Authors: Lucinda Brant
Still time enough to visit the Physic Garden, in Lord Grasby’s opinion. So off they went, in the Earl’s private shallop, powered by eight beefy rowers in the Shrewsbury green and salmon-pink livery. The barge, with prow, stern and rail carved and gilded with fanciful sea creatures, was equipped with a carpeted indoor room with painted ceiling and gilded furnishings. A carpet was draped over this tilt, and there was even an awning of Plunkett blue cloth, providing shade from a summer sun that beat down fiercely for the first time in weeks, if one wanted to enjoy the cooling breeze off the river.
Rory had the most marvelous time strolling the Physic Garden, her party dutifully trailing behind her wherever she went. She could hardly contain her excitement and wonder at all she saw. She inspected various herb beds, listened attentively to the young apothecary-in-training who was their guide, and stared in awe at the only olive tree in England that had managed to thrive in the English climate. Though, she was not surprised that on such a hot day a native of the Mediterranean region was growing so well. For this comment she received such an enthusiastic response from the student apothecary, that when he took her and her party into the magnificent orangery, with all its glass panels and tubs and tubs of oranges, lemons and limes, he spoke almost exclusively with Rory. By the time they had moved on to the distillery and plant preparation areas, where medicinals were manufactured, he had lost his shyness and forgot all about the fact Rory was a pretty young woman.
Rory could not have been happier, particularly when the head gardener informed her he knew just the gentleman to discuss pineapple cultivation with her. He had taken the liberty to send word up to Banks House some twenty minutes earlier. Mr. Humphrey was an expert in bromeliads, and he lodged at Banks House, where he was presently enjoying his afternoon repast. He would send Mr. Humphrey to the barge, if Miss Talbot did not mind the inconvenience of having her nuncheon interrupted…?
It took mention of her grandfather’s shallop for Rory to remember she was hungry, and that Grasby had come to fetch her ten minutes ago. He was politely waiting for her by the imposing statue of Sir Hans Sloane, benefactor of the gardens. With mittened hand firmly about the ivory handle of her walking stick, she took her brother’s crooked arm with the other, leaning on him a little heavier than usual. He scolded her lovingly for not taking the time to rest on one of the many benches dotted about the gardens, and said a straw hat was unlikely to provide her with enough shade on such a hot day as this. Where was her parasol?
“I gave it to Silla, who did not bring hers. You’re right of course. I had quite forgot how ferocious the sun can be… Only now do I feel the ache in my ankle and hip—”
“Let’s get you out of this heat… I sent Crawford off to eat his nuncheon with the rowers and the others who tagged along with us. We’re all down at the south wall embankment.”
“South wall…?”
“Where the shallop is docked.”
“Oh! So
that
is the south wall.” Rory tried to sound offhand. “Silly me! Always confusing my compass points.”
“I decided the picnic was best had indoors or under the awning. It’s far too hot out here in the open of the gardens. Besides,” he added with a crooked smile, “Silla returned on board two hours after we set foot on dry land, citing the sun’s rays as her enemy. So giving her your parasol was for naught.” He sulked. “At least something else has upset her other than me!”
“Yes, at least,” Rory murmured, distracted, “So the house—the one with the Jacobean chimney stacks on the other side of the wall—that must be Banks House…?”
Grasby wished he could see his sister’s face, but it was hidden under the wide brim of her straw hat. Her innocently delivered question, however, did not fool him and he suspected it was accompanied by a blush.
“I wish we’d never had that conversation about Lily Banks. You’re curious and you want to see her for yourself. And if I didn’t know you better, and know that you do indeed have a keen interest in pineapples, I’d say this entire excursion is an excuse for you to go on tiptoe and peer over that fence to see what—”
“I don’t need to go on tiptoe. And why shouldn’t I be curious after what you told me about her?”
“I knew I’d regret confiding in you about Lily Banks. Dair doesn’t talk about her, or his son, to anyone. But he just happened to confide in me the once. And now I’ve told you—”
“I have no intention of breaking your confidence, Harvel.”
“But it hasn’t stopped your curiosity, has it? There’s really nothing more mysterious about her than what I told you. She’s married and has had four more brats. What more could you possibly want to know?”
