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Chapter Four

At the end of the day, the garden was weeded, and the new plants both she and Rufus had planted were mulched. The entire section just outside the window would be bright with color once all the buds bloomed.

Wren nipped a few more leaves away from the soon-to-be-bright flowers and dropped the clippers into her basket. She let out a sigh and stretched her back. As much as she enjoyed gardening, it was not work for the physically weak.

Tapping on the window, Lady Roberts got her attention. The woman motioned for her to come closer.

She had to push the basket aside with one foot to move to the now-open window and she peered up. In the sunlight, Lady Roberts’ skin was pale, and the wrinkles around her eyes and corners of her mouth were much more obvious as well. “What are those?” She pointed a spindly finger at the plant she’d just trimmed.

“Dahlias, my lady.”

“Can you move them? They are growing quite tall and will block my view of the drive.” The woman put a handkerchief up to her nose. “It is quite potent out here. What is that dreadful smell?”

Wren looked behind her, unsure what question to reply to first. “If we move the flowers, they will wilt and die. The smell is cow dung that Rufus mixed with soil to fertilize the garden.” She realized she had not addressed the woman properly and belatedly added, “…My lady.”

The woman glared down at her. “Go fetch that man and ask him to see me immediately. And trim down those horrid flowers. I do not see any blooms.”

“My lady, they will bloom into beautiful, brightly-colored flowers in less than a sennight.”

Lady Roberts’ narrowed eyes moved from the small buds to her. “Oh, very well, leave them for now.” For a long moment, she studied her. “Stay away from my window whenever I have a caller.”

“Yes, milady,” Wren answered, doubting Lady Roberts heard as she’d slammed the window shut. The woman was not kind, which she’d expected. Her aunt had warned her that Lady Roberts was peculiar and not very well-liked by the servants. Most tolerated her because they needed work and that, in spite of her rather unpleasant disposition, Lady Roberts paid well.

After fetching an annoyed Rufus and sending him on his mission, Wren filled a bucket with water and rinsed the dirt from her hands and forearms. Once satisfied to have removed all the dirt including that from under her fingernails, she drew more water and splashed it on her face. In the small shed where garden items were kept, she hung the straw hat and dirty apron on a nail before she finally retrieved her kerchief and placed it on her head, tying it under her chin. Then she went inside the house.

In the kitchen, a bowl of stew and a piece of bread awaited her on the long sturdy table where they often gathered for meals and to be given instructions in the morning by the butler and Berta.

The cook gave her a patient smile. “You should come and eat earlier next time. There is no need to work so hard for so long. Our work is rarely noticed by anyone in this household.” The woman held out a cup of cider.

“I was right outside the window where Lady Roberts sat. I was afraid to leave.” Wren accepted the cider with a chuckle.

The cook nodded. “That is understandable.”

Just then Rufus entered. “Daft woman,” he muttered. “Who has nae heard of fertilizer?”

The cook shook her head. “One of these days she will overhear you and put you out.”

“Let her try,” Rufus retorted. He took the cup of cider she offered and drank it down in several gulps. Then he lowered himself onto a bench at the table where Wren ate. “I am nae cuttin’ the flowers. Neither are you.” He held up a gnarled finger. “You hear me, lass?”

Wren nodded solemnly.

With that, he stood and stalked out.

“Those two are always at odds,” the cook said. “Lady Roberts and Rufus grew up together here at the estate. Before Rufus, his father was the gardener.”

“Does Rufus have a son who will take over for him?” Wren asked, noting that the cook went still, her gaze moving in the direction that Rufus had gone.

“No.” She turned away to stir a pot. “A pity.”

Just then two kitchen maids entered, giggling and talking excitingly. Their young faces were brightly flushed. The cook gave them a knowing look. “Wren, be sure not to be like these two,” she said, motioning with her right thumb. “They spend their breaks flirting with the footmen.”

The maids paid her no heed and continued whispering. All the while, Wren envied their friendship and ability to enjoy life’s moments. She’d yet to make a friend.

On the ride home with her aunt, she brought up the subject. “When two kitchen maids returned from their break, chattering, I realized that I haven’t made any friends,” she lamented.

Her aunt gave her a knowing look. “You have me.”

“And I do adore you, Aunt Mairid, but I wish to meet someone my age to do things with.”