The Red Book of Primrose House: A Potting Shed Mystery (Potting Shed Mystery series 2)

by Marty Wingate

  “I’m sorry you have to go.”

  “You’ll be busy,” he said.

  “As will you, I know.”

  “And I’ll be back. But…”

  “I know we can’t do this every weekend,” she said. “Still…”

  He finished it for her. “It’s better than it might have been—at least you aren’t in Texas.”

  “We’ll see how long that works for us.”

  Before getting in his car, he covered her face with kisses.

  Chapter 9

  A pall hung over everyone that morning as they went about their work in the gray light, puffing clouds of fog like steam engines and stamping their feet against the cold ground. Pru couldn’t shake the sadness of Christopher leaving—really, she kept saying to herself, he’s only gone up to London. Ned shuffled around, Fergal worked without speaking, even Liam was subdued, and there was no Robbie to brighten the day with talk of Robin Hood. What pale winter sun there was faded after lunch as clouds drew close, making the day darken even earlier than usual.

  Pru had walked to her cottage at lunch and returned by way of the lower path to the back gate of the walled garden. Preoccupied with thoughts of the next big project—the gardens immediately around the house—the loud voices didn’t register until she walked in and saw Ned and Liam in each other’s faces like two rams about to butt heads.

  “It’s no concern of yours,” Ned growled, his hands clenched at his sides.

  “It bloody well is my concern if you won’t do anything,” Liam shouted back, jabbing his finger at the old man’s chest.

  They both stopped when they realized Pru was there and, without a word, turned and walked off in different directions.

  Her spirits couldn’t have been lower. Here it was Monday, and the week was already a disaster. Fergal stood near the front gate talking with the mason, and she made her way up to them, longing for some peaceful conversation. The mason had packed up and said he would be back the next day, but would have to put off work after that until the following week as he had a job to finish near Lamberhurst.

  Ned appeared around one corner, Liam from the other. They stopped about twenty feet from each other, as if their anger created a force field between them. The silence was deafening.

  “Let’s stop for today, shall we?” Pru said. They had spent the morning spreading more of the manure and had at least made progress. Without comment, Fergal collected and began cleaning off the spades.

  Liam walked toward her, but stopped and turned away when Ned came up first.

  Ned looked over his shoulder before saying, “Another day, Pru, perhaps a quieter day, could we have a chat?”

  They’d had no quieter day than the one just finished, but she could guess that what he meant was a day without Liam. “Sure, Ned, that would be fine. Do you want to stay today and we can talk?”

  “No, not today,” he said, and lifted his chin. “I’ve something to do.”

  “Right, well, any day is fine with me.” He made a movement to leave. “Ned,” she said as an afterthought, “I met Cate.”

  She’d never seen such a smile on him before, revealing a row of too-perfect teeth. “You met my girl? She’s her dad’s pride and joy. And did you meet the wee one?”

  “No,” Pru said, and smiled. “I haven’t met Nanda yet.”

  “Well, she’s a charmer, just like her mum.” Ned straightened his shoulders. “I’ll see you tomorrow.”

  Liam didn’t approach her again, and they all went their separate ways.

  At home, Pru showered and sat at the kitchen table with the Red Book, forgetting her worries as she got lost in Repton’s plan. For each of his clients, including Primrose House, he painted watercolor landscape views as they were, and then cut a horizontal strip out of the paper, keeping it attached at one end. Behind the opening he placed another watercolor that showed what his proposed landscape would look like. It worked like a charm: here’s what you see now; lift the flap and here’s what you’ll see if you hire me. He had been quite a salesman.

  Tires crunched on the gravel outside, bringing Pru back to the twenty-first century. When she opened the door, there stood Jamie Tanner.

  “Pru, hope you don’t mind me stopping by like this.” He smiled at her as he gave his stubbly chin a scratch.

  “Not at all. Come in. Would you like tea?”

  “No, no,” he said as he fiddled with the zipper on his jacket, “I don’t want to be a bother, just thought I’d find out how you’re doing. Are you getting to know the place well?”

