A form darkened the door.
“Hal, you don’t have to stand out in the rain, come in.”
Hal, hands in his pockets, eyes on the ground, and rain dripping off the hood of his slicker, edged into the shed, and they all three stood in close quarters.
“Hello, Mr. Stirling,” Hal said to the floor. “Pru, I told Simon I’d sow another flat of chard.”
“Good, we’ll get out of your way, then. Potato and leek soup when you’re ready for lunch,” she told him.
Hal leaned over the potting bench to allow Pru and Max the space to leave. Once outside, the director opened his umbrella and glanced up the drive.
“Oh yes, and, Prunella, did Penny tell you we expect the little fairies this afternoon?”
* * *
—
Evelyn had been right, of course—sandwiches went down much easier when accompanied by soup. After lunch, the cast migrated back to the sitting room for notes from the morning’s rehearsals, while Pru collected dishes, leaving Polly and Bernadette at the dining table with Miriam, who was sketching out a clematis-and-lattice design she’d created for next year’s spring line.
In the kitchen, Evelyn took two pans out of the oven and put two more in.
“You’ve taken time to have your own lunch, haven’t you?” Pru asked.
“Don’t you worry about me,” Evelyn replied.
“Are those cupcakes?”
“Fairy cakes.”
The same thing. “Evelyn, you’ll wear yourself out.”
“I’ve been told the children will be here this afternoon, and fairies deserve fairy cakes.”
“Then let me help, please.”
“You can ice them,” the cook conceded as Polly and Bernadette breezed through on the way to the mudroom.
“I’m sorry I can’t stay,” Polly said, “but I’ve a client appointment in Stockbridge.”
“And I have Thursday Bible study,” Bernadette explained as she swung her bag over a shoulder. “I do hope it all works out with Miriam and Ambrose.”
“What?” Pru asked. “How did you know about—”
“Really, Pru, I may be a priest, but I’ve got eyes. I watched the two of them watch each other over the lunch table.”
“She’s got to let that hurt go,” Polly said.
“You two are amazing,” Pru said to their departing figures. The mudroom door closed behind them and opened again as Christopher entered.
“I had to park down the lane halfway to Stan’s.” He cast his gaze over the counter full of empty dishes.
Evelyn took note. “Sit down now—there’s soup left and cheese and bread.”
Max came through the swing door.
“Hello, Christopher—that is, Inspector. Prunella, I want to give Penny a few notes that I wrote in my own script this morning, but I have misplaced it. A regular habit of mine—I should just leave it in my bag where it belongs. Did I have it with me in your potting shed?”
“You may have,” Pru said, “let’s go look.” She walked with him out the door and into the gravel yard, where sunshine blinded them as steam rose from the ground.
Max smiled, held his arms out, and, his light Russian accent adding a lilt to his voice, said, “The sun with one eye vieweth all the world,” and then added, “Henry VI, Part 1, Prunella. Did Shakespeare write it? We will never be sure.”
She laughed and followed him to the potting shed, where they walked in on Hal reading from Max’s script.
“Get you gone, you dwarf,
You minimus of hindering knot-grass made,
You bead, you acorn.”
“Very nice,” Max said. Hal whipped round, suddenly mute. “You know,” the director added as he took his script out of Hal’s hands, “if you enjoy Shakespeare, I’m sure you could find a local group to practice your skills. Amdram, you know?”
Max left, and Hal stared after him.
“Amdram is amateur drama,” Pru explained.
“Amdram,” Hal snorted.
* * *
—
If the morning had been pandemonium, what did that make the afternoon? Nina pulled the minibus in at three o’clock, barely squeezing the vehicle past the line of cars. Then, as the fairies disembarked, Linden’s blue Rolls turned into the drive. The children cheered when Bubble and Squeak leapt out of the car, and there ensued a fairy-and-dog dance round the yard, through the parterre lawn and out again, ending with a flourish by circling Linden and Nick.
