“I will be the picture of propriety, promise,” Sorrel said. She cut some spray roses for Delphine, and they walked back to the big house.
Wags was in the kitchen, and her reunion with Andrew was boisterous and noisy. Sorrel searched in the china closet for a vase large enough for her flowers while Andrew rolled around on the hearth rug with his dog. As she stripped and cut each stem, Sorrel told Andrew about Delphine’s insistence that the final tapestry be found.
“We had no luck the first time. Perhaps Gabe has an inkling,” Andrew said. “He’s the one with the secrets.”
“I think he would have spoken by now,” Sorrel said.
But Gabe had spoken, just not to Sorrel. He’d confronted Graham that very morning as they surveyed the copper flashing on the farm shop roof. There’d been a run of nighttime thievery; copper was of some value and there had been enough stripped that Graham needed to get in the roofers.
Gabe had turned to Graham as soon as the builder left.
“The tapestry,” he signed. “Delphine is pushing.”
“Yes, well, she can push all she wants,” Graham said. “We are on the brink of a new and healthy era for this family, and dragging that plagued thing into the light will help no one.”
“She won’t stop,” Gabe said.
“Gabe,” Graham said, “that panel has been gone forever and I think we can all guess at its subject matter. Whatever power it has comes from people’s fascination with it.”
“You have seen it,” Gabe signed, and it wasn’t a question. Signing kept secrets far better than speaking.
Graham turned from Gabe. He looked ready to walk away, so Gabe reached out and grabbed his arm. Graham spun around.
“Do not touch me in anger!” Graham snapped.
“You are hiding it,” Gabe signed, his face red.
Graham deflated. “Gabe,” he said, “my father chose to hide that tapestry years ago. The only reason I was ever shown it was to warn me never to speak of it. So yes, I know what it depicts, but I don’t know where it is. It was not restored, even the Victoria and Albert Museum believes it is lost to time. I cannot let Stella or Delphine, or Poppy for that matter, see the end of that hunt. It is hideous and shameful and will only poison them against the family.”
“Keeping secrets will do that too,” Gabe signed and walked away.
Graham stood for the longest time looking up at the farm shop roof. He wasn’t seeing anything, though. He was blinded by regret and flimsy lies told over the years. Something very like fear overtook him when he thought of Stella’s reaction to the truth. Secret by secret, Graham had built a safe haven for his family, and a wall to keep the ugliness hidden. Now, secret by secret, it was all tumbling down.
ANDREW AND SORREL drove into the village with Delphine’s giant arrangement wedged precariously in the backseat. It was too heavy and too blinding to be carried on foot. Sorrel was reminded of the founder’s day bouquet she’d made for Charlotte Mayo the summer before and how she’d sat among her wildflowers and cried for chances she hadn’t taken, happiness she hadn’t seized and held close to her heart. Today, though, her happiness was evident in the flowers she’d arranged and even in the bumblebee that had nestled into the very center of a peony and would not be roused. Sorrel felt certain that the love and care she’d built into the flowers would seep right into Delphine’s poor mood and lift it.
The bar at the Queen’s Hart was quiet and cool after the riot of color in the gardens. Sorrel hefted the vase onto the spotless zinc and looked around for Delphine.
“Halloooo!” Andrew called. “Viens, viens, un bouquet de fleurs pour Madam!”
“Impressive, Peppy le Pew,” Sorrel said and laughed. “Maybe she’s out back.”
Delphine was in the beer garden, a sack of lemons at her elbow and a large mechanical juicer on the table in front of her.
“Andrew,” Delphine said, pushing down on the chrome lever. Lemon juice spilled out into a pitcher. “I am making citron pressé now that summer has arrived.”
“It is not official until I say so, in the chapel,” Andrew said and kissed Delphine.
“Sorrel, how is the physic garden?” Delphine asked.
“Fine, I think,” Sorrel said. Perhaps the holy basil wasn’t necessary, as Delphine seemed to have recovered her good humor. “It’s a bit raggedy at the moment, but water and sun and time will help.
Delphine mixed fine sugar and spring water into the pitcher of juice and poured it into three glasses. She placed a tiny sprig of lavender in each one and gave them a stir.
“I left some flowers on the bar,” Sorrel said.
“Merci,” said Delphine. “And allow me to apologize for being a little en colère at the nursery. It has been a time of remembering for me with the garden and Mathilde.”
“I wish it didn’t remind you of your sadness,” Sorrel said. “But I understand. After Marigold died, I couldn’t even go to the nursery. Nettie had to drag me with dire predictions of choking weeds and waterlogged snapdragons. In the end it was probably the plants that brought me back.”
“Perhaps now that our little gardener has made her mark, we can all move forward.” Delphine smoothed Sorrel’s hair. “You are striking indeed. It is no surprise that Andrew has awoken at last.”
Sorrel bowed her head. She felt as if she had awoken, too. To have purpose in your day and then such passion in your night was more than Sorrel had ever thought she’d be given.
Andrew slapped his knees. “I haven’t unpacked, so I’m off,” he said and looked at Sorrel. “You?” he asked.
“Sure,” Sorrel said and kissed Delphine on each cheek. “Please, when you’re ready, come to the Shakespeare Garden with me. I think you’ll be surprised how much has changed.”
Sorrel left Andrew to his unpacking and finished up in the garden. The sun seemed hotter at four than it had at noon. Sweat ran down her chest and every leaf bit and speck of soil made her itch. She found herself irritable and impatient as she looked out over the garden. Yes, it had progressed faster than she thought because the weather was so fine, yet everything still looked unfinished and bedraggled. One good rain, Sorrel thought, not a storm, a soaker, that is what I need. She took off her hat and wiped her face. She could already feel tenderness on the tops of her shoulders, the backs of her calves and wished, again, that she’d been more welcoming when Patience tried to give her a fully stocked remedy kit.
The Tithe Barn was cool and inviting with its high ceiling and shaded windows. A suspended fan spun lazily, moving the dust and pollen through the air. Sorrel stopped in the kitchen for water then moved into the bedroom where Wags lay sprawled next to the open doors to the terrace.
“Wags, you clever girl,” Sorrel said and lay down beside her on the cool stone floor.
“Oh dear, have you succumbed?” Andrew asked.
Sorrel opened her eyes to see Andrew, upside down in his clergy shirt, dog collar and boxers. She gaped.