“It is a castle,” she murmured.
The duke had already reached the bottom of the terrace steps. At her words, he turned, smote himself on the forehead, and bounded back up to stand by Emma’s side, saying ruefully, “Forgive me. I forgot that you hadn’t seen the place before.” He waved a hand toward the ruin. “Yes, yes—started out as a fortress, of sorts. The first duke was a bit of a blackguard, and a blackmailer as well. Got the title in exchange for a promise to stop preying on Her Majesty’s shipping lanes and start protecting them.”
“He was a pirate?” Emma asked with a smile.
“ ‘Fraid so. Must’ve been frightfully good at his chosen profession, to get a hereditary title as a retirement gift. Wish he’d got a bit of arable land as well, but one can’t have everything. Nothing left of the original pirate’s keep, of course, but...” The duke rattled on, telling of the castle’s rise and its gradual fall as later dukes reclaimed its massive blocks to build Penford Hall—“Recycling at its finest,” proclaimed the duke.
All that remained of the magnificent edifice were the four massive outer walls and a random collection of interior walls—“with the odd staircase and hearth thrown in for dramatic effect.” Within the ruins, Bantry—“head gardener here, splendid chap”—had created half a dozen garden “rooms.” Emma nodded her understanding, having seen something similar at Sissinghurst, in Kent, where the gardens were laid out among the ruined walls of an Elizabethan manor.
“Admittedly,” the duke concluded, “the castle rather spoils the view from the dining room, but it’s a marvelous windbreak, don’t you think?”
Emma nodded. Like the woodland she’d just driven through with Gash, the lush green lawn could not have existed without protection from the scouring wind. East and west, the lawn had been enclosed by ten-foot walls that extended from the hall to the castle. A dozen pleached apple trees hugged the warm gray stones, basking in the sunlight.
“End of history lesson,” said the duke, “and on to botany.” Flashing an engaging grin, he took Emma by the elbow and guided her at a brisk pace down the terrace steps and across the lawn toward the arched entryway of the ruined castle. “I hope you won’t mind if we bypass Bantry’s garden rooms and head straight for the chapel garden. I’m rather eager for you to see it.” He held up his hand. “Not that you’ll be rushed. You must take all the time you need.” The duke smiled so warmly that Emma half expected him to hug her. “Thank heavens Aunt Dimity heard my prayers and sent the Pyms to find you.”
Emma was on the verge of protesting that she’d never met the duke’s aunt, but they’d passed under the arch and into the cool shadows of the castle’s interior, a bewitching collection of fragmented walls and roofless arcades, gaping doorways and stairways leading to open sky.
Glancing through an opening on her left, Emma saw the first of Bantry’s garden rooms, a grassy courtyard surrounded by a deep perennial border. Madonna lilies, delphiniums, and bellflowers beckoned and Emma turned toward them, but stopped when the duke held up a cautioning hand, pointing to a cluster of white wicker lawn furniture at the far end of the courtyard.
“Afternoon, Hallard,” called the duke.
Hallard, the bespectacled footman who’d taken charge of Emma’s luggage, was seated on a cushioned armchair, tapping steadily at the keys of a laptop computer. At the duke’s salutation, he slowly raised his head, blinking at them from behind his thick glasses. “Hmmm?” he murmured. “Your Grace requires my assistance?”
“Not at all, old man,” the duke replied cheerfully. “Just passing through. Carry on.”
“Very good, Your Grace.” Hallard nodded vaguely, then focused once more on the computer screen. The sound of tapping keys resumed.
“What’s he working on?” Emma ventured.
“Chapter six, one hopes, but it wouldn’t do to ask. Come along, Emma, right this way.”
Chapter six? thought Emma, but before she could frame an appropriate question, the duke had swept her into a grassy corridor that seemed to pass through the center of the ruins. On either side of the corridor a series of gaping doorways revealed ancient, roofless chambers that had been transformed into flourishing gardens, but the duke passed them by without comment, hustling Emma down the grassy corridor until they came to what must have once been the banquet hall.
It was now a vegetable garden. Rows of cabbages, carrots, and turnips were interplanted with marigolds, poppies, and nasturtiums, and staked tomato vines grew along the walls. The layout reminded Emma of her garden at home, with one extremely large exception.
At the center of the hall, rising high above the walls, was a domed treillage arbor, a soaring, oversized birdcage of fanciful wrought iron covered over by a healthy crop of runner beans. It was the most extravagant trellis Emma had ever seen.
The duke chuckled at the expression on her face. “Grandmother gave parties here in the old days,” he told her. “Long-necked ladies in beaded dresses, gents in white tie and tails, a gramophone playing in the moonlight. Bantry made it into a kitchen garden, and very useful it is, too.”
“It’s impressive,” Emma agreed.
“Bantry’s magical with plants. Veggies and flowers will sit up and sing for him, but he lacks ... imagination. That’s why he hasn’t tackled the chapel garden. Can’t find Grandmother’s planting records, and without them he’s lost.” Humming a few bars of “Anything Goes,” the duke strolled along a graveled path past the birdcage arbor to the opposite side of the banquet hall. As he lengthened his stride, Emma was forced to scurry to keep up.
It was a frustrating chase. Emma caught tantalizing flashes of pink and blue and yellow and red, glimpses of clematis clambering up walls and violets peeping from the shadows, but the duke gave her no chance to savor anything. She was working up the courage to call a halt when they came to the southernmost reach of the castle, the part nearest the sea.
They were facing a tall, green-painted wooden door, the first door Emma had seen since entering the ruins. The green door was set into a sturdy, level wall that stretched east and west for a hundred feet or so. The drabness of the gray stone had been relieved by a series of niches set into the wall at irregular intervals and planted with primroses.
Gazing upward, the duke explained, “Grandmother had this wall built from leftover bits of the castle. It’s twelve feet tall and three feet thick, to protect that which she held most dear.” He reached for the latch. “No one’s looked after it for years,” he added. “Bantry’s had so much else to do....” He glanced beseechingly at Emma. “What I mean to say is, I’m sorry it’s such a cock-up, but it’d mean a great deal to me if you could see your way clear to ...” He gripped the latch firmly and took a deep breath. “You see, this place meant everything to my grandmother, and she meant everything to me.”
The duke smiled a wistful, fleeting smile, then lifted the latch. As the door swung inward, Emma stepped past him and down ten uneven stone steps. At the foot of the stairs she stopped.
“I’ll leave you alone for a while, shall I?” murmured the duke.
Emma didn’t notice his departure. For a moment she forgot even to breathe, and when she remembered, it was a slowly drawn breath exhaled in a heartbroken moan.