6 A Question Of Home #2
“Ooh, what’s this one?” he said, holding one up. “Ain’t never seen nuffink like it afore.”
“That is called Red Jenny,” Cora said, rather proud of her new knowledge.
“Red Jenny?” Mrs Bright said, looking up with a frown. “Is that a new one, Ben? How should I cook it?”
“Cal Garford says it is best avoided,” Cora said. “I am not sure why. He was rather vague about it.”
“Those aren’t for the house, Timmy,” Ben Lovell said. “They’re not good eating, but there are other uses for them. A woman in the village asked me for some. They’re hard to find, but I see them sometimes. Put them back in the bag.”
“But they’re pretty!” the boy said, pouting.
“Fungus are treacherous, Timmy,” Ben said. “The prettiest ones can be deadly, while the plainest are mostly good, wholesome food. Isn’t that so, Mrs Bridges?”
“Aye, so it is, which is why we have you to tell us which is which, cos I’m a town girl, and don’t know one from another. Just as well you’re honest, Ben Lovell, cos you could poison the whole house if you’d a mind to.”
“I could at that,” he said, grinning. “Lucky for you I like you all too well.”
“You like my dinners too well, you mean. Better get these birds off to the game store. Come on, Timmy, stir your stumps, lad. We’ve got the men’s dinner to get on the table.”
Cora left them to it, and made her way upstairs to the Marble Hall, where the unusual bustle told her at once that something was occurring.
“What is happening, Robert?” she said, as the footman rushed past her with a pile of blankets, one of them dangling dangerously close to his foot.
“The nursery’s off to the summer house, while the sun’s out, madam,” he said, without pausing on his way to the front door, which stood wide open.
Cora hesitated, as the peaceful solitude of her own room beckoned, but the sight of Froggett leading a small procession bearing trays of tea things settled the matter. She had no objection to four infants and their army of attendants if there was tea to drink.
The summer house was situated halfway down the lawn at the front of the house, giving it a commanding view over the upper lake and the woods behind.
At the top of the lake, Mr Payne’s elegant new Palladian bridge arched over the water to the orangery on its promontory.
Lower down, the lake narrowed sinuously, the small belt of trees on the near side hiding the stepping stones.
But she knew they were there, and just above them, hidden amongst the foliage, was Cal’s hut.
If she strained her eyes, she thought she could just make it out, but then the breeze would catch the branches and shift them about so that she could not be sure.
The nursery party was as chaotic as Cora had feared.
Caroline ran about on her fat little legs, with a nurse and her father in pursuit.
Whenever she fell, which was often, it was Richard to whom she turned for comfort.
He soon transformed her tears to smiles and off she would go again.
Rowena and Sophia sat in a shady spot while their two infants, both with the Merrington dark hair and slender frames, lay kicking their legs side by side on a rug, one grizzling and the other outright crying.
Augusta and Maria, the infants’ doting aunts, dangled toys in an attempt to distract them.
The duke, seated on a chair with gilded arms, smilingly watched over the scene.
All around them, the servants laboured with rugs, chairs, tables and tea trays under Froggett’s stern gaze.
Cora hesitated. She was not tempted to run after Caroline, but the two crying babies were also her granddaughters, after all, and she should show some interest in them, she supposed. But Sophia saw her, and waved her away.
“No need to sit with us, Mama,” she said gaily. “I know how the noise makes your head ache. Find a peaceful spot and have a cup of tea.”
It was an offer Cora could not refuse. Accepting a cup gratefully, she went round to the back of the summer house, where she found a small pool of tranquillity amidst the chaos. The Hammonds sat with their son cradled in Georgie’s arms, blissfully asleep.
“I shall sit with you, I think,” Cora said firmly, waving to a passing footman carrying chairs to bring one for her. “How is it Claud is so settled when my own three granddaughters are… let us say, not quite so peaceful?”
“Georgie carries him much of the time,” Jamie Hammond said. “He seems to like it. My father says he will be quite spoilt to be so indulged, but we enjoy the quietness of a contented baby.”
“You will not mind if I enjoy the quietness, too,” Cora said, smiling at the sleeping child. “I love my three granddaughters very much, and will be delighted to teach them to read, embroider and play the pianoforte when they are older, but a crying baby is too tiring for words.”
“I can’t bear it when Claud cries,” Georgie said. “It seems to tear at my insides, somehow, and I can’t help but pick him up and cuddle him. Does that seem fanciful?”