The company spilled out of the house and squinted up at the sun as they greeted the missing actors and petted the dogs and children. All at once Nell squealed, turned to the others, and shouted, “They’re married!”
Linden—dressed in her usual skimpy top, this one in cherry-blossom-pink lace—had changed her threadbare denims for a long, flowing skirt that Pru thought she’d seen on the costume rack yesterday. Linden blushed at Nell’s proclamation and brandished her left hand, gems on the wedding band sparkling in the light. She received hug after hug from the women. Nina attempted to hold the children back, but they came forward for hugs, too, as the men pounded Nick on the back and shook his hand.
Pru caught Christopher’s eye as he stood on the front step, before making her way to the front of the line and congratulating them both.
“Thank you,” Linden said, her eyes damp and her smile wide. “It’s crazy, isn’t it? But after I talked with you, I told Nick if we don’t take the plunge now, when would we ever? And we decided we couldn’t stop not even to tell a soul, because what if we backed out?”
She looked past Pru to Christopher and then shifted her gaze to Nick before reaching into the front seat of the Rolls and bringing out a half-pint-size hexagonal jar.
“Here you are, Inspector—a special gift from my Kidlington bees.”
How easy is a bush supposed a bear?
5.1.22
Chapter 18
The sunshine was short-lived—another band of clouds rumbled in, bringing sharp showers. The company ran indoors and returned to rehearsing. Pru made her way back to the kitchen to find the table covered with naked cupcakes and a vat of vibrant purple icing awaiting her—Evelyn said a single color meant the children couldn’t dither over a choice.
Christopher took the Kidlington honey to the station, where he would hand it off to PS Grey, who would make the three-hour drive—one way—to a lab in Derbyshire. Evelyn actually sat down for five minutes as she contemplated what to do about the pensioners’ meals for that day, then got up and began rummaging in the freezer in the mudroom.
Pru got settled into the Zen of frosting. From the other side of the kitchen door, she heard voices, music, and shuffling—rehearsal proceeding. When the last fairy cake had been covered, she finished off the buttercream herself, scraping what remained out of the bowl and licking the spoon, after which she washed the purple stains from her fingers and went to check on Miriam.
But making her way across the entry to get to the library was akin to attempting to walk a straight line across Paddington station. The Blokes juggled beanbags, calling out directions to each other, and the dogs, although stationary, contributed to the routine with rhythmic barking. Pru paused to watch, and when Peter Quince glanced over and did a double take, she waved. The fairies were dancing on the stairs—Nina had turned the volume up on her phone so they could hear their music—and the scene being rehearsed in the sitting room apparently involved shouting.
And that was why Pru first thought that the rapping she heard had something to do with the Blokes or the fairies or Puck leaping about the furniture—better not mention that to Evelyn—and it wasn’t until she moved round the perimeter of the entry near the front door that she realized what she heard was knocking.
She opened the door to a short middle-aged man with sparse, sandy hair and a smile that flickered
out when he saw her and then appeared again. He held a dripping umbrella and had a satchel across his shoulder.
Smile if you want, Pru thought as she narrowed her eyes at him and closed the door until only her face was visible. She’d had a brush or two with the media before and thought this fellow might just be a reporter come to find the most sensational angle he could about the death of an actor rehearsing nearby. They’d been at it again that morning—one headline reading, STUNG BY DEATH.
“Can I help you?” she asked.
“Sorry to disturb you,” the man said, handing over a business card. “I’m Dilwyn Farrer, and I’m looking for Simon Parke or Pru Parke.”
The fairies had decided to join Bubble and Squeak in their rhythmic barking, and for a moment, Pru couldn’t hear herself think. Dilwyn Farrer—the name had a ring to it. Dilwyn…she glanced down at the business card.
“Mr. Farrer!”
