The Victory Garden(80)

“Are you sure you want to do this now?” she asked. “It’s awfully cold for you. May I bring you a shawl?”

“My dear, I am made of sterner stuff,” the old lady said. “One does not live on the edge of Dartmoor for over thirty years without acquiring some resilience. Anyway, you can go and ask Mrs Trelawney to light the fire in the library for us.”

Emily went off in the direction of the kitchen.

“Light the fire in the library?” Mrs Trelawney demanded. “What next? Does she think coal grows on trees?”

“No, but she thinks wood does,” Emily replied, grinning.

Daisy chuckled. Mrs Trelawney frowned. “That’s as maybe. Don’t blame me if she catches cold. Daisy, you’d better get that fire lit as quick as possible.”

“Don’t worry, Mrs Trelawney. I’ll do it,” Daisy said, getting up from her seat at the kitchen table where she had been peeling potatoes.

Emily went to find Lady Charlton. She was standing in a dark room that was shrouded in dust sheets, staring at a portrait on the wall. It showed a handsome man in military uniform.

“Your son?” Emily asked.

“My husband. He was a good-looking fellow, was he not? I still miss him every day, as I’m sure you miss your brave lieutenant.”

“Yes,” Emily said.

“Well, let’s not stand here dilly-dallying. Let’s get to work.” Lady Charlton opened a desk drawer and took out sheets of paper. She handed them to Emily, then picked up a fountain pen. “My husband’s pride and joy, this pen,” she said. “Such a sensible invention. No more blots.”

Daisy was already on her hands and knees in front of the fireplace in the library when they entered. “I’ll soon have it going, Lady Charlton,” she called out.

“What an amenable creature she is,” Lady Charlton commented as Daisy left, the fire crackling away.

Emily drew up a plan of the library and numbered the shelves, and then they started on the books: title, author, publisher, year published and brief synopsis. Emily put some of them back on their shelves with regret. “If I had this library, I’d never leave it,” she said.

“I have told you that you are welcome to borrow any book at any time,” the old lady replied.

“You’re most kind. I don’t seem to have had much time for reading, but now I intend to start. A good book at bedtime every night.”

“Do you like Jane Austen?”

“Oh yes, very much. But I don’t think I’ve read them all.”

“Have you read Northanger Abbey?” Lady Charlton handed it to her. “It is one of my favourites. So funny. So insightful about devious young ladies. An absolute spoof on gothic novels. You’d enjoy it.”

Emily smiled as she put the book to one side.

“But won’t this spoil our cataloguing if I have removed a book?” she asked, teasing now.

“Jane Austen is from my personal collection, not my husband’s, who found them too silly. They would not be for sale.”

They worked all morning, had luncheon, then worked until it started getting dark. They had an early dinner, then Emily went back to the cottage, clutching Northanger Abbey. She had just started on it when there was a knock at her door. Alice stood there, with Maud behind her.

“Let us in. It’s starting to rain,” Alice complained. She came inside. Maud hesitated before following her.

“Nice little place you’ve got here,” Maud said. “Warm and cosy.”

“Can I make you a cup of tea?” Emily asked.

“No, thanks. We’re here on an urgent visit. Maud’s burned herself at that ruddy forge. Go on, Maud, show her.”

Maud pulled back her sleeve and showed a big ugly red and blistered mark on her forearm.

“Ow. That looks painful,” Emily said.

“It is.” Maud nodded vehemently. “I reckon I hadn’t quite realized how hot that fire was. But Alice said you’d know how to make it better.”

“Those herbs of yours,” Alice interjected. “You said you’d found a book and were trying out some of the remedies. Have you got anything for burns?”

“Mrs Soper put butter on it,” Maud said, “but that didn’t seem to help much.”

Emily hesitated. She had only just sworn off any more association with the herb garden, and yet she couldn’t leave poor Maud’s arm untreated.

“Sit down,” she said. “Alice, you can put the kettle on for tea while I see if there is a remedy for burns that I could possibly make.”

She went through to the bedroom where the book lay on her bedside table, along with all the notes she had made. Comfrey, also known as knitbone, was good for treating wounds. St John’s wort worked on burns. Chickweed, marsh mallow and witch hazel were all recommended in the recipe. She thought she had most of these, especially the roots. She retrieved the dried plants from where they were hanging, poured boiling water over them, then let them sit. When it had cooled, she soaked a piece of linen in the mixture and laid it over the burn.

“I think it’s working already!” Maud exclaimed after a few minutes. “Not burning so much.”

“Then let me fill a bottle for you to take with you. You can repeat this whenever you need.” Emily took a clean bottle from the rack in the kitchen and carefully poured some of the mixture into it. “It would be better if it was a salve, but I don’t have any grease. I’ll have to think about that.”