1 Arrivals #3
“But it is odd,” Cora said thoughtfully.
“The previous persons brought by Mr Goodenough had obvious r?les to fulfil — Rowena being so like the duke’s first wife, Mr Payne here to design the orangery which was already under consideration, and Mr Chamberlain to paint a portrait of the future duchess, a likely requirement.
But the duke has given no indication of a desire to improve the grounds of Staineybank.
The formal gardens are somewhat old-fashioned, but he always expresses pleasure in the way they remind him of his youth.
So why bring Mr Garth here on that pretext?
It seems strange, and the wrong name is even more strange.
One has to wonder whether Mr Goodenough has made a mistake this time. ”
Hester nodded, then, with a sigh, said, “I am a trifle fatigued. I shall retire, I think.”
“Of course. All this excitement is exhausting,” Cora said. “Shall I come with you to carry your candle?”
“No need. I have not far to go.”
So saying, she slipped quietly from the room.
***
For some days the Garths were honoured guests at Staineybank, brought there by the intervention of Mr Goodenough and permitted to stay by the wish of the duke.
“Mr Goodenough has not led us astray yet,” he said happily. “Nothing but splendid people, whom I am delighted to have staying at Staineybank. Great assets to our company.”
Mrs Garth and her daughter attached themselves to Cora, when they were not wandering about the house.
They called it exploring, but after the third time Cora found them investigating the contents of a cupboard, she decided it was more in the nature of prying.
‘Are you looking for something?’ became a regular refrain, but when they were found rattling the door of the silver closet to see if it was locked, she felt it necessary to reprove them.
Miss Garth looked chastened, but her mother laughed it off.
“We shall never have another opportunity to see how a duke lives. You cannot deny us the pleasure of seeing all the splendours of the house.”
Cora would have denied them in a heartbeat, and in fact, if it had been her house, she would have had them packing their bags on the spot, but the duke was tolerant. He gave young Mr Edward Garth the run of the stables, and himself took Mr Garth out with a gun to enjoy what sport was to be had.
Mr Garth fulfilled his obligations as a protégée of Mr Goodenough by striding about the gardens from time to time, pointing out the mature trees and hundred-year-old hedges he would tear down, to replace with…
it was hard to know what he would replace them with.
At one moment it would be a hill with a stream running from top to bottom, at another it would be nothing but roses.
It was the moment in the White Drawing Room before dinner when he was discoursing at length on the subject of a folly that the duke lost his patience.
“You are rambling, Garth,” he snapped. “Yesterday, you wanted a walled rose garden. The day before, a maze. Now you talk about bridges and follies and a ha-ha, and even a parterre. A parterre! I have a parterre, or had you not noticed? There is a maze, too, but you would have to have walked more than a hundred paces from the house to find it, and you have barely looked at the gardens. You know nothing about gardens, do you? Let me tell you, sir, that when a neighbour had Repton in to design his gardens, the fellow spent his time walking every inch of the ground. He took measurements and made sketches and tested the soil and talked to the gardeners about what would grow there, and then — only then, mark you — did he begin to think about what improvements he would make. You are a fraud, sir, a fraud, and you have imposed on our good nature by coming here pretending to know anything about gardens!”
Mr Garth puffed out his chest, so that he looked like nothing so much as a pigeon. “I assure your grace that I came only at your invitation,” he said belligerently.
“That you did not!”
Mr Garth looked as if he would like to punch the duke on the nose, but perhaps he realised that this was not a propitious move, for he said more temperately, “Well, Mr Goodenough’s invitation.
I had no intention of misleading anyone, I assure you.
I have indeed remodelled my own gardens…
to some extent, which accounted in my mind for the invitation, but naturally if your grace is dissatisfied… ”
“I am indeed dissatisfied, Garth. I do not think Mr Goodenough intended you to come here.”
“Indeed he did, I assure you.”
“Let me see the letter, then.”
“But your grace—”
“Letter!” the duke said, holding out his hand.
With obvious reluctance, Mr Garth pulled a paper from a pocket of his waistcoat, which the duke examined carefully, first the direction on the outside, and then the letter itself.
“Ha! The outside is blotted, so the confusion is understandable, but inside… look here — ‘To Mr Calvin Garth, Lampton Priory, Gloucestershire’. It is addressed to Calvin Garth, you see, not Charles. Who is Calvin Garth?”
“The under-gardener is called Calvin Garford,” Mr Garth said tersely. “An under-gardener, your grace. It is quite clear that Mr Goodenough made a simple mistake. He could not possibly have intended to send an under-gardener to you.”
“Hammond!” the duke bellowed. “I want you to take the small travelling carriage tomorrow and go to Lampton Priory to fetch this Calvin Garford. Then we shall see, eh, Garth?”