2 The Gardener #2
“Why not come upstairs and meet my wife and son?” Hammond said. “I can admire my family and you can have that pot of ale and tell us all the gossip about Mr Charles Garth, because his man is as close-mouthed as an oyster.”
“He’s not much liked below stairs, I can tell you,” Robert said, removing the last items from Cal’s portmanteau by turning it upside-down and shaking vigorously. “Wants everythin’ jest so, he does, and no thought for the work it takes. Thinks everythin’ revolves around him, don’t he, Will?”
“Aye, right enough,” said the other footman.
Cal could see that Hammond was about to remonstrate with them, so he said quickly, “Don’t like him much myself. How about that pot of ale, Mr Hammond?”
And so Cal spent the rest of the afternoon in the Hammonds’ simple apartment in a corner of the attics, its plain furnishings and worn rugs on the floor in striking contrast to the ostentation visible in the public parts of the house.
Mrs Hammond was a pleasant woman, not a great beauty but with a mass of auburn hair escaping from her cap.
The baby was as all babies are, and Cal was thankful he had never chosen that path.
But a woman — that was a different matter.
To have a woman of his own, who looked at him with shining eyes as Mrs Hammond looked at her husband, a woman with an abundance of soft hair to spread on the pillow for his delight…
that would be something else. It was a matter of some regret that it had never happened.
The afternoon passed away pleasantly, the Hammonds cooing over the baby and exchanging the sort of news only of interest to them, while Cal was left in peace to consume three pots of ale and the better half of a pound cake baked that morning, which was almost as good as his own, and fret about his peas.
The Hammonds were too polite to press him for gossip and he was too polite to offer it.
He only left when chased out by Hammond, to ready himself for the ordeal of dinner with the Duke of Brinshire, the Garths and a houseful of strangers.
***
Cora had grown very tired of the Garths.
Happily, Mrs Garth had discovered a more promising audience for her domestic investigations in Charlotte, who seemed to have endless patience with her and delighted in showing off the various sets of china or the contents of the still room.
Miss Garth, however, still clung to Cora’s skirts, so to speak.
She was a lively child, always wanting to be doing something instead of sitting quietly with a piece of needlework or practising on the instrument, as a young lady should do.
If it was not archery, it was battledore and shuttlecock, or cricket, or some other exhausting pastime.
When the weather was unfit for outdoor activity, she and her brother played parlour games and squabbled constantly.
Fortunately, Mr Chamberlain had returned from Cheshire and, having taken over a part of the attic for his fencing practice, was perfectly happy to entertain Miss Garth and her brother to any number of sporting endeavours there.
All Cora had to do was to sit in a corner with her needlework and play chaperon.
Since she often had the duchess, also returned from Cheshire, joining her, this duty was not as dull as it might have been.
With the advent of the gardener from Lampton Priory, an event much disparaged by Mr and Mrs Garth, there was an air of anticipation in the White Drawing Room as the company gathered before dinner that evening.
The confusion of the names and the question of whether Mr Goodenough had made a dreadful mistake meant that everyone was keen to see the new arrival.
He was almost the last to appear, brought into the room by Mr Hammond, who made the introductions.
He was rather a surprise, not at all what Cora had expected.
Where she had imagined an under-gardener would be a young man, Mr Garford was close to her own age.
Although his clothes were neither fashionable nor expensive, he was respectably attired, in the manner of a moderately wealthy burgher or yeoman farmer.
His coat was simply styled, in a dark colour with a grey waistcoat.
His neckcloth was a simple knot, but his linen was immaculately white.
In fact, he made everyone else in the room look vulgarly overdressed, and she included herself in that description.
Mr Hammond walked him round the room, hurling names at him which he could not possibly remember, but he bowed politely to everyone and moved on.
The Garths made only the smallest acknowledgement, before beginning a low-voiced grumble about encroaching gardeners who thought themselves the equal of their betters.
But what could the poor man do, when the duke insisted on treating him as an honoured guest, as if he were another peer, or at least a gentleman? It was not his fault he was here.
Once the formal introductions had been made, the girls surrounded him like a flock of colourful birds.
Charlotte, Augusta, Maria and Sophia — Cora’s daughters always liked to show particular attention to newcomers, and Miss Garth had rushed across the room to join them.
The duke and duchess were there, too, as well as Mr Hammond and Mr Godley.
Mr Garford seemed quite easy about the attention, responding calmly to questions, not at all shy or rattled by the elevated company in which he now found himself.
If anything, he seemed rather at home… no, that was not quite right.
Cora pondered the question, watching his face carefully.
Serene, that was the word. He was a still pool of serenity in the midst of all the excited chatter around him.
The remaining Garths collected as far from him as possible, surrounding Cora in her quiet corner, who listened in growing discomfort to their muttered catalogue of grievances.
She tried to shut them out, and focused her attention instead on the object of their complaints.
Despite his age, he was a well-looking man, his dark blue eyes set in a face browned by the sun, as was natural in his profession, his black hair showing a sprinkle of grey.
Now that she observed him closely, his more humble status was obvious although she could not have said why.
His bearing, perhaps, which was neither haughtily aristocratic nor military.
When he moved, there was a litheness about him that mesmerised her.
No man she had ever met before moved in quite that way, like an animal… a cat, perhaps.
As she watched, fascinated by this lowly newcomer who seemed so unaffected by his unusual surroundings, he raised his head, his bright eyes looking directly at her…
and then he smiled. It was a smile of such intimacy that it was as if they had known each other forever.
His gaze moved on, the connection broken, but she felt oddly shaken.
How very strange. Whatever had happened?
Dinner was not a comfortable experience.
Even without Mr Simon Payne and his sister, who were still in Cheshire overseeing the renovation of the duchess’s house there, the arrival of the Garths had exceeded the capacity of the dining room.
This meant that dinner was served in the library, the duke proudly reminding everyone that when the interior of the new gallery was completed, he would be able to entertain seventy guests at his table.
The duchess, a quiet soul who was the daughter of an unimportant country gentleman, looked horrified.
Sophia, the keenest dancer in the family, reminded him that the gallery was a ballroom first, and she would be pleased if he would remember that.
This started a lively and not altogether good-humoured argument at the duke’s end of the table.
The duchess’s end was not much better, for she had Mr and Mrs Garth on one side of her and Mr Garford on the other.
When Mr Garth had the duchess’s attention, he held forth in ringing tones about the impertinence of servants who failed to know their place, and when the duchess turned to Mr Garford, Mr Garth continued in the same vein to his wife.
Mr Garford, meanwhile, had the all-too-lively Miss Garth on his other side, who seemed determined to counter her parents’ hostility by flirting outrageously with him, despite the difference in their ages.
Cora had positioned herself near enough to the duchess to watch these dramas playing out.
She was on the opposite side of the table from Mr Garford, and could only admire his forbearance.
The Garths he ignored, talking quietly to the duchess whenever she addressed him, and dealing with Miss Garth’s pertness in an avuncular manner.
“Now, now, Miss Vi, spare me your nonsense, and me almost old enough to be your grandfather. I hope you won’t go on this way when you go up to town or you’ll give all the grand folks a disgust of you.
You want those vouchers for Almack’s, don’t you?
Then behave yourself, like the demure young lady your Mama’s brought you up to be. ”
And for five minutes she would quieten down, apply herself to her plate or turn to Mr Godley on her other side. The chaplain would have been delighted to flirt with her, but she soon tired of him and turned back to Mr Garford. Or Uncle Cal, as she called him.