The Victory Garden(70)

She resumed working in the kitchen garden. Simpson came past as she was cutting back a large bramble that was taking over a vegetable bed.

“Nasty things, brambles,” he commented. “Watch yourself.”

Emily nodded, then said, “Simpson, I notice we don’t have winter vegetables planted. I’ll clear the beds, but do you have seedlings started somewhere?”

“I don’t,” he said. “To tell the truth, I’m not up to all the bending and planting any more, and what with the work for Her Ladyship, there hasn’t been time. I wasn’t hired to be a gardener, you know. I was the groom and then the chauffeur, and now I’ve become jack of all trades.”

“So what do we do about planting winter vegetables? Can we buy seedlings somewhere?”

He nodded. “Dawes nursery and feed store should have what we need, just outside Tavistock. I have to go that way this afternoon to see about a coal delivery. Do you want to come along with me and choose for yourself?”

“Thank you. I’d like that,” she said. “I hope you don’t mind my taking over your work in the kitchen garden?”

He gave a wheezy chuckle. “Of course I don’t mind, my lovey. It’s all a bit too much for me these days, what with my rheumatics and this cold wind. You just carry on with what you’re doing and we’ll all be grateful.”

As he went to walk on, she called, “And, Simpson, what do you know about the herb garden?”

“Herb garden?”

“The one around the cottage. Was there a wise woman living there during your time here?”

He frowned. “There was a schoolteacher before Mr Patterson came. She tended the herbs, I seem to remember. But the local folk didn’t like her much. She was bossy and interfering—told us the way things should be done. And tried to force her herbal remedies on people whether they wanted them or not, so I’ve been told.”

“What happened to her?” Emily asked cautiously.

“She left, eventually. Got a place in a bigger school somewhere else, and the parish council built the new school building with the house attached, and they hired Mr Patterson. He’s been here twenty years now. I can’t say we’re too fond of him either, but at least he keeps himself to himself.”

Simpson went on his way and Emily resumed tackling the brambles. So it seemed there had been no herb wife for a long while, and yet the tramp had read the sign on the gatepost. Now she was curious: she wondered how long Susan had stayed as the schoolmistress and whether she had taken the precious book with her when she left. She couldn’t wait to get back to the cottage to decipher more of Susan’s elegant, faded script.

As she ate her lunch in the kitchen, she told Mrs Trelawney that she was going to make sure there were vegetables to keep them going for the winter.

“I wouldn’t say no to that,” the woman replied. “Cauliflower. Make sure you plant plenty of cauliflowers. Her Ladyship loves my cheese sauce.”

“I’d like that, too,” Emily said, glad that the woman was no longer treating her as the enemy.

They looked up as the bell rang.

“That will be Her Ladyship wanting her lunch, I expect,” Mrs Trelawney said. “You go, Daisy. You’ve got young legs.”

Daisy went and returned almost immediately. “Her Ladyship wanted to remind Emily that she is dining with her again tonight,” she said. “And she asked you, Mrs Trelawney, to make something special. She said she had grown tired of nursery food.”

“Nursery food, indeed.” Mrs Trelawney sniffed. “Doesn’t she realize there is a war on and we’re all on rations? What does she think I’m going to do, wave my wand and conjure a nice joint of beef out of the air?”

“I have to go into Tavistock to buy seedlings,” Emily said. “Which butcher do you use? I could see if they have any good meat today.”

“We use Hamlin’s in the market square,” she replied. “They have our ration cards there, and I wouldn’t say no to a nice pork chop, or some lamb chops. It’s been a while since we’ve seen either. Or failing that, there’s Dunn’s, the fishmonger opposite, and Her Ladyship likes a fillet of plaice.”

“All right.” Emily nodded. “I’ll see what I can do.”

“Her Ladyship must think highly of you, letting you have the motor to go into Tavistock,” Ethel commented, looking up from her macaroni pudding. “What with petrol being so hard to get.”

“Simpson had to go to arrange for a coal delivery, so he suggested I go to the nursery for seedlings,” Emily said hastily, noticing Mrs Trelawney’s face. “We need to get the winter veg going if we are going to eat, don’t we?”

Then she made a hurried exit. It was a pleasant drive towards Tavistock. They stopped first at the nursery, and with the help of the owner, Emily selected a tray of small plants, plus onion sets and seed potatoes. She came away well pleased, and they drove on into Tavistock.

“Take your time, my lovey,” Simpson said. “I’m going to pop in on an old friend and see how he’s doing. I hear he got this flu that’s been going around.”

A free afternoon—Emily couldn’t remember when she had had any free time to herself. How often she had been bored at home when the hours had stretched out ahead of her with nothing to do. Recently, every moment had been occupied. She looked forward to having time to browse, but first she had a list of commissions from Lady Charlton and Mrs Trelawney. She started with the easy ones: cotton wool and corn plasters at the chemist’s. While she was there, she remembered her tramp, and bought a bottle of antiseptic lotion and some cotton wool for herself. She posted two letters for Lady Charlton, as well as her own letter to Clarissa.