“Jesus,” Poppy said. “You and Gabe are almost worse than Dad.”
Andrew entered and stood just inside the ruins of the threshold. He’d expected to feel the shiver he’d become accustomed to, but in that moment he was too taken by the sight to feel anything but awe. Thin white lines of chalk traveled the loamy soil, turning the abandoned garden into a disciplined grid, unspoiled by even a single footprint. Sorrel must have raked her way backward out of it. He inhaled, scenting for the smell of mold, the sooty smell of the desiccated lichen. Instead, the aroma of manure and healthy decay rose up, the fragrance of promise, of potency. But no Sorrel and no Stella.
“They’re not here, or they’ve been consumed by the monster garden,” Andrew said when he came back to Poppy. “Where to next?”
“The chapel,” she said with such a gleam in her eyes that Andrew could only follow her, shrugging his shoulders.
“So you aren’t going to tell me anything about your really useful ‘thing’?” he asked, pointing at the messy folio under Poppy’s elbow.
“It’s a group presentation,” Poppy said, shifting her mother’s scrapbook from one arm to the other.
“Not including your father?”
“Ha, like he deserves my brilliance.”
Andrew had locked up the chapel after he and Marcus tested the bells, so he fished for his key as they walked.
“Where’s Wags?” Poppy asked.
“She doesn’t behave around that garden, digging and whining, rolling around like she’s found a dead thing. Too difficult to control her.”
“That’s what I’m talking about,” Poppy said. “Even Wags is getting the bad vibes.”
“Maybe,” Andrew said. “But when I went in just now, I didn’t get the bad vibes, and, I’ll confess, the place usually chills me.”
“Sorrel’s magic!” Poppy said.
“For the love of God,” Andrew moaned. “Enough.”
They found Sorrel and Stella sitting on the bench in the churchyard. Poppy had expected to find an angry Sorrel and a contrite Stella, but instead the two women were laughing, eating from a bowl of early sugar snaps and sharing a bottle of water.
“What ho!” Poppy called. “No drama? No crack of thunder? No raging or blowing from Sorrel?”
Stella looked at Sorrel and then at Andrew.
“It seems that our Sorrel thinks that Lord Kirkwood might well be off his nut and that we needn’t worry,” Stella said.
“That’s not exactly what I said,” Sorrel nudged Stella.
“What did you say, Sorrel?” Andrew asked with frost in his voice.
Sorrel’s head snapped around at his tone.
“Hey, what’s up?” she asked.
“You first,” Andrew said.
“Fine, I am less concerned about the nature of, let’s say, the afflicted state of the garden than Graham is. Remember, I’ve seen damage like this before and I’ve felt the venom of frightened, angry people as well. This garden is a catastrophe for sure, and the history that brought it to such a sorry state is awful.” Sorrel stood and walked toward Andrew. Right there in front of the Kirkwood women and God she took his hand and kissed his rough knuckles. Andrew gawped.
“Andrew, I am safe and I am well. I will make the Shakespeare Garden safe and well too.”
“But, Dad’s fraud, his . . .” Poppy spluttered, “fuckery! Doesn’t that change anything?”
“Oh, I’ll have a conversation with your father about that,” Sorrel said. “But let’s be clear, none of us believe that Graham is a bad guy. I am certain of that, so it makes it a little hard for me to fit him with a black hat. Deception is intolerable. Let’s be clear on that too.”
At this Poppy grimaced and looked at Andrew. “Yeah, sorry about that whole heartbreak-remedy thing,” she said. “I can be a bit impulsive.”
“Oh, Poppy,” Sorrel said. “What have you done?”
CHAPTER 12
Thistle
It was remarkable how the excitement Poppy felt about her discovery melted away when Sorrel whirled around and pinned her with those sharp eyes.
“Look, it was just a little experiment,” she said. “What’s important is what I found with Gabe.”
“What’s important, Poppy,” Sorrel said, making the name Poppy sound like shrapnel, “really important, is that you are fooling around with something that could backfire.”
Poppy thought that was exactly what Sorrel was doing, actually. And her father, come to that. And, oh, Andrew as well since he’d plunged headlong into a romance with Sorrel. She was about to point that out when she recalled an important detail.
“Hey,” she said, pointing at Sorrel. “You said it was for heartburn.”
“For all I know it is,” Sorrel said. “Or Patience has made me something else entirely, so what were you thinking sneaking off with it?”
“Is this true, Poppy?” Stella asked. “Did you nab this remedy, whatever it is?”
Andrew saw his opening.
“Excuse me, but we’re not talking about someone nicking the last piece of cake,” he said. “Sorrel has hinted at how powerful her sister’s remedies are, and now it appears that I am to find out for myself.”
Sorrel was just preparing her answer when Andrew began to laugh.
“I wish you could see your face, Sorrel,” he hooted then he looked at Poppy. “Oh come now, I am unchanged,” he said. “No, hold on,” Andrew put his hand on his stomach and considered, “My digestion has been quite efficient, but that’s about it.”
The three women looked at Andrew with a mixture of concern and, in Sorrel’s case, dismay. She was the only one who knew exactly how effective Patience’s remedies were. If Heart’s Ease was what Poppy assumed, then anything Andrew felt for Sorrel was suspect. If, on the other hand, it was indeed a heartburn soother then, well, then Sorrel had no idea why she was so afraid.
“If I promise to stop channeling Lucrezia Borgia, can I tell you all what I found?” Poppy asked.
Andrew reached to stroke Sorrel’s hair, to tell her with touch that if he’d been enchanted in some way, he was grateful, but Sorrel shook her head.
“Go on then, Poppy,” she said and stepped back, leaving Andrew’s hand in midair. “Show us what’s in that book of yours.”
Something that seemed very like the garden chill stole over Andrew when Sorrel withdrew. And then he felt the rising of his old bitterness. For a moment he felt the shameful pleasure of believing that he was right all along: There was no one who could make him care again and he was a fool to have even let Sorrel try.