Of course she could, and five pairs of eyes turned to her.
“Not so long ago I sat around a kitchen table in my home. My sister, and by extension all of us, were accused in the death of a little boy. Patience was carved away by the sadness of her loss, and Henry, our doctor and her lover, were as uncertain about what had happened as the vitriolic chorus from the town was sure. But on that evening we gathered with our friends and champions and made a plan to save Patience, to save all of us, really. Tonight I believe we are here to do the same for this family.”
“Hear, hear,” Graham said. “Let it be known that as ridiculous as our quest may seem, as silly as I may appear—all too often—my motives are pure, my trust is complete, and my dedication to all in this room, and to Andrew, of course, is unwavering.”
Poppy uncharacteristically held her tongue, for she heard from her father the kind of declaration suitable to the eighteenth rather than the twenty-first century. Truly, the mission was more antique than modern, and the means were clearly as old as time as Sorrel went about saving the garden, but Poppy was struck by the vigor of her father’s statement and in that moment her resolve found its footing and she knew that, however mad it might seem to the rest of the world, she was in.
AFTER DINNER STELLA brought out the diary, and she and Sorrel carefully leafed through it, both using tissue paper to turn the pages. At first there was nothing unexpected, notes on guests at the estate, what was served, which linens were used, household matters that were of no particular import to the current Kirkwoods. Then, there was a section on Elizabeth’s work on the formal gardens. Clearly they had been added to over the years, but it was Elizabeth who first set them out. It seemed that this success piqued her interest, and by the time her fourth child was born, she had taken a cue from the French and planted a kitchen parterre. Then Elizabeth began the Shakespeare Garden. This was what everyone was looking for, and Sorrel dipped closer and closer to the pages as Stella deciphered the faded writing.
“Yes, she began making her lists here and here,” Stella pointed. “Then by spring she was putting in the first bits of the garden.”
“When was it finished?” Sorel asked.
“Hard to say, but here you can see that she was sketching out the knot garden a year after the original planting.”
“My knot gardens are mostly herbs,” Sorrel said. “Patience has her own garden for remedies, but much of it is repeated in the knot gardens.”
“Right, let’s see if great minds think alike,” Stella said and gingerly flipped to the next list of plants.
Sorrel immediately saw that these plants were medicinal. If they were of a Shakespeare Garden, they didn’t all appear in her research. They did, however, play a part in Patience’s work.
“This garden is an apothecary garden,” Sorrel said. “And a good one, too.”
“Show me,” Stella said.
Sorrel recited the plants and herbs with such ease that Poppy was reminded of music.
“Shepherd’s purse, motherwort, and mallow,” she read, “boneset, horehound, red clover, skullcap, all used in remedies. Wolfsbane and trillium for labor, blessed thistle for milk. Many of these are used in midwifery.”
“Elizabeth wasn’t a midwife,” Stella said.
“With four children she must have needed one,” Poppy said.
“A lot of these I’d have to check with Patience on, but I think they are for various common ailments,” Sorrel said.
Stella pointed out that the garden only lasted two years, and Elizabeth just two more.
“All this helpful stuff and nothing to save her,” Poppy said. “Nothing to control Thomas either.”
“Go to these entries.” Graham pointed. “Gabe thinks they might be useful.”
Sorrel looked at Gabe, who hadn’t left the comfort of the fire. “What do you know, Gabe?” she asked.
Gabe shook his head and simply gestured for her to continue.
Stella began to read, haltingly at first until she became accustomed to Elizabeth’s hand.
Anna assures me that Thomas will not divine that my newest herb garden is something more. If I can supply her with all she needs, then I can rest easy in the surety that no woman will suffer in childbirth, not even the ones who must deliver a bastard.
“Good God,” Graham said. “She knew about Thomas. She must have known about his by-blows from wenching.”
“Seriously, Dad?” Poppy said. “Is that even a word?”
“Indeed it is, or was in Elizabeth’s time.”
“Well, it’s ghastly,” Stella said. “Anna is the midwife but is Anna the witch?”
“Honestly, darling,” Graham said, “Isn’t there a better word for the poor woman?”
Stella ignored her husband and continued to read, and it became clearer still that Elizabeth’s Shakespeare Garden, while lovely and a pleasure for the family, also hid a substantial physic garden within its walls.
“I need to go back to Middle Wallop,” Sorrel said. “The herbs and plants in this diary need to be in our garden, too.”
“Our garden, how encouraging,” Stella said and patted Sorrel’s arm. “Tomorrow will be a full day for all of us. Let’s put Elizabeth to bed and do the same.”
Delphine had been silent throughout the reading and discussion. As everyone gathered themselves for bed, she pulled Sorrel and Gabe into the larder on the pretense of collecting some cheese for the inn.
“Do you think the herbs in the old garden could have poisoned it forever?” she asked. “Graham says no, but Mathilde spent so much time in there . . .” She trailed off. “I am not looking to blame, you understand, it’s just that no matter how unlikely, there is that chance that she got into something. And I cannot speak of this with Graham again. He is already too remorseful.”
“Delphine, from what I have read, there weren’t any dangerous herbs in Elizabeth’s garden. Not even the accidental variety,” Sorrel said. “And to expect anything to be left after all those years, well, no, I don’t think there is any chance at all.”
Delphine looked relieved and took Gabe’s arm. “Come then, you and I will walk back to the village together, and I will give you tea and a piece of my raspberry clafouti.” Delphine snagged a small crock of Saint-Marcellin as she led Gabe out through the kitchen garden.