“Fair enough, I think.” Tessie pointed to a sheet of foolscap on the desk and asked, “May I?”
“Certainly.” Prudence watched as the girl dipped a quill in the standish and wrote her own name with a flourish on the sheet of paper. “Very nice, Tessie. I'll request a list from Ledbetter, or better yet from Mrs. Collins, and we'll make an afternoon of it, shall we?”
“Oh, yes, my lady. I'll just put my valise up in the room I'm to share with Betsy, while you get the list. If that is satisfactory?”
When the girl had gone, Prudence continued to stare out the window for some time. It would be weeks before spring brought a profusion of blossoms to the countryside around Salston. The landscape looked winter-dreary and barren. But Prudence could picture it in a month's time, with grass growing green again and trees budding and daffodils poking their heads up above the ground to brighten the flower beds.
She wouldn't be the only one weary of winter, she realized, and a plan began to take shape in her mind. She rang for Mrs. Collins, and when the housekeeper came, Prudence asked, “Salston has succession houses, I believe, Mrs. Collins?”
“Two, milady. One for fruits and vegetables, and the other for flowering plants. The baron's mama was fond of her roses and her stocks. And the gardener has a wonderful way with the spring bulbs—daffodils, narcissi, hyacinths, tulips. It won't be long before he'll have some blooms to bring in for us.”
“How lovely. Well, I should like to speak to him, Mrs. Collins. Ledbetter has asked that I give a dinner party for our neighbors next week and having spring blooms around for it would be very welcome.” She gestured to the chair beside her desk and said, “Please, sit down, if you will. I should like you to give me an idea of whom Ledbetter will expect, and on what scale he is accustomed to entertaining.”
Mrs. Collins was a reservoir of information. As she listed the young and old of the neighborhood whom Ledbetter might be expected to invite she filled Prudence in on where people lived in relationship to Salston, how long they had been in the neighborhood, how close was the association between their families and Ledbetter's, and a host of other useful details. Prudence busily scratched a list of names as the housekeeper talked, adding notes in the margins that might be helpful in remembering just who each person was.
“Thank you!” she exclaimed when Mrs. Collins at length decided she had covered everyone possible. “And the menu? Will Ledbetter wish to have a hand in that?”
“Oh, I shouldn't think so, Lady Ledbetter. His lordship was never one to involve himself. Best you discuss it with cook.”
“Only if you will guide me,” Prudence insisted. “At this time of year at Colwyck we would have guinea fowls and a forequarter of lamb, along with braised capon and ducklings for such a dinner. But I'm unfamiliar with the availability and desirability of such items here at Salston. Have you a source of red mullet and fillets of whitings?”
“His lordship isn't fond of mullet, but for this large a party I'm sure he'd wish to offer it. He's that fond of a spring soup removed by boiled turbot and lobster sauce. And we usually have a rump of beef
à la jardiniere
, a garnished boiled tongue, and larded sweetbreads. And a ham.”
Prudence quickly scribbled down the dishes as Mrs. Collins rattled them off. Obviously no one went away hungry after dining at Salston, she thought ruefully. When Mrs. Collins had agreed to send Cook to her, Prudence sat back in her chair and frowned again at the winter landscape. Not just a few vases of flowers on the table and sideboard, she decided, but something more exciting and unique. If the gardener was able to handle it, of course.
And she'd only find that out if she visited him on his own turf.
Chapter Twelve
So just before luncheon, Prudence wrapped a warm shawl about her and went in search of Mr. Newhall. He was not difficult to find, as he spent a fair amount of the winter months in the succession houses and the toolshed, preparing for spring. He was an incredibly old man, with a balding head and arthritic fingers. But he seemed spry enough as he darted among the benches, checking this plant and then that one, plucking off a dead leaf and propping up a drooping branch.
Prudence observed him through the glass for a few minutes before pulling open the metal and glass door and letting herself into the first of the succession houses. Though she made a fair amount of noise, stomping to knock the dirt off her shoes, Mr. Newhall didn't turn around. Odd, she thought, and called to him. But he continued to work with the plant before him, obviously unaware of her presence.
