether you would desire lemon curd or jam with your rolls this morning?’ Her face was unreadable, and the gardener looked between them with a look of distasteful surprise.