A great deal, in Rory’s opinion. What did she look like? What was her nature? Was she a good wife and mother to her husband and sons? Did she still act as the Major’s bawd? After all, he had invited her to Banks House and said Lily Banks would take her in, no questions asked. Did Dair Fitzstuart still care for her, and she for him? Perhaps her marriage was a sham, to cover her immoral relationship with the Major? Did their son truly look like his father? Was he worthy of his father, or was he spoiled beyond permission? Was it a happy household? Who lived at the house? Did they live in comfort? Was Mr. Banks accepting of his wife’s child to another man? Did he love his wife? Was he a willing cuckold for his lordship? Was Mr. Humphrey just a lodger…? The list went on and on.
And until she saw Lily Banks and Jamie for herself, she was sure she would go on wondering and dreaming about them. Just as she dreamed about Major Lord Fitzstuart and that kiss, and why, in her grandfather’s book room, he had acted as if he did not know her from a lump of sugar!
Her heart raced and she felt as giddy as a summer gnat trapped in an upended drinking glass, to think Banks House was within reach. All that separated the Physic Garden from this house was a low stone wall, built as a deterrent to four-legged beasts, not man, to stop them entering the Physic Garden and trampling and eating all the carefully laid out and tended specimens. There was even a closed, but unlocked, latched gate between the two properties, and a well-worn path that wended its way through the trees up to the house.
She was staring at the gate and wishing she could go through it, up to the house, on the pretext of introducing herself to the lodger, Mr. Humphrey, when, to her great surprise, a man appeared out from between the trees. He strode down the gravel path, then veered off it, crossed the small patch of grass covered in wildflowers wilting in the heat, and came straight up to them. Leaning a weathered forearm across the top of the low stone wall, he lifted his cap and smiled in greeting.
“Beggin’ an interruption, kind lady and sir, but would you be the quality wishin’ a word with Mr. Humphrey who lodges at Banks House?”
Grasby recoiled to be spoken to without giving the man permission to address him. Where was the servant’s manners? One look at the rolled-up shirtsleeves and sunbaked forearms, the neckerchief tied about the red throat, and the gap-toothed smile in a sweaty face, and it was obvious that not only was the man an outdoor menial, he was at the base of that servile pecking order as well. But Rory stepped forward and lifted her chin so the servant could see her face.
“Yes, I am Miss Talbot, who wishes a word with Mr. Humphrey about his expertise in pineapples.”
“I don’t know anythin’ about them there pine-whatsees, but the mistress sent me to apprehend if you would care to come up to the house, to have your word with Mr. Humphrey. The mistress also asked if you would care to join her in a cold cordial. It’s fair wicked in this heat and there’s shade in the garden—”
“Thank your mistress for her offer of hospitality,” Lord Grasby enunciated coldly. “We have shade and refreshment enough on our barge.”
“Where Drusilla and Mr. Watkins would rather we did not disturb them,” Rory said behind her fluttering fan. “Besides, it would be rude to refuse the invitation—”
“—from someone we have never met? No, it would not be rude, it would be saving the embarrassment of having us foisted upon them,” Grasby replied, not caring the man could hear every word. “Who sends a stable hand? Should be an indoor footman. Besides, it’s not proper for my sister to make the introduction of such—
people
.”
Rory again tilted her chin so the servant could see her face under the brim of her hat, and smiled at him. He had returned his felt cap to his balding head and was leaning his folded arms on the stone wall, patiently waiting a response, but at her smile, he lifted his cap again, seemingly unperturbed by his lordship’s rudeness. She then turned angrily on her brother.
“Perhaps they do not possess an indoor footman? Perhaps the indoor footman is engaged elsewhere? Isn’t it enough the offer was made, not how it was made?”
“It matters to me, and to any persons with manners,” Grasby enunciated, nose in the air, the epitome of the arrogant nobleman. “There is a correct way of doing things, or better not to do them at all. And if persons don’t know how to be correct, then they are mere knight and barrow pigs who aren’t worth our condescension!”
“I never took you for a prig, Harvel. You are being petty-minded and obstinate to stop me going through that gate.”
