She walked past the wall and stood drinking her tea as she gazed out over the beds. Everything still looked so new, raw even. Sorrel had hoped her plants would be a bit more committed to growth by now. Back at the Nursery she practically had to jump out of the way the minute she got a seedling in the ground. Of course, here there was so much healing going on that it was no wonder the plants were a little slow off the mark.
Sorrel began her wander through the pallets planning and plotting as she touched each plant. With Gabe right there she decided to erect the willow frames for the climbing sweet peas rather than wait till the beds were more organized. She could see, and smell, that the sweet peas were on the very brink of exploding into a riot of blooms, late but still lovely, and she didn’t want that to happen without something for their delicate tendrils to climb. So she directed Gabe to carry the frames in and set them up at the corners where any rogue stems could clamber up the bricks and drape over the wall. Sorrel was not used to working with other people’s seedlings. There was a part of her that didn’t trust anything grown, no matter how skillfully, by someone other than a Sparrow.
ONCE SORREL BEGAN, her uncertainty left her and she forgot about everything but the garden. Elbow deep in the soil Sorrel could feel the growing and the coursing of life, of her particular magic, being exchanged between her hands and garden. She put away the mystery of the tapestries and the book, the ridiculous superstitions surrounding this place, even Andrew’s enchanted renewal, and his return to faith. His anxiety of the morning would abate, his certainty would return and, if they were very, very lucky, their paths would meet as neatly as the gravel ribbons in the garden. With that thought Sorrel focused anew until all she saw were the plants she settled, the flat of seedlings she’d started from her own garden back home, the sparkle of dew on a spiderweb in the sun. By noon the carpet of green had expanded under her touch, and the parterres began to look as if they too were becoming as content as Sorrel.
Poppy watched from the gate as Sorrel tamped down a lump of soil here, gently spread a curled leaf there. She marveled at the veil of scent that hung over the garden. It was captivating, and Poppy wondered how anyone would ever be able to take it all in when the garden was finished. She’d brought along her notes about the tapestries and Elizabeth, but they hardly seemed necessary in the face of so much life coming into being.
Gabe saw Poppy poised just inside the gate and walked over, trying not to rush, not to show her that he was still concerned that the garden was unsafe. He didn’t want to be the last irrational man standing, but he couldn’t help himself. He tapped Poppy on the shoulder.
“Oh, hello Gabe,” she said. “What fresh secrets are you uncovering for us today?”
Gabe nodded toward Sorrel and then back at Poppy. He pointed toward the chapel.
“Should I get Sorrel?” Poppy asked.
Gabe nodded again.
Poppy stepped further into the garden toward Sorrel, but Gabe stopped her.
“Fine,” Poppy said. “Sorrel,” she called, “Gabe needs us.”
Sorrel looked up, surprised that anything existed outside the garden. But Poppy’s smile cheered her, and she cleaned her hands and went to her.
“Gabe wants us to go to the chapel with him,” Poppy said. “I’m almost afraid of what he’s got for us now.”
“You know, as this garden is taking shape, I am less and less interested in all the historical high jinx,” Sorrel said.
“Yes, well, Gabe seems pretty determined, and Dad is still pretty wrecky so we might as well keep digging.”
“I prefer my kind of digging to yours,” Sorrel said.
“Where’s Andrew?” Poppy asked.
“He’s in London.”
“Ah, how did he seem about that?”
“I think he’s a mess,” Sorrel said. “Didn’t he tell you he was going to see his bishop?”
“Sort of,” Poppy said. “He seemed his old cryptic self though, so who can say?”
“Maybe you need to rethink your remedy dosage,” Sorrel said a bit sharply.
“Now, now, I left that little miracle bottle safely in the larder behind the dog biscuits,” Poppy said. “I’ve hung up my apothecary apron.”
Sorrel wasn’t sure if that meant Andrew’s ardor was real or that he was on a slippery slope to despair again.
Gabe had walked ahead of them to the chapel so that by the time the women caught up, he had already unlocked the door.
“Any thoughts as to Gabe’s mission here?” Sorrel asked.
“Not a clue, but if I were to guess, I think Delphine’s certainty that a last panel is here somewhere has infected him.”
Sorrel didn’t tell Poppy about meeting Gabe in the maze. She was as certain as Delphine that whatever Gabe was doing, he meant only to help. Still, Sorrel felt a little sneaky coming into Andrew’s space without him.
Gabe led them behind the altar to the ancient crypt. During the restoration year, Andrew had hovered over the architect and the builders as they shored up the crypt, watched as every elevation drawing and ancient sketch was consulted, carefully wiping down the stone sarcophagi and the marble and brass grave plaques that lined the floors.
Poppy shivered as Gabe pulled the gate open and turned on the builders’ lights.
“Right, this isn’t creepy at all,” she said. “I don’t care if my ancestors are all having a party down here, I’d rather not attend just yet.”
Gabe took out his flashlight and beckoned them over to a pair of sarcophagi side by side in the center of one of the low-ceiling crypt rooms. On the lids were life-sized statues of their occupants, Thomas and Elizabeth, Lord and Lady Kirkwood.
“If I were Elizabeth, I’d have asked for better accommodation,” Poppy said. “Or at least a spot further from Thomas.”
“I don’t suppose she had much choice,” Sorrel said. “At least she brought a book.”
Elizabeth Kirkwood lay in repose, her tiny pointy-shoed feet resting on a dog that looked remarkably like Wags. Her husband’s effigy was arrayed beside her, clad in chain mail, and, Sorrel thought tellingly, his full helmet. In his hands he clasped a scabbarded sword point down. At his feet was not a beloved pet but a curling snake.
“Well, now,” Poppy said, “that serpent has clearly found a mate.”
Sorrel moved closer to Elizabeth. There was a slight smile carved into the effigy’s face and although her eyes were closed, her hands were holding an open book. At first Sorrel only thought how clever Elizabeth had been to bring a book along for all eternity, and then she noticed the carving.
“Gabe,” Sorrel said and turned to face him. “Is this what you want me to see?”
Gabe nodded and signed briefly.
“I understand,” Poppy said, all humor gone. “Gabe wants me to read the Latin inscription. It’s probably a Bible verse.” She turned to Gabe. “Hand me your torch,” she said.
“Wait!” Sorrel snapped. “What if it’s . . .” she didn’t finish.
“A spell? Another curse?” Poppy looked at Gabe. “You wouldn’t let us fall afoul, would you, Gabe?”
He shook his head and gestured at the carved book. “Read,” he whispered in a gnarled voice that had not been used in public.
Poppy and Sorrel gaped.