  What is he, the welcome wagon? she thought. “Look, why don’t you come in—it’s quite cold out there.”

  “Oh sure, well, if it’s no bother.” He stepped inside and stood by the kitchen table. “So, have you met some friends?”

  She busied herself with the kettle and said over her shoulder, “I haven’t had much chance to socialize except to get to know everyone here—the Templetons, Ned, Fergal and Liam, and Robbie and Ivy.” She heard a chair scrape on the floor, and could’ve sworn she’d seen him kick it. “Do you know Robbie and Ivy Fox?”

  “No,” he said, “I don’t believe I do. Do you go down to the Two Bells ever? It is your local, after all, and they pour a good pint.”

  She turned to face him, and leaned back against the rail on the Aga. “Yes, I’ve been in a few times, usually on the weekends—I’ve no time during the week. How’s your job?”

  “My job?” he asked, and laughed as if she’d told a joke. “My job is, yeah, good. My job is good.” He looked right and left, and then said, “Look, I’ve got to go. Just wanted to stop and say hello. I’ll be seeing you.”

  She followed him to the door and watched him drive away. He hit the accelerator too hard and showered gravel everywhere. As his car got to the lane and turned out, another car turned in, coming just as quickly as Jamie had left and scattering more gravel when it stopped. Liam got out and slammed the door.

  “What’s he doing here?” he shouted at Pru. “What the hell is he doing here?”

  “What?”

  “Are you on his side?” he continued to shout as he walked toward her.

  “Calm down,” she shouted back, “and tell me what you’re talking about.”

  He stopped. His face was blotched, his eyes on fire, and his breathing heavy. “Come in here and sit down,” she said.

  She really did feel like his mother now. The kettle had boiled, and she prepared the tea. Liam yanked a chair out, plopped down, crossed his arms, and didn’t speak. She cut a few slices of Ivy’s tea cake and put the plate, along with mugs, milk, and sugar, on the table. She sat down across from him and said, “There now. What’s wrong?”

  “Pru, do you not care what he’s done? How can you be friendly to a man who would do that?”

  “Liam, I do not have a clue what you’re on about.”

  He jerked his thumb toward the road. “He hit her.” He stood up again abruptly and walked to the door, as if he could see Jamie through the small frosted window. “She spent years putting up with his yelling and bullying, and then he hit her. And she left.”

  Pru looked at the door, realization dawning. “Jamie is Cate’s husband. I’m sorry, I didn’t know. I had no idea.” Liam sat back down again and let out a big breath. As she poured the tea, Pru tried to reconcile the image of Jamie that Liam painted of an abusive husband with the image she’d already formed of him—a helpful colleague, although one who seemed to want her job. “Christopher noticed she’d worn a ring.”

  “We dated for a while before she met him,” Liam said, stirring sugar into his tea, “but I wasn’t ready to settle down. I’d no real work, and he was older and had a job—she said he was charming.” Liam said the last word as if it left a bad taste in his mouth. “Not too difficult a choice there.”

  “But maybe now she realizes it might not have been the best one. Except for Nanda.”

  That got a grin from him. “I never thought I’d like children,” he said, “but she’s
something.” He reached for a slice of cake and swigged his tea. “I’m only helping out, Pru,” he explained. “I only rang her after I’d heard she left him. I know she needs time. She and Nanda have moved in with a girlfriend of hers, a flat up closer to town. I’m doing what I can.”

  He seemed to have grown up remarkably fast, she thought. “But, Liam, then why are you so angry with Ned?”

  His eyes flashed again as he swallowed a large bite of cake. “Her own dad, and he’s the biggest champion of Jamie Tanner, tells her she needs to stick with her husband, what about her marriage vows, and…how could he say that to his own daughter after what Tanner did to her?”

  Pru had no answer to that, only more questions of her own. Liam quieted down again. “Thanks for talking with us, you know, at the pub.”

  “She’s very sweet.”

  “Would you…?” he began as he swirled his tea around in the mug. “It would be great if you might stop by and see her, if you ever had the time.”