“Surely it is natural in a mother,” Jamie said. “We should listen to our instincts, I believe, for they are telling us what to do for the best.”
“Instincts… yes.” Cora was only half listening, her eyes still straining to make out Cal’s hut across the lake.
Was that a flash of movement? Was he leaving the hut?
She had been disappointed that he had not accompanied her when she left to return to the house, but he was still mulling over his problem, she supposed.
But now — yes, that was definitely a glimpse of movement. He was coming…
“Mrs Merrington?”
Georgie’s voice drew her back to her surroundings. “I beg your pardon. I was wool gathering. What did you say?”
“I only asked if you had been out walking in the woods again. You were not in the morning room at all today, according to the duchess.”
“Oh… yes, I went out for a walk. The woods are so beautiful at this time of year.”
“Did you see Mr Garford at all?” Jamie said. “I am not sure how he is going on now that he has dispensed with Mr Monk’s help.”
“I… did see him, yes. He was considering what to do… whether to stay here or go home.”
“The duke seems very keen that he should make his home here,” Jamie said, with a wry smile. “He is one of Mr Goodenough’s protégées, and his grace is very keen to keep them all here, for some reason best known to himself.”
“He thinks they are sent to remind him of ladies he admired in his youth,” Georgie said.
“Well, it is possible, although how Mr Goodenough would know of the duke’s youthful thoughts is beyond my understanding,” Jamie said. “It seems a flimsy idea to me, and I cannot see how Garford would remind the duke of any lady he might have known.”
“Do you have a better explanation?” Cora said. “Your black sheep theory worked quite well for the previous arrivals, but Cal Garford is not much of a black sheep, either.”
“Jamie has an idea about that,” Georgie said, with pride in her voice. “Jamie always has an idea.”
“Do you remember the letter from Mr Goodenough?” Jamie said.
“It was addressed to Calvin Garth, not Calvin Garford. Well, I think Calvin Garford is the by-blow of one of the Garths. He would have been handed off to one of the estate workers, maybe after a hasty marriage, but clearly there is more to him than a mere gardener. Do you not see a hint of gentlemanly blood in him? He is like no gardener I have ever met.”
“That is true,” Cora said, “but still, would that make him a black sheep?”
“His father would be the black sheep in this case,” Jamie said.
“But there is no connection to the duke,” Cora said. “Why would Mr Goodenough send him here?”
“There must be a reason, of course,” Jamie said, “but we cannot know— Ah, here is Garford now.”
Cora had already seen him. She noticed him the instant he emerged from the trees hiding the stepping stones, and she had watched him walk steadily up towards the summer house from the lake.
She saw him looking further down the lawn, where Richard and the duke were now both engaged in chasing little Caroline, and then scanning the rugs where the two crying babies were surrounded by nurses and aunts, but he came steadfastly on towards where she sat with Jamie and Georgie.
“Mrs Merrington,” he said, making her a formal bow. “Mrs Hammond. Hammond. Fine afternoon, isn’t it?”
And with one of those devastating smiles in Cora’s direction, he sat at her feet, crossing his legs neatly, and chatted easily to the Hammonds, as if he spent every afternoon on a duke’s lawn.
Cora’s eyes were fixed on Cal, watching his mobile lips shaping words, watching his expressive hands moving, so it was Georgie who first spotted the arrival.
“Isn’t that one of the Brinchester carriers’ carts coming up the drive? Are we expecting a delivery today?”
“Nothing at all,” Jamie said, turning to look. “Wait, he has a woman with him.”
Cal was on his feet, shading his eyes to see better. “It is Violetta.”
“Miss Garth?” Jamie said. “Impossible.”
But Cal was already running towards the cart, which drew abruptly to a halt, and Miss Garth, if it was indeed she, scrambled to the ground, and ran towards him, her hair unkempt beneath a bonnet that looked as if it had been dunked in a river, it drooped so badly.
“Uncle Cal! Oh, Uncle Cal!” she called, her voice high with distress.
Cora and Jamie Hammond hastened towards them, as she hurled herself into Cal’s arms, bursting into violent sobs.
“Vi, whatever has happened? What are you doing here?”
“I had to tell you… it is gone, all gone…”
“What has gone?”
“Your cottage! Burnt to the ground… Papa ordered it done… he would not let anyone fetch water… we had to stand and watch it burn. Everything is destroyed, Cal. There is nothing left but the bare walls. Your lovely cottage is entirely gone.”