“What if I am! I am only thinking of your welfare. Best we remain on this side with our dignity intact, than on that side with who knows what kind of persons—spongers, smellfeasts and malaperts, for all I know!”
“That’s just it. You don’t know, do you?”
“I know more than you, and that’s enough!”
Rory blinked. Perhaps her brother had been affected by too much sun and was not himself? She had never encountered him so rudely implacable, and, as far as she was concerned, without cause to be so.
“You call the Major your
friend
,” she whispered fiercely, “yet you refuse to acknowledge
his
friends?”
“Ah, that’s different, and he would agree with me. You’re a female and my sister. You are a lady and shall remain one. I won’t have your reputation—
or you
—corrupted by an association with persons of unknown lineage and dubious reputation. We already know one of their number has no reputation to speak of—”
“Reputation shredded by her
association
with
your
best friend! So that is hardly
her
fault, is it?”
“Ha! I told you. She was old enough to know better.”
“I won’t have you apportion
all
the blame on her. It takes two to make a baby. And I—”
“Steady on! Steady on!” Grasby demanded, taking a step away, shocked. “You’ve had a bit too much sunshine, sister dear—”
“—I have done the math,” she enunciated. “He was only eighteen years old when his son was born, and she must have been younger. Not more than children themselves.”
“You can’t go declaiming loudly about the birds and bees,” he said in a loud whisper, a significant sidelong glance at the servant, who continued to patiently lean on the stone wall. “Not before—”
“But according to you, Harvel, it doesn’t matter what
we
say in front of our inferiors.”
Grasby could offer no further argument, so he gave up and said on a sigh, “Come on, sugar plum, let’s get you to the barge and some shade…”
“Harvel, we cannot refuse the invitation,” she whispered. “We cannot. Mr. Humphrey has kindly offered to talk to me. When will I have another opportunity? Not for months. And the hostess of Banks House has offered us refreshment. These people are the friends of
your
best friend.”
“Rory, to be honest, I don’t know what these people mean to Dair. I certainly have not the least notion what Lily Banks means to him now. But one thing I do know, they are of inferior birth and not of our social circle, and as such we should stay well away.”
“I do not agree with you, and I will not abuse hospitality freely given, from whatever quarter.” When her brother threw up a hand and looked awkward she added, “Tell me this: Will sharing a cooling cordial with the occupants of Banks House and having a word with the Physic Garden’s bromeliad specialist be any more of a corrupting influence on your sister than her sharing the chaise longue with the notorious mistress of the Duke of Dorset and her harlot friends at Romney’s studio?”
“Oh, not you, too!” Grasby moaned with a roll of his eyes. He straightened, wiped a hand over his mouth, and let out a long breath of frustration. “I’m never going to hear the end of that piddling episode, am I?”
“No. Not unless you start treating people as you find them, not as your rank dictates you should.” And before her brother could add anything further to the argument, Rory turned to the servant and accepted his mistress’s kind offer with a smile. “We’ll follow along shortly. I use a stick, so it will take me a little while to make my way along the path.”
“Right you are, miss! I’ll let Mrs. Banks and Mr. Humphrey know y’coming,” the man replied with a grin, and with another doff of his hat, turned and walked back the way he had come, whistling as he went.
“I had a nice wedge of pheasant pie, a hunk of the best Cheshire, and a bottle of Bordeaux awaiting me at the barge,” Grasby grumbled, opening the gate, then closing it again once Rory and he had passed through. “I hope you’re pleased with yourself. And don’t blame me when you get the shock of your life to find these people don’t know the first thing about how to behave as they ought before the granddaughter of an earl!”
Rory let him see her cheeky smile of triumphant. “Thank you, Harvel. But as
I
know how to behave as
I
ought, that’s all that would matter to Grand.”
He gave a grunt, offered his arm, and did not speak again until they were through the trees and at the edge of the lawn that swept left, down to a clump of willows along the river bank, and right, up to the house, a compact red brick Jacobean manor with ornate chimneys. A row of French doors that opened out onto a wide terrace were flung wide and secured against the outer brickwork by hooks, allowing ease of access into the house, and any breeze off the river to flow inside.