It was Hal’s lecturer from the horticultural program. They’d spoken to him only by phone before—once when they’d hired Hal and twice more since, when he’d phoned to see how things were going. Pru threw open the door, almost knocking into Snug the Joiner. “I’m Pru Parke—please come in.”
Come in where was the problem.
“I’m afraid we’re chockablock today—I’ll explain in a minute. I think if you follow me we can find space in the dining room.”
She led him past the Blokes and through the fairies—who all giggled when they saw her—and finally, just after the staircase, traffic broke up. They walked into the dining room and took chairs at one end.
“Simon isn’t here today,” she told him, “but I could ring him. Did you want to see Hal, too?”
“No need, I’m sure a chat with you will be sufficient.” Farrer clasped his hands and set them on the table.
One of the dogs bounded into the dining room—foam-rubber juggling pin in its mouth—and raced round the table, followed by two squealing fairies, who, in turn, were followed by Nina.
“Out!” she shouted.
In the other room Linden called, “Fairies, to me!” in a sweet Titania voice, and the chase moved off.
“It’s the rain, you see,” Pru explained to Farrer. “No, wait, let me back up.” And she gave him the briefest of explanations about Shakespeare au Naturel and the production, ending with, “It’s usually a great deal quieter here. Now, about Hal—he’s doing just great.”
“Good,” Farrer replied. “Fine.” A pause. “He is gardening, isn’t he?”
“Yes, of course—what else would he be doing?”
“What else indeed?”
“I’ve asked him to help me out with the set, but that involves gardening, too—picking up plant orders, hauling them in, dumping compost. The usual. He doesn’t seem too keen on the theater and mostly keeps away from rehearsals.”
“You’re providing a wealth of experience for him,” Farrer said.
“It’s amazing that you follow through on your students like this.”
“Well, Sparsholt isn’t all that far away, and so when asked, I didn’t mind putting eyes on the situation. I get the idea horticulture was a change of careers for Hal, and it’s good to see how things have settled out.”
“Do you know what work he did before he began your program?”
Farrer shook his head. “It is a mystery to me. But whatever his past, he was, for us, a dedicated student, totally focused on the subject.”
Pru had seen it—Hal had a single-mindedness when it came to the garden that bordered on obsession. It was that way with his responsibilities at Greenoak and his other part-time garden in Romsey. Now, with the disappearance of Jeremy from Coeur-de-la-Mer, perhaps Hal thought he himself would make a good replacement as head gardener. The Gascoignes could do worse.
“Let’s go find him, shall we?” asked Pru. “He was in the potting shed earlier.”
“Well, if he has a free moment, I’d love to say hello.”
But they couldn’t find Hal—not in the potting shed, or the parterre lawn or the veg garden. Farrer shared his umbrella with Pru, the rain drumming steadily overhead as they dashed from place to place, and finally sheltered in the doorway to the mudroom.
“Would you like a cup of tea? We might still catch him in a bit.”
“I should be on my way, Ms. Parke—perhaps another time.”
“He’ll be sorry to miss you,” she said as Farrer left.
Inside the mudroom, Pru took her hair clip out and ran one of the towels over her head—Mr. Farrer’s umbrella wasn’t quite as wide as he thought. In the kitchen, Evelyn poured up two large pots of tea and straightened her pinny as if girding her loins for the teatime rush.
“Shall I help dole out cakes to the fairies?”
Evelyn looked at her and burst out laughing. “And have them accuse you of stealing their treats? Have you seen yourself?”
Pru frowned, ducked into the loo, and peered at her image in the tiny round mirror above the sink. She looked like an extra in a zombie movie—her mouth a slash of purple. She stuck out her tongue—also purple—and bared her teeth to reveal lavender-tinged enamel.
“Why didn’t anyone tell me?” she wailed. “Mr. Farrer must’ve thought he’d placed Hal with a madwoman.” She took the towel she’d used on her hair and rubbed her lips. “You haven’t seen Hal, have you, Evelyn?”
“He’s just there, in the yard.” Evelyn nodded.
