“I think you shouldn’t let it worry you,” he said.
She took a deep breath. “Yes. But I will have a word with Hugo. If he wants this to continue, then he needs to be fair.”
That’s all she asked, for him to be fair. She rang him as she walked out to the walled garden—better to get this out of the way and get to work. Hugo had an entirely different take. “It’s fantastic, isn’t it, Pru? You’re getting the attention now—it’s started a real conversation online. Did you see that someone from the National Trust posted a comment?”
This news did not make her feel better. “What did it say? That I should mind my own business and go back to Texas?”
“Certainly not.” Hugo sounded as if he were pumping her up for the big game. “It said they look forward to seeing how you will restore the garden. Davina tells me there will be an open garden day in July. Has she mentioned that?”
“I’m not sure that would be entirely appropriate this year.” Could she not quell this preposterous idea? “You won’t encourage it, will you, Hugo?”
“You’re too hard on yourself, but don’t worry—I won’t encourage her. Next week will be about the tools you found in the shed. Old tools are fascinating.”
“I like that idea,” Pru said, thinking how that would move her out of the spotlight. “You should talk to Ned Bobbins about the old tools—he’s the one that discovered them and I’m sure he’d like to tell you the story.”
Hugo muttered something that sounded to Pru like “I’ll just bet he would.”
“Sorry?” she asked.
“Didn’t the brothers get them back into working order for you?” Hugo asked.
“Yes, Liam and Fergal—talk to them if you like.” She imagined Liam would love to have his name in the news.
—
As soon as she pushed in the heavy wooden gate, she could see the greenhouse door standing open, and the flats of primroses and cowslips upturned and scattered. She ran to the mess and saw tender young plants lying broken in heaps of potting soil. She stared in disbelief and then looked round as if she could catch the culprit in flight. Rabbits? she asked herself. No, rabbits would only nibble off all the green.
She phoned Davina to let her know—the Templetons loved daily updates—and Davina went on the offensive.
“I’m ringing the police right now, and I’ll have someone out to see what’s happened.”
Pru dropped the empty flat in her hand—she’d already started to pick up the mess. “Do you think that’s necessary? I wouldn’t want to waste their time.”
“It’s probably some local vandals, trying to cause trouble—some people just don’t like to see success—and we must take a stand to let them know they can’t get away with it,” Davina said.
Detective Sergeant David Hobbes, a congenial young man with hair that might’ve been strawberry blond if it had a chance to grow, arrived while they were busy with garden tasks. It was a brief interview. He, too, thought it might be vandals, but said he would get back to the Templetons with anything he found.
—
Pru filled her weekend with odd jobs around the garden, hoping that an accumulation of tiny steps might result in a sense of accomplishment. Anything to ease the nagging anxiety about opening the garden to the public in only six months’ time—the thought that lurked just under her consciousness. Sunday afternoon, she stood on the sloped lawn, studying the house and sketching out a possible plan for terraced beds and wisteria running along the balustrade. The fragrant purple flowers would scent the air in May—just not this May, she thought. A garden takes time, she kept saying to Davina and Bryan. She repeated it so often she was afraid she’d start grabbing strangers on the streets of Tunbridge Wells and telling them, too.
While she sketched, she heard a vehicle pull up on the drive, and soon after, Jamie Tanner came round the corner of the house, his eyes scanning the landscape. Pru called and waved to him, and he came down the slope.
“Thanks for delivering the roses,” she said. “They’re perfect for the front of the house.”
“I’m happy to help.” He looked over her shoulder at the rough drawing, more penciled impressionism than a realistic rendering. “Grapes?”
Pru laughed. “That’s why I could never be an artist,” she said. “It’s wisteria.”
Jamie’s small smile turned to a tiny frown, and he sighed. “Look,” he said, “Ned told me about what happened with your primroses. Do you know who did it?”
Pru shook her head. “I thought it might be rabbits to begin with, but Davina called out the police. It doesn’t seem like a big deal to most people, but they were important to the garden.”