  “I’m sure she has loads of friends to support her,” Pru said. She had, after all, spent only ten minutes with Cate.

  “Tanner wouldn’t let her,” Liam said, his color rising again along with his voice. “He wouldn’t let her work and he wouldn’t let her have any friends. She’s lost touch with almost all the girls she used to know.” He shook his head.

  “Then I’d love to stop by and say hello. Why don’t you leave me her number, and I’ll ring her.”

  “That would be great, thanks,” he said as he scribbled down two numbers. “There’s her mobile, and the phone at the flat.” He glanced up at her. “She liked meeting you and Christopher.” He cleared his throat. “You two, have you been together a long time?”

  “No.” Pru smiled. Even the description of them as being “together” was still new to her. “We’ve known each other only a few months.”

  “Is that right?” he asked as his face brightened. “That’s great that you’re together, you know, at…”

  She raised one eyebrow, daring him to say “at your age.” He closed his mouth and then started again. “I could tell that he likes you,” Liam said, and turned scarlet. “Is he a gardener, too?”

  That got a laugh out of her. “No, he’s a DCI in London.”

  Liam dropped his spoon onto the table. “That’s a good score.”

  After three pieces of Ivy’s cake and draining the teapot, Liam left much calmer than he arrived. “Thanks, Pru. You’re a good boss,” he said with a smile. He walked out the door and turned around. “What was he doing here? Tanner.”

  “Just stopped by,” she said. “I’ve met him a couple of times. He’s the one who found the roses and replaced the seedlings that were destroyed.” She shrugged. “I just thought he was helpful. I didn’t know.”

  “Look, if he comes round again, and Christopher isn’t here, you give me a ring. All right?”

  “Thanks, Liam.” She smiled at him. “I appreciate that.”

  —

  She poured herself a glass of wine, set some of Riccardo’s minestrone on to heat, and rang Christopher.

  “I had my phone in my hand,” he said, “about to give you a ring. How was your day?”

  “Weird,” she said. “How was yours?”

  “Busy, thank God, because every moment I wasn’t occupied, I wished I was there with you.”

  She thought about how far they’d come in the few months they’d known each other. Into her heart had crept the unfamiliar longing for some permanence. Occasional weekends sounded like a gift when they didn’t think they’d ever see each other again, but they were not nearly as wonderful examined close up. But for now, occasional weekends were all they had. “Well, here’s what you missed.”

  She filled him in on her two visitors.

  “Now we know why she was looking over her shoulder at the door every two seconds,” he said. “Can you see that in Ned—why he would want her to stay with an abusive husband?”

  “I know so little about Ned,” Pru replied. “He’s quiet, he works. I don’t know why he would tell his own daughter that.”

  “And what do you think of Tanner?” he asked.

  “I know even less of him,” she replied. “He’s been friendly every time I’ve seen him.” Her mind wandered back. “The first time I met Ned, when I interviewed here, he told me that someone else had been offered the job. After I met Jamie, I thought that was who Ned meant.”

  “The Templetons never told you that, did they?”

  “That I was second choice? No, Davina has never mentioned it—but maybe I was.”

  “Impossible.”

  “You couldn’t be prejudiced, could you?” she asked. She had something else on her mind and wanted to say it while she had the nerve. “Next time you’re able to come down—if you wanted to—you could bring some extra clothes and things to leave here. You know, save you packing so much each time.”

  He was quiet for a moment and then said in a light tone, “Take care, you might find I’ve moved myself down there for good—what would you say about that?”

  “I would say you are very welcome.”

  Chapter 10

  Pru barely blinked at the next blog headline—“Gardener Intends to Work Magic on Ancient Yew”—and shrugged off the references to druids and witches in the comments section. She had described to the reporter, Hugo Jenkins, what might be done with the overgrown yews in the large middle square of the walled garden. Yew is forgiving, she had said; they could cut it back to old wood and it would break into new growth. Almost like magic, she had said.