Hal stood in the gravel yard with his hood up against the rain as he looked down the drive. Pru opened the mudroom door to speak to him at the same moment Nell crossed from the other way.
“Hiya,” she said. “Have you seen Pru?”
“No,” Hal replied. “I’ve been in the kitchen garden.”
“Where?” Pru called from the doorway. “Were you hiding behind the asparagus?”
* * *
—
To keep the children far away from anything that could suffer from a smear of purple icing, Evelyn dragged extra chairs into the kitchen and seated all twelve where an eye could be kept on them. Nina and Evelyn served them, and the adults took tea in the dining room. “I don’t want to find a crumb of a fairy cake anywhere else,” she warned them, to the children’s delight.
Pru shuttled pots of tea out but declined the offer of a chair and a cake. “I’ve had enough icing for now,” she told them.
“Yes, so we can see,” Peter Quince said.
The newlyweds sat crowded into the far corner of the dining table. Bubble and Squeak planted themselves just behind, watching every bite taken. Nick raised a hand as he swallowed, and then said, “If you aren’t having tea, you could get in a bit of juggling practice.”
“I might do,” Pru replied.
“Look,” he said, “I’ve left my bag with the others in the costume room—reach in and get those balls and have a go.”
Pru saw a streak of sun come through the dining room window—the rain had stopped. She could practice outdoors, and the interior of Greenoak would be safe.
“Yeah, I will, thanks.”
In the corner of the library, a mountain of leather satchels, tapestry rucksacks, messenger bags, and holdalls rose from the floor. Pru spotted the cloth bags the Blokes used at the bottom of the pile, and so began to move the mountain, bag by bag. She worked carefully, as many were open, making it easy to identify the probable owner.
A tote, unzipped from ear to ear, held an enomous makeup bag—probably Nell’s or Anna’s—and one of the rucksacks had a science fiction paperback sticking out of a pocket. A leather satchel had its flap open, and Pru saw a script with DIRECTOR written in black marker—Max’s. He must’ve transferred his notes to Penelope.
Pru picked up his bag, and the contents shifted, revealing a notebook, glasses case, mobile phone—and two translucent yellow plastic cylinders that looked like fat pens. The l
abels read: ADRENALINE (EPINEPHRINE).
“Found them, have you?”
A tedious brief scene of young Pyramus
And his love Thisbe
5.1.56–57
Chapter 19
“The juggling balls,” Nick said. “Did you find them in my bag?”
“Yes.” Pru’s voice wobbled, and she coughed to regain her composure. “No. I mean, there’s such a…I didn’t want to disturb…” She had clasped Max’s satchel to her chest and now looked down at it, unsure of how it got there and what to do next. When she looked up, Nick was watching.
“We’ve made a right mess, haven’t we?” he asked, negotiating chairs and lamps and a large table as he moved toward her. Pru dropped Max’s bag behind her, and then bent down and threw the flap over to cover the opening. She stood up quickly, and Nick had come so close that she caught him in the side with her elbow.
“Sorry,” she said and pointed behind him to the mountain. “Is that yours there?”
“Yeah, that’s the one,” Nick said as he stepped away from her. “Bottom of the pile, wouldn’t you know.” He retrieved three balls from a cloth bag and handed them over. “You keep these—we’ve got plenty.”
“Oh, well, thanks.” She stared down at her juggling implements with only a vague recollection of what she’d been taught.
“Look, Pru,” Nick began, but was interrupted by Penelope calling, “Nick Bottom, the fairies await.”
Pru intended to stay in the library after Nick left and get a better look at the contents of Max’s satchel, but Miriam walked in, and, with a glance back into the corridor, asked, “Can I help you with something?”
It was the former, sharper Miriam who spoke, and at first, Pru wasn’t inclined to answer—she thought they’d moved beyond that.
“No, just collecting these for my practice,” she said, holding out the three juggling balls.
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