The Victory Garden(73)

“You want to be careful,” Alice said. “You might end up killing us all. And from what they say, the women who lived here all came to bad ends.” Then she grinned. “Anyway, how are you feeling?”

“A lot better,” Emily said. “The sickness is improving—apart from after having to eat tripe and onions, that is.”

“Tripe and onions? That’s enough to make anyone throw up.” They exchanged a grin.

“Would you like a cup of tea?” Emily asked.

“No thanks, love. I’m looking forward to my nightly gin. But this place is looking better already. More homely, somehow. And Daisy’s getting on all right?”

“She’s taken on all the hard work, so they all adore her. I don’t think she minds. She enjoys being appreciated.”

“I expect we’ll see you on Sunday then, if you don’t come down to the pub before that,” Alice said. “The harvest festival at the church. You’ll be coming?”

“Oh yes. I think so. Mrs Trelawney was talking about what vegetables to bring. Apparently, it’s something of an ongoing competition. And she’s baking apple pies for the supper afterwards.”

“What’s that?” Alice jumped as Shadow appeared and sidled up to her.

“It’s my cat,” Emily said. “He’s adopted me, apparently. Actually, I’m not sure what sex it is, but he seems like a male. I’m calling him Shadow. I leave the scullery window open and he comes and goes as he pleases.”

“Don’t let the locals know you’ve got a black cat or they’ll start saying you’re the new witch. They’ll be on the lookout for you riding past on your broomstick.” Alice laughed.

“I must say, I enjoy his company,” Emily replied. “He’s quite undemanding, and he brought me a mouse this morning as a present.” She bent to stroke him. “Do you know, I’ve never had a pet before. Mummy had an aversion to animals. They thought they made the place dirty.”

Alice gave her a long, hard look. “I don’t know how you turned out so well. That mother of yours sounds like a right old grouch, if you don’t mind me saying so.”

“I don’t mind, and I have to agree with you.” Emily laughed.





CHAPTER TWENTY-NINE

Emily rose extra early the next day and started on the task of harvesting some of the herbs. She tied together stems of lavender, rosemary, thyme and sage, as well as others she had not yet identified, and hung them in the attic to dry. Then she set to work preparing the bed in the kitchen garden and planting out her seedlings. Simpson came to watch and advised her to use mulch to keep out the frost. Then he came back with a roll of bird netting.

“You’ll need this over them little plants, my lovey,” he said, “or you’ll find the rabbits will get them all.” He helped her stake out the netting over the bed. By the time darkness fell, she looked with satisfaction at the neatly planted beds. If my parents could see me now, they’d be amazed, she thought. Then a picture of Robbie came to her. “My word, you’re turning into quite a farmer,” he’d say, smiling at her. “And I thought the farm in Australia would be too much for you. But I can see you’re going to do splendidly.”

“Oh Robbie,” she whispered, staring out into the night sky. Was there a heaven, she wondered, and was he there, looking down on her? It was all too painful to contemplate. She brushed away a tear and started picking up her garden tools.

That evening, she wanted to begin transcribing the remedies, but Lady Charlton lingered over dinner.

“Shall you be coming to the harvest festival at church on Sunday?” Emily asked.

The old lady shook her head. “I don’t think so. I’m too old to be jostled by crowds, and frankly, I am not particularly popular with the villagers.”

“Why is that?” Emily was surprised to hear herself asking this.

The old lady sat, her face having taken on that haughty expression Emily had first encountered. “I suppose it was my own fault. After the business with my grandson—who was extremely well liked locally, I might say—and then the death of my son, I virtually shut myself away. I had no wish to be polite to anybody. So I reverted to acting the grand lady of the manor.”

“You should come with me,” Emily said. “I think we all need each other these days. There isn’t one family around here that hasn’t lost a husband or a son. We’re all hurting.”

The old lady sighed. “I suppose you are right, but not this time. You can tell them the cold wind is not good for my aged joints.”

“I don’t think there is anything wrong with your aged joints,” Emily said, giving her a critical frown. “You need to get out more. Come and talk to me when I’m working in the garden. It would do you good.”

“If I thought you were going to be my new governess and order me around, I’d never have invited you for sherry in the first place,” Lady Charlton said, but she smiled.

On Sunday, Emily, under Mrs Trelawney’s supervision, picked the basket of vegetables to be placed at the altar.

“It’s not like the old days,” Mrs Trelawney remarked critically. “But the pumpkin’s not bad. And nobody will be able to find fault with my apple pies, that’s for sure.”