Jamie nodded. “I know what you mean—it’s just the garden, a few plants, they say. But not to us.” He shrugged. “I hope you don’t think I’m interfering, but I wasn’t sure if you knew enough people in the area yet, so I asked around and found some replacements.”
“You found more primroses?”
“And cowslips—just a couple flats of each, but maybe that will help replace what was lost. I know a fellow who works with native plants, restoring meadows and the like. He’s happy to let you have them”—he laughed—“for a price, of course. It’s just that I went ahead and brought them over, if that’s all right.”
“Yes, that’s great.”
“I’ve left them at the walled garden—I’ll ring Davina and let her know.” He grinned. “Don’t let the rabbits at them.”
Pru laughed and thanked him. She was lucky that Jamie was willing to help, even if he was doing it to butter up the people who didn’t give him the job. Her job.
—
By the following week, she’d almost grown accustomed to the new atmosphere among her crew—tense but workable. She distracted herself with thoughts of moving into her cottage and about Christopher’s visit at the weekend. On Tuesday, she saw a short parade of furniture—chesterfield sofa, tables and chairs, bed, wardrobe—being carried from a moving truck into the cottage. She stopped to watch and saw that Robbie, Ned, Liam, and Fergal watched, too.
“There now”—Ned nodded toward the activity—“you’ve a proper home.”
“No more late nights in the Templetons’ pantry,” Fergal said with a smile.
“It’s a bit small for a party, Pru,” Liam observed.
The Duffys helped her move her belongings. That first evening, with the furniture in, the Aga warming up, and a fire going—Bryan not only set it, but showed her the finer points so that she could do it herself next time—she sat quietly on the sofa, glass of wine in hand, and cried. She wished her mother could see it. For Pru’s whole life growing up in Texas, she had lived in her mother’s stories of England, and now the setting for those stories was all round her. She rang Christopher.
“I’m sitting in my cottage,” she said. She sniffed and cleared her throat. “I’m all moved in, and I have a fire going.”
“How does it look?” he asked.
She walked to the front door. “Right, here’s your audio tour. There’s a small entry. Okay, probably not really an entry, more like a tiny place to put a coat hook on the wall just inside the door.” She didn’t move. “And from here you can see…everything. The kitchen is to the left with a table and chairs, the sitting room straight ahead, and the fireplace is in a partial wall that’s sort of between the two. You’ll be surprised when you see the kitchen,” she said as she walked past the Aga. “Now, through the kitchen to the bedroom—it’s a large room, considering.”
“How big is the bed?” he interrupted.
“Big enough.” She stared at it and sighed heavily. “And a large wardrobe, and the bathroom is enormous—well, I’ve really only a shower. There wasn’t room for a tub, because they’ve put a small stacked washer and dryer in there, too. All mod cons.”
“I’ll be there as soon as I can get away on Friday.”
—
That Wednesday’s blog post, “New Life for Old Tools,” chronicled the story of their dis
covery—without mentioning Ned, Pru was annoyed to see. Great detail went into describing the Duffys’ careful restoration. That generated a good number of mild comments, mostly memories of the treasures found in Granddad’s garden shed, but a couple were pointed comments about Liam and his tools—obviously not the garden variety, and the comments, Pru thought, most likely written by women. She expected he would have a few comments of his own at work that morning.
But Liam’s comments were lost when they all gathered at the front gate of the walled garden. Ned noticed a trail of smoke outside the far wall, which turned out to be coming from cracks in the potting shed—it was on fire. They all ran. Pru pulled open the door, while Fergal and Liam went for water. As it turned out, it was more smoke than fire, and after a call to the fire brigade, they made short work of it with a relay of buckets from the nearest hose spigot. Even the tools escaped damage.
Stunned by the suddenness of it all, they didn’t speak, but watched firemen pull out the paraffin heater, the source of the fire. It had been lit and some damp burlap set on top.
That not only delayed their workday, but also meant Detective Sergeant Hobbes made a return visit. He and another officer investigated the site, taped the shed off, and told Pru that he would report back to her late on Friday afternoon, stopping by her cottage on his way home, if that was all right.
