Page 18 of The Trouble with a Dare

Grace would wake alone, wash and dress with Maggie’s help, and come down in the morning to discover the world had been awake and bustling for hours. She had asked Maggie to wake her earlier so she might be of more use, but the housekeeper, on overhearing this, had given her an odd look.

“What on earth, for?” she’d said with a laugh, before adding, not unkindly, “There’s nought for you to do, mistress. May as well enjoy your beauty sleep.”

She spoke true enough. As Grace had observed from the outset, the house was well run and the servants competent and in need of little guidance from her. Miss Gladwish sat down with her on the first afternoon with the household accounts and a list of menus, but all was quite as it should be, and Grace could discover nothing to find fault with, even if she’d wished to.

Still, Grace determined she must be useful and—no less importantly—keep herself busy, or else she would run mad. Sterling had seemed keen for her to make the house her own and so Grace wrote and ordered books of paint and paper samples and furniture catalogues and studied each room, making notes with Maggie as she decided on what would look best. She did not feel confident enough to set foot upon the farm without her husband’s permission and, in realising this, Grace also recognised she was still a little afraid of him.

There were still the gardens, though, and these she felt ought to be included within her purview, so she set off to explore. Mr Gladwish, the housekeeper’s husband, ran a large and most productive walled kitchen garden, which Grace was delighted to discover. He was a sparse, wiry fellow, in sharp contrast to his comfortably rounded wife, putting Grace strongly in mind of the nursery rhyme about Jack Sprat, who could eat no fat and his wife, who’d eat no lean. With a balding pate and intelligent blue eyes that twinkled merrily, he seemed as pleased to see her as his wife had been, and greeted her warmly.

“I’ll expect you’ll be wanting a garden,” he said at once. “All well and good with the veggies and fruit and such, but ladies need a garden, I reckon. Do you have any plans?”

To her intense relief, Grace saw happy anticipation glinting in the man’s eyes. Finally, something she could focus on, and with a willing accomplice. The house, once furnished and prettied up, would need little else besides managing, but a garden, a garden might be a challenge that could take years and would always be changing.

“I have nothing in the way of a plan, but I would be most grateful if you could help me make one, for I should love to create a garden here. If Mr Oak would not mind it?” she added, comprehending she would need to speak to him about it.

“I saw Master Oak t’other day, and he told me you was to have the land about the house, up to the meadow there and the orchard on the south side, to make a garden. Reckon ’tis a good four acres, all told.”

“Oh,” Grace replied, a little crestfallen as she realised she’d been pleased to have a reason to speak to Sterling, who was becoming increasingly elusive. “Well, I should very much like a pond, with a fountain. I saw one at Saxenhurst Hall and it was very pretty.”

“Oh, aye, I know it,” Mr Gladwish said, nodding approvingly. “What about over there? Then you can see it from the parlour, and from your bedroom window too. And I thought a little pavilion, down in that corner where you can look back over the garden to the house, and there’s a fine view that way too in the other direction, towards the little brook before the land rises again.”

“Oh, yes,” Grace said, with growing enthusiasm. “And might we have hollyhocks and snapdragons, and roses, of course.”

At this point, Mr Gladwish looked less like Jack Sprat and more like a greyhound who’d just caught sight of a hare. He was practically vibrating with excitement. “Of course, must have roses, lots of roses, and I was thinking maybe some of the more exotic plants too. Mind, you’d need a glasshouse for tender plants.”

He said this with the same wistful note of hopeful expectation to the words a boy might utter when wishing for a puppy for Christmas. Grace hardly had the heart to disappoint him, but thought perhaps she ought to rein things in a bit before they got carried away.

“Well, pavilions and glasshouses don’t come cheap, Mr Gladwish, so perhaps we should sit down and make a list of everything we need and everything we might like, and then add up how much it will cost. In the meantime, I shall ask Sterling to give me a budget for the garden and we shall see if the two marry up, or if we must make sacrifices.”

