Hello Stranger (The Ravenels #4)(81)

The younger of the two was big-framed and very fit, his hands deft as he spliced broken wires together with a pair of pliers. Even before Garrett saw the face beneath the battered hat, she knew it was West Ravenel from the deep resonance of his voice.

“God help me, I don’t know what the damned things need,” he was saying ruefully. “Try taking them out of the cold frame and putting them back into the glasshouse.”

The gardener’s response was muffled and fretful.

“Orchids.” West made the word sound like a profanity. “Just do what you can. I’ll shoulder the blame.”

The older man nodded and shambled away.

Noticing Garrett’s approach, West rose to his feet and made a motion of touching his hat brim respectfully, pliers still in hand. Dressed in work trousers and a rumpled shirt with the sleeves rolled up over his forearms, he appeared far more like a salt-of-the-earth farmer than a pedigreed gentleman. “Good afternoon, Doctor.”

Garrett smiled at him. Despite West’s high-handed act of dosing her tea with valerian, she grudgingly acknowledged that he’d been well-intentioned. Now that Ethan was recovering so well, she had decided to forgive him. “Good afternoon, Mr. Ravenel. Please don’t let me interrupt your task, I just wanted to have a look at the poultry house. It’s quite spectacular.”

West ducked his head to blot his perspiring face on his upper shirtsleeve. “When we first took up residence at Eversby Priory, the poultry house was in far better condition than the manor. The order of precedence around here clearly favors hen over human.”

“May I ask what the pavilions are for?”

“Laying nests.”

“How many—” Garrett began, but was startled into silence by a fury of sound and motion: a pair of large geese were rushing at her with wings outspread, hissing and honking and making earsplitting whistling sounds. Even though the aggressive birds were on one side of the fencing and she was on the other, instinct caused her to jump back.

Quickly West interposed his body between Garrett and the irate creatures, gripping her arms lightly to assure himself of her balance. “Sorry,” he said, his blue eyes alive with amusement. He turned to the geese, warning, “Back off, you two, or I’ll use you both for mattress stuffing.” After he guided Garrett a bit farther away from the fence, the geese quieted but continued to glare at her. “Please forgive the ill-mannered beggars,” West said. “They’re hostile to any stranger who isn’t a chicken.”

Garrett straightened her straw sunbonnet, which was little more than a flattened circle with a small knot of ribbons and flowers at the side. “Ahh, I see. Guard geese.”

“Precisely. Geese are territorial, and they have keen eyesight. Whenever a predator comes near, they raise the alarm.”

She chuckled. “I’ll vouch for their effectiveness.” As she meandered along the enclosure fencing, taking care to keep her distance from the suspicious geese, she said, “I couldn’t help overhearing your conversation with the gardener. I hope you’re not having difficulty with Helen’s orchids?”

One of the estate’s four glasshouses had once housed an extensive collection of bromeliads, cared for by Helen. Most of the exotic plants had been transported to London, where Winterborne had built a glass rooftop conservatory for Helen in their home. Some of the orchids, however, had been left behind at Eversby Priory.

“Naturally we’re having difficulty with them,” West said. “Orchid keeping is nothing but a desperate effort to delay the inevitable outcome of dry sticks in pots. I told Helen not to leave the damned things behind, but she wouldn’t listen.”

“Surely Helen won’t scold,” Garrett said, amused. “I’ve never heard her say a cross word to anyone.”

“No, she’ll merely look a little disappointed, in that way she has. It won’t bother me personally, but one hates to see the entire gardening staff weep.” He leaned down to pick up a hammer from the carpenter’s tool basket next to the fence post. “I assume you’ll check on Ransom when you return to the house?”

“No, he’s been sleeping in the afternoons while I walk.”

“Not lately, he hasn’t.”

She shot him a questioning glance.

“Three days ago,” West said, “Ransom asked for a complete set of floor plans and outside elevations for the entire house, including an accounting of the alterations and remodeling we’ve done so far. And the ground plans. When I quite reasonably asked why, he looked annoyed and said he would tell me if I needed to know something.” He paused. “Yesterday he interrogated one of the housemaids about the servants’ quarters and common rooms, and the location of the gun room.”

“He’s supposed to be resting!” Garrett said in outrage. “He’s still at risk for secondary hemorrhage.”

“I was actually more concerned about what he wants with the gun room.”

Garrett sighed shortly. “I’ll try to find out.”

“Don’t make me out to be the tattletale,” West warned, “or I’ll deny it with a show of great indignation. I don’t want Ransom angry with me.”

“He’s in his sickbed,” Garrett said over her shoulder. “What could he do to you?”

“The man has been trained to murder people with common household items,” he called after her, and she had to bite back a grin as she walked away.