Pru had plans for late Friday afternoon, and none of them involved a visit by a police officer. Well, now that she thought about it, her plans did involve a visit by a police officer, just not this one. “Yes, sure, I’ll look forward to your report,” she said.
Primrose House
Friday morning
Dear Pru,
Your level head saved what could’ve been an enormous disaster. We will not let these vandals deter us from our task! Did you see Ned about early that morning? DS Hobbes seems a competent sort, and we’ll all keep a sharp eye out on the garden.
We’ll talk next week.
Best,
Davina
P.S. Couldn’t we build a rock garden in the oval garden space? Wouldn’t that be lovely?
P.P.S. The brickmason will be there on Monday to start repairing the walls. Do try to move everything out of his way before he arrives.
Chapter 7
The pile of fresh dairy manure steamed in the cold air. It stood as tall as the twelve-foot-high wall and, unfortunately, rested against it. Pru had hoped they could start spreading the material next week, covering the large square beds and planting the Maigold roses up at the house. But instead they would spend today, Friday, shifting a great deal of it to clear the way for the brickmason. It was not the activity she’d hoped for on the day that Christopher was to arrive, but there was nothing else for it.
They all worked on the same task, and Pru kept a sharp eye and ear out. Just let Liam dare to make trouble today because he had to work next to Ned. But work proceeded apace and without incident, and by lunch she saw that they would indeed be able to reduce the pile sufficiently to finish early. She had no intention of telling them why—it was information she did not want in the hands of Liam Duffy.
“Right,” she said as they sat against the warmed wall of the garden finishing their sandwiches. “We’ll work for another hour, and then we’ll finish early today.”
“Why?” Liam asked.
“Because we’ve cleared enough space by the wall for the brickmason to start, and we’ve all worked very hard to do it.”
“Do you have someplace to go?” Liam again.
“No, Liam, I have no place to go. I’m giving you a couple of extra hours—for which you’ll be paid—and I think you should be grateful.”
“The mason will have plenty to do,” Fergal said. “There are gaps all round the garden.”
She breathed a sigh of relief at his change of subject. “We’ll be working alongside him for a while, most likely,” she replied.
“You never let us go early,” Liam continued, eyeing her suspiciously. He raised his eyebrows. “Do you have a visitor coming, is that it?”
“I’d say you should be happy for more free time on a Friday,” she said, not looking at him.
“Ah, so it is a visitor.” Liam was like a dog with a bone. “Have you a girlfriend coming over for tea, Pru?” He shook his head. “No, that wouldn’t be it, not on a Friday.” He continued to watch her as she brushed a few bread crumbs off her lap. “It’s a man, isn’t it? That’s right, you’ve a fellow coming round.”
“If you keep talking,” she said, as she felt the color creep up into her face, “perhaps we will continue working another few hours, Liam, since you’re so eager for it.”
“Oh, I don’t know, Pru, you wouldn’t want your fellow to show up here with you standing in a pile of—”
“Liam,” Fergal stopped him, laughing. Liam grinned at her, and even Ned chuckled. She wiped her face on her sleeve to cover up her own smile, while Robbie picked up on the topic.
“Do you have a fellow coming, Pru? Is that who it is?”
“Back to work,” she said, and refused to meet any of their gazes.
At three o’clock, she sent them all on their way. She didn’t believe that Christopher could arrive this early, and so she’d have plenty of time to shower. Why today, of all days, did she have to be covered in crap?
She rushed around the corner of her cottage, and there he stood. Slightly out of breath, all she could manage was “Hi. I’m sorry I wasn’t at home. Have you been here long?”
“No, I drove up two minutes ago.”
She took a breath, and they smiled at each other. “I’m so happy to see you.” He took a step toward her, and she shouted, “Don’t come near me!”
He stopped short, and she laughed. “I’m sorry, it’s just that I’ve been shoveling manure all day and I reek. I wanted to get a shower before you saw me.”
“You look beautiful.”
