Stella came forward and put her arm around Poppy.
“I’m glad,” she said. “It pleases me to see this project capture you both. But it is time to make a plan for dinner, unless that is, you’ve already filled up on crisps.”
The three women left the painting and the hall in darkness and Sorrel decided she finally had time for her bath.
CHAPTER 7
Primula
Stella and her daughter sat across from each other at the kitchen table. Poppy had rinsed Andrew’s herbs and was patting them dry, and her mother was leafing through the book she’d brought down from her study. It was a large, glossy coffee-table book commissioned by the Kirkwood family when Graham was invested with the title. Page after page of photographs showed the estate in every season, and every important ancestral portrait had been reproduced: exactly what Sorrel needed.
“It seems that you’ve forgiven us for our madness, Poppy,” Stella said. “Have you been seduced by the mystery of the garden or by our American visitor?”
“Both, and I’m sorry I was shirty with you and Dad,” Poppy said. “You two have such a strong bond it’s hard for me to get through sometimes.”
“Darling, that bond includes you, it is made of you and Rupert and Sophia.”
“I know that, Mum. It’s just that when you guys get onto something on your own, we’re left waving at the sailing ship.”
“Well, we’re all in this one together, even Andrew,” Stella said and stood to kiss the top of Poppy’s head. “Where is he?”
“Brooding, moping.”
“Now, now, patience, Poppy.”
Just then Wags came skittering in.
“Ah, the bumptious harbinger,” Stella said as Andrew came through.
He seemed cheerier, clear-eyed and flushed from his walk. He stroked Poppy’s hair and kissed his sister.
“I am calling a rain delay on my unpleasantness, not that I plan to burst into song or anything,” Andrew said. “I have decided to make an effort if for no other reason than that I am exhausting myself with my brooding.”
“Told you,” Poppy said to her mother.
“Niece,” he said, “I will let that comment slide if you tell me you haven’t finished that most excellent wine.”
“Who are you and what have you done with my brother?” Stella said. “What has prompted this change of heart, darling? Wait, before you start to analyze, let’s just enjoy this for a moment. Come and help me with dinner.”
Whatever change had come over Andrew, how long it would last was Stella’s main concern. She’d seen him pull himself together before only to get a call late into the night from her thoroughly discouraged brother looking for answers. But this change seemed promising if only because he’d announced it with such gusto. And, to be hopeful in the extreme, Stella suspected that Sorrel Sparrow was already working her magic with them all.
While Sorrel and Poppy were sleuthing, and Stella resting, Andrew had returned to the kitchen to apologize for his behavior, but the women were already gone. He eyed the glass of wine and the small pile of chips Poppy had left him.
“Bribery,” he murmured and finished both before calling Wags for a walk. In fact, it was the wander with Wags, a walk that led him eventually to the abandoned Shakespeare Garden, that began another kind of journey altogether for Andrew. Actually it was Wags who brought him to the walls of the garden as she snuffled whatever it is dogs snuffle.
“Wags, come,” Andrew said, but the dog continued to worry at the wall, digging and snorting.
“Wags, enough,” Andrew said and stepped up to grab her collar. He pulled, and the dog dug in, stiffening her legs and whining. Finally Andrew scooped her up in his arms and walked away, but Wags turned her head over her shoulder to watch the garden recede. He had to carry her all the way to the kitchen garden, out of sight and smell of the other before he could trust her to stay by him. When he put her down, he pulled a long strand of black hair from her collar. Sorrel, he thought, she’s really here and what will that mean for us?
As he walked back between the healthy raised beds of Stella’s perfect kitchen parterres, he wondered if Sorrel’s magic would be enough. He’d known the Shakespeare Garden was in a sorry state, but the chill he felt as he stood calling Wags, the leaden quality of the light that seemed unique to that space, and the way his dog had bared her teeth, scrabbling and keening at the wall, made Andrew think that this was a place of deep and powerful darkness. Surrounded now with such nascent bounty, Andrew felt as if he’d escaped some ugly fate and found himself in the mood to protect Sorrel from the same. He tucked a bit of mulch around the tomato plants, the lovely rows upon rows of lettuce, spinach, and arugula, and sat for a minute on the wooden bench by the larder door. The last of the sun had come through the watery clouds and was warm on his face. Wags sat by his feet, peaceful now. Andrew was tired of being sad and angry. The idea of Sorrel’s commitment to the garden made him eager to be of service again. He thought of the Sparrow Sisters and how they had brought not just their gardens but themselves back to life. He understood that it was time he did the same. Andrew suspected that he needed to be alert and present for the months ahead if he was to be of any use to Sorrel or the garden. Truly, he needed to pay attention to his head and his heart if he ever wished to return to his church and be any use to his congregation. Perhaps Stella was right, perhaps a return to caring for someone else could heal him after all.