  A tingle of dread mixed with anticipation had settled in her stomach when it came time to open the gate to the walled garden. The voice of DS Hobbes echoed in her mind, connecting the blog posts with the vandalism. She stopped for a moment, her skin prickling.

  She touched the large iron handle lightly, then took hold, pushed the gate, and breathed a sigh of relief: the yew remained intact. It was just another day in the garden.

  Apparently, previous events had put Hugo on edge, too; midmorning, he stopped by.

  “Just wanted to check with you about a topic for next week’s post,” he said, standing inside the gate and eyeing the yew.

  Pru saw Ned walk in from below. “We’ll be planting the walls with apples and training them in different shapes. We’ve chosen cultivars from the 1700s up through late Victorian—grafted onto disease-resistant stock.”

  “Antique fruit, I like it,” Hugo replied.

  “You could talk to Ned about that.” She nodded in his direction. “He’s come up with the list and placed all the orders, although the trees won’t arrive for another month.”

  Hugo’s eyes followed her nod and his gaze fell upon Ned. He paused a moment and then, with his eyes still on the old man, asked, “What about up at the house? Don’t you have big plans for the space in front? Mrs. Templeton mentioned it—perhaps we’ll focus on that for now.”

  Pru would rather leave Davina’s merry-go-round of design ideas for the oval alone. “Are you sure? Ned would probably love to talk about what he’s chosen—he’s got a real nose for history.”

  “And it’s in everyone else’s business,” Hugo said, almost under his breath.

  This was going nowhere, she thought. “Could we talk about it perhaps tomorrow—or on Monday?” The reporter didn’t answer, but kept watching Ned, who had glanced up at them and then away. “Hugo?”

  “Yes,” he said, turning back to her. “Sure, Monday.”

  A full day of work filled her with the confidence that they could get the garden finished by summer. Ned marked the spacing for the apples, which would be espaliered into fans, cordons, candelabra—three trees between each buttress. Liam and Fergal began to clear the path that led from the lower gate of the walled garden to the house. Pru believed the path to be Repton’s, and so there should be remnants of a broader walk that curved around to the front gate, too. He preferred things done in a grand style. “At present,” he wrote, “the only pleasur
e ground consists of a long belt connected with the house by an unprotected gravel walk….Whilst it is too uniform & too destitute of objects to be beautiful or picturesque; and much too narrow, and too confined, to be in character with the magnificence of the house.” We’ll fix that, Humphry. They would re-establish the lower path, and where it diverged and swept up toward the front gate of the walled garden, it would be broad enough for four abreast and coated with flint and stone gravel chippings to match the drive. Beautiful and picturesque it will be, she thought.

  —

  Thursday, she stepped out the door after putting on her yellow waterproof jacket over three layers of thin undershirts and two sweaters. I’m like an onion, she thought with a smile as she walked out to the garden. It had rained through the night and was still coming down lightly; when Liam came racing out of the gate, he skidded on the soaked ground as he made the corner and turned toward her, his eyes wide and his face white. “Pru, you haven’t been out to see it?”

  She didn’t answer but ran past him to find Fergal and Ned staring at the yew—two of them had been hacked to pieces. The plants had been at least twelve feet tall, with trunks so wide at the base she couldn’t get her arms around one. But now, branches and sprays of foliage lay in heaps. It was not a neat job: the trunks looked as if they’d been hit by lightning and had exploded.

  She felt weak and had to take a couple of deep breaths before she built up enough strength to speak. “Did anyone see anything?”

  Heads shook. “I got here just ahead of Liam and Fergal,” Ned said. “Not ten minutes ago. I saw no one.”

  “Nobody move, all right? Just stay here.” She got out her phone to ring DS Hobbes.

  “I could go check the shed,” Liam said, “see if the ax is still there. And the hatchet.”

  “No.” She put out her hand to stop him. “We can’t disturb anything. There might be evidence.” She’d learned that well enough—don’t touch. She looked at the ground and waited for Hobbes to answer his phone. The early-morning frost melted in the sun, taking with it any footprints, and their shoes left no impression on the hard ground—at least none that she could see.