“Such a lovely day,” said the other.
Was it possible to hear double? The women’s voices were as indistinguishable as their faces. “Y-yes, it is,” Emma managed. “A lovely day.”
“I am Ruth Pym and this is my sister...”
“... Louise.” Louise patted the bench encouragingly. “Won’t you join us? There’s room enough...”
“... for three.” As Emma sat between them, Ruth continued, “We’re from a small village called Finch and we’re here for the day ...”
“... with the vicar. It is a bit far for us ...”
“...to drive on our own. Our motorcar, you see, is somewhat ...”
“... antiquated.”
Emma waited to be sure it was her turn to speak, then introduced herself.
“You are an American?” Ruth inquired. “And you have come all this way to see Bransley? How splendid. Are you by any chance ...”
“... a horticulturalist?” Louise finished.
“An amateur,” Emma replied. “I have a garden at home and I love it dearly, but I pay for it by working with computers.”
“But that is fascinating!” Ruth exclaimed. “You must be a very intelligent...”
“... and capable young woman.”
“Thanks,” said Emma, vaguely comforted by the thought that, in the eyes of these two elderly maidens, she was still a young woman. “It’s an interesting field, but I need something else to balance it. That’s why I started gardening.”
“I can well believe that,” said Ruth. “Computers, we have heard, are so frightfully ...”
“... clean.”
“A thing that cannot be said of gardens!”
The two sisters chuckled at Ruth’s small joke and Emma laughed with them, relaxing as they began a steady stream of garden gossip. They asked where she’d been and where she planned to go, eagerly soliciting her opinions on pesticides, mulches, and garden designs, but offering few of their own. The Pyms were so friendly, their interest was so genuine, and their enthusiasm so contagious, that well over an hour had passed before Emma even thought to glance at her watch.
“I’ve really enjoyed meeting you,” she said, getting reluctantly to her feet, “but I have a long drive ahead of me and I really should be going.”
Ruth smiled reassuringly. “Of course you should, dear.”
“And may we say what a pleasure it has been to have this little chat with you,” said Louise. “Ruth and I do so enjoy coming to ...”
“...Bransley Manor. One meets such...”
“... interesting people.”
“I love Bransley, too,” agreed Emma, “yet, even here—”
“Ah, you noticed.” The sisters looked at her expectantly.
“The fritillaries?” Emma asked. She sat back down again. She’d been dying to get this off her chest. “It’d be hard not to notice them. Fritillaria meleagris might’ve worked in a pinch, but imperialis? That shade of orange—” Emma pulled herself up short, put a hand to her mouth, and blushed. “I’m sorry. That must sound pretty pretentious, coming from me. I’m sure the head gardener had a good reason for making the change.”
“If he did, he was unable to explain it to us,” said Louise firmly. “The Fritillaria imperialis was...”
“... a grave error in judgment. We have spoken with the head gardener...”
“... dear Monsieur Melier, and he quite sees our point.”
“We hope...”
“... indeed, we expect...”
“... to find them replaced with something more suitable next year.”
Emma would have given a lot to have eavesdropped on the Pyms’ conversation with dear Monsieur Melier. She suspected that the poor man had caved in before he knew what had hit him. Gallic spleen would be no match for the Pyms’ relentless British politeness.
As the sisters lapsed into a comfortable silence, Emma changed her mind about leaving. Keeping to her schedule seemed suddenly less important than sitting quietly with these two pleasant spinsters, watching the linnets dart in and out of the hornbeams while the shadows grew longer and the afternoon slipped away. Besides, she could always make up the lost time tomorrow.
“You are presently traveling to Cornwall?” Ruth inquired after a few moments had passed.
Emma nodded. “I have the whole summer ahead of me and I’ve never been there before and I... I thought some fresh horizons would do me good.”
“Of course they wih,” said Ruth. “Cotehele is particularly lovely at this time of year.”
“And Killerton Park,” Louise added. “You must not miss the azaleas at Killerton Park. Great banks of them, my dear...”
“... around an oriental temple.”
“Most striking.”
“The azaleas at Killerton Park are on my itinerary,” Emma confirmed.
Another silence ensued. Again, Ruth was the first to break it.
“Might we recommend one other garden?” she asked.
“It is not well known,” said Louise.
“It is not, in fact, open to the public,” admitted Ruth.
“Then how would I get in to see it?” Emma asked.