She rolled her eyes and looked down at her clothes, streaked with brown. “You say that at twenty feet, but if you came any closer, you’d change your tune. I’m going straight in to—”
Ned walked around the corner. “Pru, did you want me to…Oh, sorry, I didn’t realize you were busy.”
She gave him a narrow look. “Christopher, I’d like you to meet Ned Bobbins. Ned, this is Christopher Pearse.”
“How do you do.” Ned reached up to tug on his cap. “I won’t shake your hand, sir, not today.”
“Ned,” Christopher said. “Pru tells me you’re something of a local historian.”
Ned brightened. “Well, I’ve picked up a story or two through the years.”
“I’d like to hear what you know about the railways round here sometime.”
“Let me see, it was 1866 when the…” Ned glanced at Pru. “Perhaps we could talk another time. I’d best be off now. Good to meet you.” He nodded at Christopher and walked back the way he came.
“I’m afraid the news of your arrival has been broadcast near and far.” She sighed as Liam and Fergal came around the corner next.
“Pru,” Liam began, “we were just wondering when we should…” He looked at Christopher in what Pru thought was poorly feigned surprise. “Oh, are we interrupting something?”
“Christopher, I’d like you to meet Fergal and Liam Duffy. Fellows, this is Christopher Pearse.” Liam reached out his hand as both Pru and Fergal said, “Liam, no.”
He rubbed his hand on his sweater. “Sorry, forgot myself. It’s very good to meet you, sir. Are you from around here?”
Oh God, thought Pru.
“I live in London,” Christopher said, and smiled at her. “Just down for the weekend.”
“The whole weekend?” Liam asked.
Before he could go any further, Pru said, “Right, lovely of you to stop by. Now, I’ll see the both of you Monday morning at eight.”
“Eight o’clock?” Liam asked. “Oh, I don’t know, Pru, will you be able for eight o’clock Monday morning after this weekend?”
She could see out
of the corner of her eye that Christopher was enjoying this. “Liam,” she said sweetly, “perhaps we’ll see you in the pub this evening.”
Liam’s face fell. “Ah, Pru, that’s not fair.”
“Let’s go.” Fergal nudged his brother. “Good to meet you.”
As they walked away, Pru said to Christopher, “I stopped by the pub last Saturday, and Liam said I threw him off his game—he felt like his mother was watching him.” She looked down the drive. “We might as well wait for it.”
Ivy pulled in and drove up beside them. Robbie sat behind her, his red fleece jacket smeared with manure. Ivy had all the windows down. “Oh, Pru, the smell of him—but I see you’re the same, now aren’t you?”
Pru made the last introductions. Robbie stuck his head out the window and said to Christopher, “You aren’t Pru’s husband, you’re Pru’s boyfriend.”
“Robbie,” his mother hissed.
Pru laughed. “It’s all right, Ivy.”
“Well now, it’s lovely to meet you, Mr. Pearse. Here, I’d best hand this over to you.” She gave Christopher a foil-wrapped loaf. “Just something to have with your cuppa. Bye now.”
“Thanks, Ivy. Bye, Robbie. See you Monday.” She watched him closely.
“See you…no, Pru, not Monday. Tuesday is my garden day.”
“Oh, that’s right. Tuesday.”
As his mother drove off, she could hear him calling out the window, “Pay attention, Pru, pay attention.”
Pru turned to Christopher and spread out her arms. “And there you have it,” she said. “You’ve met my whole crew.”
“Quite impressive.” He eyed her closely. “Now, are you going in for that shower, or am I coming over there to kiss you?”
That got her moving. She took her boots off and shook her socks out before darting in the door, saying over her shoulder, “Have a look round—that won’t take you long—and…make yourself at home.” She gave him a quick smile and ran into the bathroom.
Into the tiny washer went her smelly clothes. She carefully hung her necklace on the mirror away from the sink drain, and after a thorough shower and two rounds of shampoo, she dried her hair as best she could and put her necklace back on. That was when she looked around and realized she’d forgotten to bring clean clothes in with her.
The Red Book of Primrose House: A Potting Shed Mystery (Potting Shed Mystery series 2) Page 5
