“But that’s what Susannah said last night,” Emma exclaimed. “You remember—at supper?”
“Yes. She also said he was a sailor.” Derek rubbed his jaw, then turned to look down at Emma. “Busy tomorrow?”
“I-I don’t know,” Emma stammered. “It depends on—”
“Good.” Derek pointed to the balustraded terrace. “Meet me there, say, eleven-ish? Got something I’d like to show you. Need to know—” He broke off, and the worried frown returned to his face. “No. Wait till tomorrow.” And without saying another word, he swung around and strode swiftly back into the hall.
Emma turned to look up at Penford Hall. As far as she could tell, the octagonal slates on the roof were all present and correct, the forest of chimneys stood strong and tall, and the leaded glass sparkled in the many and variously shaped windows, not a pane cracked or missing. People sometimes spoke disparagingly of their own homes, especially when they were stuck with a place that didn’t suit their taste or their style of living, and Susannah might ridicule her cousin’s home out of sheer spite. But Grayson seemed to love the rambling, Gothic sprawl. If he’d called Penford Hall a ruin; Emma suspected that he hadn’t been speaking figuratively.
“You there! Miss Porter!”
Emma looked up and saw Nanny Cole leaning out of a second-floor window some twenty feet to her left. In one massive arm Nanny Cole held a brown-paper parcel; with the other she beckoned to Emma. Obediently, Emma strode over to stand beneath the open window.
“Where the hell is everyone?” Nanny Cole bellowed. “And what was the quack doing here?”
“The duke’s cousin fell and hurt herself in the chapel garden,” Emma called back. “The doctor came to take her to the hospital in Plymouth and—”
“Never mind,” barked Nanny Cole. “I can guess the rest. Brats all right?”
“Fine,” said Emma.
“Loving every minute of it, I’ll wager, the bloodthirsty little beasts. Where’s Mattie?”
“In her room,” said Emma. “She fainted—”
“Yes, yes,” Nanny Cole broke in impatiently. “Dratted child. That’s what comes of hero worship. Well, I can’t spend all day running a blasted delivery service. This is for you. Catch!”
The parcel was bulky but soft, and Emma caught it easily. When she looked up again, the window was shut. Curious, Emma carried the parcel over to the terrace steps, where she sat and opened it. It contained two pairs of generously cut denim trousers, with elastic waistbands and padded knees, and two violet-patterned gardening smocks with deep pockets and hammer loops. Emma stared in puzzlement at the smocks for a moment, then shrugged, gathered up the discarded wrapping paper, and headed into the hall to change, murmuring wryly, “If ever there was a sign from heaven ...”
10
All I need now are work gloves, Emma thought as she stepped into Madama’s kitchen garden. It was late morning, the mist had cleared, and the sun was shining brightly overhead. Squinting skyward, Emma reminded herself that a sunhat might not be a bad idea, either. She was about to add a pair of wellies to her mental shopping list when she stopped midway down the rows of radishes, to gape at Bantry.
The old man had lurched out of a shadowy doorway a few yards away, brandishing a stalk of celery and growling ferociously. A bit of rag bound a pair of carrots to his head, like horns, with the greens trailing behind in a verdant, ragged mane. Emma took one look at Penford Hall’s head gardener and burst out laughing.
Bantry’s growling ceased as he stood up. Grinning good-naturedly, he untied his makeshift headband, put one carrot in the bib pocket of his canvas apron, and offered the other to Emma, who accepted it gratefully.
“Just havin’ a bit o’ fun with the kiddies,” he said. “Tryin’ to, anyway. Not really their cup o’ tea, I don’t think.”
“Don’t they like vegetable monsters?” Emma asked.
“Oh, I dunno.” Bantry glanced over his shoulder. “Master Peter tries, but it shouldn’t be so much of an effort, now, should it? And Lady Nell, she’s just gone half the time.” He touched the side of his head. “Up there. Talkin’ half to that bear o’ hers and half to herself. Never know what she’s goin’ to say next, that one.” Bantry eyed Emma’s new attire shrewdly. “So you’re startin’ in today, are you? Well, and why not? Constable Trevoy’s been up from the village to take his snaps. He says it’s clear enough what happened, and it’s not as though the young lady’s passed on.” He turned as the sound of whispering came through the veil of vines on the birdcage arbor. “All right, you two,” he called, “come on out. Miss Emma needs our help in the chapel garden.”