“As it happens, I have a catalogue of glasshouses and the like. I fetched it once I heard he was taking a wife, just in case. After work, I’ll leave it with the missus to pass on to you and you can choose what pleases you best. I’ve already marked the ones I like, but it’s your garden.”

Grace gave the man a conspiratorial smile, delighted by his enthusiasm. “Well, how perspicacious you are Mr Gladwish! I think we shall get along famously.”

“Reckon so,” he said, grinning with appreciation. “A relief it is, too, if I might be so bold in remarking it. Mrs Oak, that is to say, t’other Mrs Oak, she’d not spend a farthing on that which didn’t have a use. If you couldn’t eat it or feed it to the beasts, it were of no earthly use on a farm, she said, but beautiful things have a use, to my mind, for they bring joy and gladness into the world, and we could all use a bit of that.”

Grace regarded Mr Gladwish in surprise, this being the first real clue to her mother-in-law’s character that she had been given. Her mind drifted to the locked study, crammed with books and pictures, and the spartan state of the rest of the house, and she thought perhaps it was the first insight she’d had into her husband’s character, too.

“How right you are, Mr Gladwish, and how well expressed,” she said, determined to bring colour and joy into what she now realised was a fine house—a comfortable home—with all the happiness and light sucked out of it. “Let us make something truly beautiful, that will gladden the heart of everyone who looks upon it.”

“You don’t need to ask me twice,” the man said and tugged at his cap respectfully before bidding her a good day and walking off whistling a jaunty tune.

There was still some time before Sterling would return to the house to eat, and so Grace collected Maggie and they set off for a walk. She had promised herself she would not interfere with the farm… yet. Nevertheless, she was an active young woman who disliked being cooped up. Especially now, with the weather so fine. The uncomfortable heat of August had given way to a pleasant warmth, and the first faint scent of autumn drifted on the breeze. Soon enough, the colours would turn as the colder weather set in.

So, they walked from the house, down the lane, and Grace slowed her steps as they walked past her mother-in-law’s cottage, wondering if the lady might deign to pass a few words with her. Though she felt certain she saw movement inside, no one hurried out to speak to them. It sat ill with Grace not to speak to her new relation, but Sterling had not wished for her to call and so—for now—she would do as he asked. This awkward situation could not go on indefinitely, however. They carried on down the lane, waving to farm labourers who lifted their hats and called greetings. About three miles from home, Grace found herself somewhat breathless as what appeared to be a gentle climb at first glance had become a steep path. She was increasingly aware of the weight of the child growing inside her, and found she tired far more easily. At the top, however, they were rewarded by a glorious view over rolling hills. They leaned against the wide gate to catch their breath and admire the lovely vista.

“A fine spot for a picnic,” Maggie observed, with a nod to the field.

Grace nodded, wondering if she might persuade Sterling to meet her here tomorrow. The increasing distance between them troubled her more and more as the days passed. If she could not be a friend to her husband, at the very least, then they were both in for an unhappy and lonely future together. She did not wish that, and she could not believe Sterling wanted it either. There must be a way for her to reach him, to put him at his ease so they might at least converse without the prickling atmosphere that currently accompanied every mealtime. If it kept up, she knew he would retreat to his study for his meals before long and not see her at all, and that she could not allow. A picnic, then, might make things easier, less formal than the rather oppressive formality of the dining room.

With this happy suggestion in her mind, they wended their way home with Grace stopping here and there to gather wildflowers. By the time they returned to the farm, she had a large, exuberant bunch, including bright blue borage, purple knapweed, a yellow flower she did not know the name of, and the frothy starbursts consisting of the tiny white flowers of the cow parsley.

On entering the house, Grace let Maggie remove her bonnet and take her gloves, intending to put the flowers in water and arrange them before sitting down to eat with Sterling.

“What have you got there?”

Grace turned, a little startled to discover her husband had walked in the door behind her, for it was early yet and she had not expected him.

“Oh, wildflowers,” she said, raising the bunch to show him. “Maggie and I collected them on our walk. I always think they are such joyful flowers. Indeed, I think I like them better than fancy hothouse blooms. Don’t you?”