“Fifteen minutes,” Emma repeated. “Good luck.”
“I’ll need it,” Grayson muttered, turning to fly up the stairs.
Though Gash had reported that Mr. Harris had driven off in his battered orange van early that morning, Hallard was unable to inform Emma of Derek’s immediate whereabouts. Stifling her disappointment, Emma gave instructions to Hallard to pass along to Gash, then invited the bespectacled footman to join her in the banquet hall. “Bring your laptop,” she added. “You may be able to use this in your next thriller.”
The weather had been the last thing on Emma’s mind when she’d carried Nell out onto the balcony, so she was faintly shocked when she stepped onto the terrace. The sky was a flawless arc of blue, the air was sweet, and a gentle breeze ruffled the grass on the great lawn. Had it not been for the apple trees, now stripped of leaf and blossom and trailing broken branches, she would have been hard-pressed to prove that a raging storm had indeed passed this way. But the apple trees were only a hint of what she would find within the castle ruins.
The storm had ravaged the garden rooms. As Emma surveyed the wreckage, she tried to remind herself that no one had died, but gratitude wasn’t easy. The perennial border was a tattered, ragged mess, the rock garden was more rock than garden, and there was not a single bud or blossom left on any of the rose bushes. By the time she reached the banquet hall, Emma was almost numb.
Bantry crouched ankle-deep in mud, plucking green tomatoes from a tangle of battered plants. He’d cleared most of the debris from the graveled path, pulled the broken vines from the towering arbor, and filled the wheelbarrow with salvaged vegetables. When he caught sight of Emma standing dazedly in the doorway, he held out a tomato, calling cheerfully, “Looks like we’re in for a spate of Madama’s chutney!”
Emma raised a hand to her mouth and shook her head forlornly.
“What’ve you done to your hand, Miss Emma?” Bantry asked, his brow furrowing.
“Nothing really. Nell was practicing her nursing skills.” Emma waggled her gauze-wrapped fingers to reassure him, then folded her arms. The kitchen garden looked as though it had been trampled by a herd of cattle, but there were a few green sprouts here and there.
“Don’t you fret, Miss Emma.” Bantry tossed the tomato into the wheelbarrow, put his hands on his hips, and surveyed the scene without flinching. “It’s a right old mess and no mistake, but we’ll sort it out soon enough. That’s the way it is with gardens. Never the same two days in a row.”
The old man’s optimism began to revive Emma, and Hallard’s arrival reminded her that she’d come here with a mission. Raising her eyes to the top of the arbor, she asked Bantry if he knew how the finial was attached to the dome.
Bantry squinted upward, scratching his head. “Well, now, Miss Emma, I were just up there this mornin’, cut-tin’ back the runner beans. Seems to me there’s a big old bolt holdin’ that fancy bit in place.”
Gash walked in while Bantry was speaking, and when Emma had relieved him of the toolbox and oilcan she’d asked him to bring, she sent him to help Bantry fetch a ladder from the potting shed. She tucked the oilcan into the pocket of her smock and squatted down to rummage through the toolbox for a hammer and a long-handled monkey wrench. She was slipping the tools into her pocket when she heard Peter call out.
The boy seemed to have grown two inches overnight. He was tearing along the grassy corridor, bright-eyed, undaunted by last night’s ordeal. Nell trotted in his wake, carrying Bertie and regarding her big brother with such pride that Emma bit back a reminder about Dr. Singh’s orders and flung her arms wide.
Peter ran to her. “Did you see her, Emma?” he asked, breathless with excitement. “Did you see the window?”
“I saw it last night,” Emma assured him. “I’m so happy for you, Peter. And you should be very proud of yourself.”
Peter dug the toe of his boot into the gravel, blushing shyly. He hesitated, then looked up at Emma, as though seeking reassurance. “Everything’ll be all right now, won’t it?”
“Yes,” Emma declared, going down on her padded knees to envelop him in a bear hug. “Everything will be fine.”
The boy hugged her back, wriggled out of her arms, and went squelching through the mud, calling for Bantry, while Nell remained high and dry on the gravel path, staring thoughtfully at the arbor.
“Don’t worry, Emma,” she said finally. “Bertie says that, if Grandmother could do it, so can you.”
Emma looked at her, perplexed. “How did Bertie know—” She broke off as she caught sight of the next trio of arrivals.