The Last Garden in England(74)

“What is that?”

“It’s a rare flower,” I said.

The woman stared at me for a moment. But then she nodded to the carriage. “If you’ve had enough of hunting for flowers, perhaps you would enjoy a ride back to the house. And your work.”

The word stung, just as she’d intended. There was nothing that I wanted less than to ride even a mile with this woman who seemed to barely tolerate my presence in her house these days, but to insist on walking home was foolish. I would only spite myself and my swollen feet in the process.

I nodded, and Michaelson climbed down to open the door for me. Drawing up my skirts, I climbed into the carriage with his help.

As soon as I was settled across from Mrs. Melcourt, she said, “I have just been visiting Lady Kinner. You will remember her from the ball.”

“Yes, I recall. I hope she is in good health.”

“Any woman with that much money and so few obligations should be. Her niece is returned from Boston.”

My awareness sharpened, even as I fixed my gaze on the countryside passing us by.

“Miss Orleon is such an accomplished young lady and quite charming. Matthew was taken with her when he went up to London for the Season last year.”

I couldn’t help it when my brows shot up.

“Is it so amusing that Matthew would have done the Season?” asked Mrs. Melcourt.

“He seems so content at Wisteria Farm with his roses.”

“Life is about more than flowers, Miss Smith. He has a duty to marry, and I am determined to see him marry well. He cannot continue to live on the generosity of Mr. Melcourt for much longer.”

“Generosity?”

“My husband provides Matthew with the use of Wisteria Farm as well as other necessities.”

We slipped into an uncomfortable silence until the gates of Highbury House came into view. I glanced at Mrs. Melcourt, thinking to thank her for the ride back, when she leaned in. “You occupy a peculiar position in this household, Miss Smith.”

“I do not think of myself as ‘in this household’ at all, but rather a guest of it,” I said.

Mrs. Melcourt tilted her head. “And yet my husband pays you a wage for your work. Payment is not customary for guests.”

I was about to reply when my heart began to pound and my head became light. My hand went to my chest.

“Miss Smith, are you quite well?” Mrs. Melcourt asked me for the second time that afternoon, that voice of hers freezing the very air.

But just as soon as the sensation had overtaken me, it fled. I shook my head slightly and said, “I’m fine, thank you,” resolving to apply a cool cloth to my neck and loosen my corset as soon as I could retire to the gardener’s cottage.

Mrs. Melcourt squinted at me. “You look a little pale.”

“Nonsense,” I said as Michaelson drew the carriage to a stop. A boy ran out from the stable and caught the lead horses to hold them.

I had risen when Mrs. Melcourt said, “You’d do best to let Michaelson help you down.”

“I’m made of sturdier stuff than most,” I said. I put one shaky food down on the carriage’s short ladder. My head swam again, but I sucked in a deep breath. One step. Two steps. Three steps.

When my boot touched the ground, the world rushed closed to a pinpoint and then everything went black.



* * *



When I opened my eyes again, I was looking into the face of a man in a black coat with an impressive set of muttonchops, last in fashion during the previous century.

“There you are, Miss Smith,” he said, sitting back.

“Who are… ?” I tried to push myself up only to realize that I didn’t know where I was or how I’d gotten there.

“I’m Dr. Irving,” he said.

“What happened?”

Dr. Irving looked over his shoulder, and I realized that Mrs. Creasley filled the doorway, her arms crossed over her chest.

“You’re in my sitting room. You fainted in the courtyard,” said the housekeeper.

“Do you remember fainting?” Dr. Irving asked.

I squeezed my eyes shut, trying to recall. “I remember climbing down from the carriage.”

“Mrs. Melcourt said you fainted,” said Mrs. Creasley.

I frowned at Mrs. Creasley’s icy tone. The woman had always been courteous, but in that moment I couldn’t help but feel like a maid who’d scorched the mistress’s linens.

“Miss Smith would appreciate a cup of tea, I’m sure,” Dr. Irving said. “Not too strong, but with plenty of sugar.”

There was a slight narrowing at the housekeeper’s eyes, but she nodded nonetheless.

As soon as the door closed, the doctor’s cheerful expression fell. “Miss Smith, have you experienced fainting spells before?”

“No.”

“Does your mother have a habit of fainting?” he asked.

“I was not aware of such a habit. She’s dead.”

He pursed his lips. “And have you been experiencing any other symptoms?”

“I don’t understand. Symptoms of what?”

He sighed. “Have you felt unable to eat or drink?”

“No.”

“Light-headed?”

“Other than this afternoon, no.”