The Last Garden in England(33)

Cautiously Stella followed, and Mrs. Symonds slowed her pace to match Stella’s.

After a few silent minutes, Stella ventured, “If you don’t mind my asking, Mrs. Symonds, do you object to the cane?”

“In schools, in homes, anywhere. I know it’s frequently used, but I don’t ever wish Robin to know it.”

Why? Stella wanted to shout. Why, when in so many other ways Mrs. Symonds seemed traditional to her very core?

“It was my late husband Murray’s wish,” said Mrs. Symonds, as though reading Stella’s mind. “He experienced a particularly brutal beating at his preparatory school. I had no desire to send Robin to such a school, much as my sister-in-law might disagree with me.”

“I see,” Stella said carefully.

“How is Bobby adjusting to life in the country?” Mrs. Symonds asked.

Stella sighed. “He’s clung to me. I think he is shy.”

“He doesn’t seem to be shy around Robin.”

He isn’t old enough to have the good sense to be.

She peered down the pathway to the two boys zigzagging, their arms stretched out like Spitfires. “No, he doesn’t.”

“You have asthma, don’t you? That is why you can’t serve?” Mrs. Symonds asked.

“Yes,” she said, preparing herself for the judgment.

“I’ve never seen Robin run before without becoming winded.”

“Maybe his lungs have grown stronger,” she suggested.

Mrs. Symonds made a noncommittal sound. “Has your sister indicated how long she wishes Bobby to stay at Highbury?”

As though it were anyone’s decision but Mrs. Symonds’s.

“No. Joan isn’t much of a letter writer unless she wants something. I’ve only had two letters since February.” She paused. “I hadn’t seen her since her husband’s funeral.”

“And yet still you took her son,” said Mrs. Symonds.

“Where else would he go?”

But even as she said the words she knew that they were only part of the truth. Yes, Bobby had no other family besides her. And yes, he was just a child. Yet it wasn’t as simple as all of that. If she could, she would be gone from Highbury. She’d take herself off to London, New York, Shanghai—she didn’t care where, so long as it wasn’t Highbury, where everyone knew her and there was no escape.

What she would do when she got there, she still didn’t know.

“This war has brought so much unhappiness, we must do anything we can to shield our children from it,” said Mrs. Symonds.

When she glanced over and found that Mrs. Symonds was gazing at her son, her eyes were blank—almost as though she wasn’t there.

“Master Robin looks very much like his father,” said Stella.

“He does.”

“Mr. Symonds was a kind man,” she offered.

“He was,” said his widow with a nod. “Some decency left the world the day he was killed, and the world needs decency right now. The convalescent home, for instance. He would have been delighted that the house had become a place of rest and recuperation for so many men. All I can see is the invasion of my home. I did ask Cynthia to speak to Mrs. George about respecting your needs, by the way.”

Stella jerked back in surprise. “You did?”

Mrs. Symonds shot a smile—tiny but sly—at her. “Some battlefields must not be lost. Given the state of rations these days, I am happy to declare the kitchen one of them.”

Stella was struck by the warmth of Mrs. Symonds’s gesture.

“If I might be so bold, madam, I think Mr. Symonds would want you to be happy.”

Something in the air shifted, and she could see Mrs. Symonds’s back straighten.

“Miss Adderton, you overstep,” Mrs. Symonds snapped. And once again, the walls were in place, the boundaries clear. One of them was the employer, and one of them was the cook.

“I do apologize. I—It’s only that I—” She tried to string together the right words.

“I expect dinner will be served at half past seven, as usual,” Mrs. Symonds said before marching off and leaving Stella very much on her own on the last strip of pavement before the village gave way to the road to Highbury House.





SPRING





? EMMA ?


APRIL 2021

Due to necessary cuts across the foundation, we have decided to place the Head of Conservation position on hold indefinitely. This is in no way a reflection of the selection committee’s feelings about you as a candidate. Indeed, please accept my personal apology…

Emma gave the email from the Royal Botanical Heritage Society’s executive director one last scan and then locked her phone. After almost three months without a word, she wasn’t exactly surprised that the position had been effectively eliminated, but it still stung that they had made her wait so long to find out. She knew she’d been a good candidate.

The more she thought about it, the more she could see the potential good she might do with a budget and the weight of the Royal Botanical Heritage Society behind her. It didn’t exactly help that she’d checked Turning Back Thyme’s business account that morning and realized that if Highbury House had any more delays, she was going to have less money in reserve than she liked at the end of the year. And that wasn’t even taking into account the advance payment on her taxes her accountant would soon be hounding her to make.