Chapter 8 #2
The man twisted his hat in his hands before he spoke. “It’s the loading cranes, sir.”
“What about them? Spit it out, man.”
“They’ve been smashed to smithereens, sir.”
Halverton banged a fist on the table. “You have the perpetrators in custody?”
The harbour master gripped his hat harder. “No, sir.”
Halverton took a steadying breath. “I have the finest soldiers in the country; how is it possible they escaped?”
“It wasn’t people, sir.”
“Not people?”
The harbour master looked at Aoife then, as though pleading for her help.
“No, sir.” He took a deep breath, the rest of his words coming out in a rush.
“It was a beast, sir, an enormous beast. Larger than any animal I’ve ever seen.
It charged in the middle of the night; we didn’t see it until it was upon us, and it was gone just as fast.”
“There’s no such thing as beasts,” Halverton snapped.
The harbour master flinched, though he tried to hide it.
“Wild animals, no doubt,” Halverton said evenly. “Bears or wolves, working in a group, can do extensive damage and would seem larger than life.”
“You’re right, of course.”
“How long until the cranes are operational again?”
“It’ll take a few days, and that’s after we have the materials. That’s why I’m here, sir.”
Halverton stood. “We will speak to my woodward at once.”
The harbour master breathed a sigh of relief. Halverton crossed the room to Aoife and put his hand on hers. The sensation ran up her arm and buzzed at the base of her skull.
“I will see you at dinner, my dear.” He crossed to the door.
“What am I to do?” she asked.
He paused in the doorframe. “You are a lady now.”
“What do ladies do?”
He glanced back, the faintest smile touching his scarred face. “I do not actually know.”
Then he left her alone among the untouched platters of food.
***
The gardens were lush and beautiful, overflowing with colour, but Aoife was struck by how little here could be eaten.
There were grow houses filled with cucumbers and hothouse flowers, but most of the land was grass and ornament.
Everything had been reclaimed from the wild, shaped into order, and yet so little of it seemed useful. Why tend a garden that feeds no one?
It was all for show, like the house itself, a performance of plenty.
Tucked behind the main lawns, near what she guessed was the gardener’s bothy, she found a herb garden.
It was the first thing on the entire estate that interested her.
The beds were packed with greenery: plants she knew well and others she’d only read about in her mother’s books.
Everything was thriving, neat and fragrant in the early autumn sun.
She spotted Tarrabeth. A few leaves brewed in a tea were perfect against a cough, and she’d been short of it for months. She stepped over the low border to reach it when a voice called sharply, “Stop! What do you think you’re doing?”
Aoife froze, then turned.
A gardener was standing behind her, spade in hand, his expression more startled than angry.
“I’m sorry,” she blurted. “I should have asked. I only wanted to…” she trailed off.
He frowned, then sighed. “You know what that is?”
“Of course,” she said. “Do you?”
The gardener did not seem impressed at her attempt at levity.
“It’s Tarrabeth,” she said. “I’ve run out. Could you spare any?”
The gardener’s posture shifted, his shoulders easing a fraction and his grip on the spade loosening. “Most folk wouldn’t know Tarrabeth from ground ivy,” he muttered.
Aoife bit back a smile. “I’m not most folk.”
“That so?” He stepped closer, still wary but no longer bristling. Up close, he was younger than she first thought, with sun-marked skin and a beard threaded with gold. “Well… if you know what it is, you know it’s not to be handled lightly.”
“I do know,” Aoife said, crouching for a better look at the plant. “Three leaves for tea. More than that and it can cause stomach cramps and vomiting.”
The gardener murmured something she couldn’t make out, approval perhaps. He hesitated, then set the spade aside. “All right. Careful, mind.”
She reached in and pinched off a few leaves. “Thank you.”
He scratched the side of his beard, studying her. “Where d’ya learn about Tarrabeth then?”
Aoife laughed under her breath. “I learnt from my mother. And she from hers.”
“Ah,” he nodded, bending to pinch a stray weed from the soil. “They taught you well.”
She watched the neat, efficient movement of his hands. “You keep this garden beautifully.”
“Try to. Hard work this time of year.” He brushed a bit of soil from his palm. Aoife could imagine the hours of work it took to keep falling leaves off the pristine lawns.
Her gaze drifted to a reddened patch on his hand, angry, as though rubbed raw by rope or caught on wire.
Without thinking, she asked, “Does that itch?”
He blinked at her. “What?”
“Your hand,” she said, pointing lightly. “It looks sore.”
He curled the hand instinctively, hiding the worst of it. “Now and then. Had it on and off for years. Flares up sometimes. Goes away again soon enough.”
“I can make you an ointment for it,” Aoife said. “If you’ll spare me a few sprigs of wigwort.”
He smiled faintly, then stepped over the border and cut a few sprigs for her. “His lordship likes the gardens to be trimmed regularly. No one will notice if a little goes astray.”
She thanked him and tucked the herbs into a hidden pocket in the deep folds of her dress.
As she returned to the house, Aoife considered what else she needed.
Oil, of course, she had brought a little with her as well as the pestle and mortar she’d need to grind the herbs.
It was then that she stopped in her tracks.
Halverton had confiscated the lot. Perhaps the footman hadn’t disposed of everything yet. She’d have to find him and ask.
Aoife started in the breakfast room, but was unsurprised not to find him there, given that breakfast had finished almost an hour ago.
She tried the dining room, the sitting room, but not only could she not find the footman Halverton had given her things to, she couldn’t find any members of staff at all.
A soft rustle of fabric came from one of the side corridors, but if anyone had been there, they’d vanished by the time she turned the corner.
Looking for a member of staff was a nice excuse to explore, and Aoife tried every corridor and every door. She found the house had a half-dozen unused bedrooms. A few locked doors. A cupboard full of bedding, another of towels. But she didn’t find a single member of staff.
It wasn’t until she returned to the bottom of the house that she spotted one of the footmen adjusting the grandfather clock in the entrance hall. She tried to look calm and not like she’d finally won a game of hide and seek with Eoin and Maire.
The footman glanced at her as she approached, her footsteps loud in the echo-filled entrance hall.
“Sorry, I didn’t catch your name at breakfast,” she said.
He looked at her silently. “James, miss,” he replied curtly, returning to his work.
“I was wondering if you could help me retrieve my things?”
“Your things?”
“Yes, the bag Lord Halverton gave you yesterday. There were a few items in there that I need and I was hoping you could tell me where to find them.”
“I’m afraid I can’t help you.”
“I’m happy to go get them myself if you just tell me where to look.”
“I can’t help you because I was not the one Lord Halverton gave the bag to.”
“Oh, I’m sorry. I thought…” She was certain it had been him, with his footman uniform, sharp jawline and golden eyes he was quite distinctive. “Could you tell me who did take it?”
“I would expect the second footman, Kit, dealt with it.”
“Ah,” she had been right about the uniform. Just the wrong face. “Could you tell me where to find him?”