She and Bantry spent long afternoons in the library, making up plant lists and discussing what would go where in the chapel garden. Bantry would use only rough copies of Emma’s sketches, insisting that the duke would want to frame the originals, and he agreed with Emma’s strong intuition that everything planted in the chapel garden should come from the other gardens of Penford Hall. “The dowager duchess would’ve wanted it that way,” he said approvingly. “And we’ve plenty of plants to choose from.”
It was an understatement, as Emma soon learned. The garden rooms in the castle ruins were as varied and as well tended as any Emma had ever seen. The rock garden was a swirling pastel watercolor—sky-blue primroses and white candytuft, purple lobelia and rosy-pink soapwort. The candytuft and primroses, Emma thought, would look wonderful edging the flagstone walk and the reflecting pool.
Clouds of early blossoms graced the rose garden, and Bantry told her all about the ones not yet in bloom. Emma chose a fragrant nineteenth-century Bourbon rose—Madame Isaac Pereire, Bantry informed her—to frame the green door, and a hybrid tea rose to plant beside the wooden bench.
Emma was enchanted by the knot garden. The close-clipped, interlocking chains of low-growing hedges formed a charming double-knot pattern that enclosed a marvelous selection of herbs. There, she discovered the deep purple-blue lavender she would use on either side of the chapel door, along with red sage, bronze fennel, angelica, and golden balm. She found a treasure trove in the perennial border she’d seen the first time she’d entered the castle ruins. Transplanted clematis and delphiniums would soften the stark granite walls, and irises, peonies, lilies, columbines, and a host of other old-fashioned flowers would restore color, form, and texture to the raised beds.
“I’d like a pair of butterfly bushes to tuck into the corners, where the chapel wall meets the garden wall,” Emma explained to Bantry, “and a different climbing rose in the center of each of the long walls. We’ll plant tall perennials to fill the space between the roses and the corner ledges—lupines, hollyhocks, that sort of thing—with shorter ones in front. The bottom tier should have trailing plants spilling out onto the lawn. The rosy-pink soapwort would work, or the verbena. And we’ll need something special to put on the comer ledges.”
“We’ve some nice orchids in the hothouse,” Bantry offered.
“Hothouse?” Emma echoed. She hadn’t noticed one in the house plans Derek had shown her.
“His Grace put it in year afore last,” Bantry explained. “Miss Kate’s partial to orchids.”
They spent the next day in Penford Hall’s conservatory, a two-story glass-enclosed set of rooms tucked away in the west wing. One section was devoted to orchids, ferns, and waving palms, another to miniature fruit trees and topiary, and a third, Emma noted with some amusement, was the source of Nell’s almost constant supply of strawberries. Between the conservatory and the garden rooms, she found everything she’d need.
“Don’t mean to sound sour, Miss Emma,” Bantry cautioned, “but the chapel garden won’t be at its best in August.”
“I know that, and you know that, but I’m afraid we’ll have a hard time convincing Grayson,” said Emma, with a sigh. “He told me not to worry about getting it perfect, but I don’t think he understands just how imperfect it’ll be.”
“Aye.” Bantry squinted into the distance. “Be patchy this year, a bit better next. Mebbe the year after that it’ll begin to come into its own. A good garden takes time.”
Bantry knew what he was talking about. He displayed an awesome knowledge of the plants under his care, and spoke of them with an air of affectionate familiarity. “This ’un’s daft,” he commented, pointing to an early-blooming scarlet rambler. “Thinks it’s June already. Does it every year, like it can’t wait to come out and say hello.”
Bantry’s organizational skills were equally impressive. He’d trained a small cadre of dedicated undergardeners to help him with the mammoth task of maintenance. One by one, Emma met them, sixteen villagers in all, from shy, eleven-year-old Daphne Minion, whose special love was the knot garden, to placid, eighty-six-year-old Bert Potts, who tended the pleached apple trees that bordered the great lawn.
When Emma complimented Bantry on his talent for managing people, he responded casually that his time at Wisley Gardens had served him well. That was how Emma learned that Bantry had spent ten years at the Royal Horticultural Society’s 150-acre centerpiece. He’d shrugged off her breathless questions by saying that, all in all, he preferred Penford Hall, where he didn’t have to put up with “them smelly tour buses.”
That revelation led to several others. When Emma told Derek of Bantry’s illustrious past, he reminded her of a conversation that had taken place in the library the night Emma had arrived. Under pressure from Susannah, he recalled, Kate had acknowledged that she and Nanny Cole had once lived in Bournemouth. Bantry, Kate, and Nanny Cole—three of Penford Hall’s mainstays—had apparently been forced to leave the hall for greener pastures at some point in the distant past. Curious, Emma and Derek decided to see if the same held true for the rest of the staff.
Judicious questioning of Mattie revealed that Crowley had been living in a furnished bedsitter in Plymouth when Mattie was born. Hallard, Gash, and Newland, Derek learned, had each spent some years in London. With the sole exception of Madama Rulenska, it appeared that all of the servants had left Penford Hall at some point.
Clearly, Susannah’s father hadn’t been the only one to suffer from the old duke’s reversal of fortune. As they sat together in the library four days after Syd’s return, Derek theorized that Penford Hall had been all but deserted, much like the village.
“Grayson’s father gave them all the sack,” Derek concluded, “and Grayson, when he was able, hired them back. Argues for a high degree of loyalty. A pity.”
“We can’t really trust anyone,” Emma agreed sadly.
“We can, though,” said Derek. He leaned forward. “Syd’s an outsider, and he’d do anything to protect his Suzie. And it wouldn’t seem strange for him to want to stay by her side.” Derek sighed. “If only we could figure out a way to snap him out of his funk.”
Emma nodded. Visibly aged, Syd had taken meals in his room since his return from Plymouth. According to Crowley, he simply sat and stared out of the window. Emma knew where she went when she was upset, but it was ridiculous to assume that the same thing would work for Syd. Or was it?
“Derek,” she said slowly, “this is probably going to sound silly, but ... what if I took Syd out to work in the garden with me?”
“Green-thumb therapy?” Derek mulled the idea over, then shrugged. “Why not? It’d get his mind off of things, get him moving again. Not at all silly.”
“I’ll ask him tomorrow morning.” Emma looked at the fire, feeling satisfied.
Derek cleared his throat. “About the chapel garden,” he began. “Sorry I haven’t been out to lend a hand. Blasted lantern search is turning out to be more complicated than I’d expected. Place is honeycombed with tunnels.”
“Sounds spooky.”
Derek smiled. “Not really. Miss the sun, though. Seem to spend all of my time in the dark lately.” He glanced at Emma, then looked down at the toes of his workboots. “Miss our little talks, too.”