‘What happened to the gardeners, then?’ Bella asked. It was presumably Rafe this grumpy old man was referring to. How like him to sacrifice both beauty and other men’s livelihoods to fund his own pleasures.
‘Labouring they are now. Right waste of trained men, it is.’
‘I will speak to his lordship.’ Perhaps Elliott would think the wages justified. She hoped so; she did not like to think of hard-working men out of a job for no fault of their own. ‘So there are no flowers at all?’
‘There’s the rose garden. I sees to that. Out of sight, out of mind, so ‘e left it be.’ He stomped off round the brick path without waiting to see if she was following him. Bella had heard that the head gardeners from big houses were a law unto themselves and even refused to let their mistresses cut flowers if it spoiled their borders, but this one amused her rather than offended. She liked his fierce defence of his domain and his concern for his men.
It was early for roses, but the shelter of the red-brick enclosure, and the care they had been given, had coaxed several bushes into flower and their scent filled the air. She saw small glasshouses as well, which held the flowers that had been used for her wedding. There were plenty to pick for the ladies at the Dower House, and for the main house as well. One particularly vivid bush caught her eye, the blood-red petals almost throbbing with velvety passion. That was how she had always imagined love would look, she thought, rubbing one soft petal between fingers and thumb.
‘This is beautiful,’ she told Johnson and thought she detected a slight softening of his expression. ‘They do you credit. I would like to pick some now—could you get me a knife and a basket?’
‘I’ll cut these, my lady, and bring them round. You’ll not be wanting to get your hands scratched.’
Bella watched him, drinking in the perfume and the peace and the sounds of bird song. ‘How many men do you need to get the gardens back to how they were in his lordship’s mother’s time?’ she asked.
‘Four more,’ he said without hesitation. ‘And a new heavy roller for the lawns.’
‘I will see what I can do
. But I cannot promise, his lordship has much to be seeing to.’
‘Aye, ‘e will have.’ The old man laid a tight-furled rosebud carefully in the trug and pushed back his straw hat. ‘Glad to ‘ave ‘im, we are. I recall when ‘e were just a nipper. Good lad. Not like—’ He recollected who he was speaking to and bit off the words.
‘Speaking of lads,’ Bella said, not wanting thoughts of Rafe to blight her day, ‘have you any need for a gardener’s boy? Because young Trubshaw needs some honest work.’
‘That hellion?’ Johnson scratched his head. ‘Reckon I can work ’im ’ard enough to take his mind off mischief.’
‘Thank you, Johnson,’ Bella said with real gratitude. At least one of her worries was solved. She just wished all of them were so easily dealt with.
Chapter Seventeen
Next morning Bella drove to church after breakfast. Lady Abbotsbury’s carriage pulled in behind hers as it set off, leaving Bella feeling rather shaken that the formidable dowager was yielding precedence to her. Was she ever going to get used to being a viscountess? And would she learn to behave in the manner Elliott should expect from her?
Another carriage was stopping just as the footman helped her down. Daniel strolled over, raising his tall hat. ‘Good morning, Cousin Bella.’
‘Good morning. It is delightful to see you, of course, but isn’t this rather a long way from your home for morning service?’ She accepted his proffered arm and, once Lady Abbotsbury and Miss Dorothy had descended and joined them, they walked towards the porch. Bella did her best to smile and nod and exchange greetings. Presumably most of the people hailing her had been at the wedding, but she could recall few of them.
‘I knew Elliott was away from home so I thought I should escort you,’ he said. ‘It is merely ten miles and a pleasant day.’
‘But how did you know he was not at the Hall?’
‘Oh, I saw him late yesterday in Worcester,’ he said with a grin. ‘He didn’t see me, and I feared being dragged into the upholstery warehouse to give him moral support, so I cravenly hid, but I thought it unlikely that he would be home today.’
Daniel showed her to the family pew, helped the other ladies with their things, found the first hymn for everyone and generally made himself useful. ‘There’s the family chapel,’ he murmured, nodding to where the top of several ornate monuments could be glimpsed over the high box pew. Bella did not turn her head to look.
Mr Fanshawe’s sermon was well delivered and thought-provoking and helped her focus her mind on the prayers without thinking of the last church service she had attended with her father in the pulpit. At the end of the service the verger appeared to open her pew door for her and preceded the Hadleigh party down the aisle, making great play with his long, silver-topped verge. Bella fought an inclination to giggle at the thought that she, plain Miss Shelley, was receiving all this attention, but she had herself under control in time to shake hands with the vicar at the door.
‘I wonder if I might call and ask Mrs Fanshawe’s advice on where the greatest need is in the parish,’ she said.
‘How very thoughtful. My wife would be delighted. There is only so much we can do, you know. I am sure you will be a most beneficial influence in the parish, Lady Hadleigh.’ He smiled and moved on to the next parishioner in line.
‘Do you want to see the family chapel while we are here?’ Daniel asked. He seemed to take her silence for consent and steered her back into the church and down the side aisle. ‘Here we are and that…’ he gestured to where a large slab in the floor was highlighted by the lines of fresh mortar around its edge ‘…is the entrance to the vault.’
Bella took a deep breath. Whatever she did, she must not express any emotion. ‘Where will the memorial tablet go, do you know?’ she asked, reading some of the inscriptions she could decipher and which were not in Latin. There was a florid monument from 1707 with the viscount of the time depicted in Roman general’s uniform that contrasted oddly with his full-bottomed wig and a charming table tomb with a fourteenthcentury Calne and his wife, he with his hound and she with her lap dog at their feet.
‘There, where the board has been set up, next to his parents’ memorial.’ Daniel pointed to a bare patch of wall where a rectangle of painted wood had been placed. When she came closer she saw it was a coat of arms.
Now she was here she was surprised to find how little emotion she felt. The man she thought she had loved had squandered his life, hurt many people, betrayed trust and his duty and now he was gone, leaving only Elliott, the brother he had spurned, to mourn his loss. Poor man, she thought, startled by the pity that overtook the hurt and anger that had been inside her. So arrogant, so proud—did you sense that your brother is worth six of you? Why didn’t I meet Elliott Calne first and fall in love with him? Or perhaps I have.