Why, he's deaf, Prudence realized. Oh, Lord, how will I talk to him? And why didn't someone mention his deafness?
As she moved toward him, Mr. Newhall must have caught a glimpse of movement from the corner of his eye, because he turned to face her. “Why, it's the new Lady Ledbetter,” he said quite clearly, and rather loudly. “Welcome to Salston, my lady. I'm Newhall.”
“How do you do, Mr. Newhall? I hope you won't mind my coming unannounced.”
He appeared to watch her lips. Could he understand her?
“Glad to have you, my lady,” he boomed. “Let me show you around.”
Oh, yes, the flowers were already beginning to bloom. In a week . . . Prudence felt a thrill of anticipation. In addition to the narcissi and daffodils, there was blue scilla and grape-colored muscari. The crocus came in gold and purple and white. The air was lively with the sweet scent of hyacinth and the musky odor of the muscari.
“How wonderful!” she breathed. “Mr. Newhall, next week we are giving a dinner party for the neighbors. I should like to have spring flowers for it, but not just in vases. I would like to turn the dining room into a garden.”
He looked puzzled and tilted his head questioningly. “Eh? You want flowers for a dinner party?”
“Yes, but not cut.” She made a snipping gesture with her fingers and shook her head. “Like this.” She made a sweeping motion with her hands that took in the whole of the benches with their planter boxes full of spring flowers. “Instead of moving these outside to the garden beds, I would like them inside—in the dining room. Do you understand what I mean?”
“I don't hear so well,” he explained, “but I can tell by your lips some of what you're saying. You want me to bring the planter boxes in the house?”
He sounded so incredulous that Prudence laughed. “Yes,” she admitted. “Inside. Like a garden, or at least like a border around the room. Would it be possible?”
“Never done something like that,” he said, frowning. “Take a bit of work, and I'd need two, three helpers.”
“I would see that you got all the assistance you needed,” Prudence promised.
“Big room, is it?” he asked.
“Enormous.”
“I'll need to take a gander at it, my lady. Sooner is better.”
“Right now, if you wish.”
“You ask his lordship about this?”
“Not yet.”
He grinned suddenly and nodded. “Daresay I can manage, with help. Let's take a look.”
Prudence was not certain that Mr. Newhall understood exactly what she wanted, owing to his deafness. And yet, as he prowled the dining room, past the sideboards on each side, and around the mahogany table with its impressive collection of matching mahogany chairs, he began to talk out loud. “Two rows of planters where there's no furniture, and one where there is. Mind, the footmen won't like it one bit! You'll have to speak to them. Can't have those big feet stepping in the dirt and the tulips! Train them ahead of time, see?”
He looked directly at her and she nodded.
“Won't take less than thirty planters, I'm thinking. Don't know as I have that many in the succession house. I could force a few of the later blooms—the wallflower, the lily of the valley.”
“Or,” Prudence suggested almost hesitantly, “you could make the back planter a rock garden of sorts, with rock phlox and rock campanula and rock rose climbing over and around the rocks in a kind of carpet.”
His old eyes twinkled at her. “That I could, my lady. Mayhap t'would be even better than just rows of those showy bulbs. You done this before?”
“No. The idea just came to me this morning. You don't think Ledbetter would object, do you?”
“Can't see why. His mama was that fond of flowers, don't you know. I should think he'd be right pleased.” He cocked his head at her. “Why don't you ask him?”
“Well, I thought I might make it a surprise.” She regarded him with a doubtful frown. “Unless you thought that wouldn't be wise.”
“Can't see the harm in it. Nothing to fly in the boughs over, leastways. But that's for you to decide.”
“Yes. And the floors, Mr. Newhall? How would we best protect them?”
He stroked his chin as he contemplated the dark stained wood for several minutes. “There's a roll of old nursery carpet in the stable attic. Saw it myself not six months past. No use to anyone. We'll cut it up to put under the planters. If we bring them in that day, we won't need to water them here, so the floors'll be safe enough.”
“Oh, perfect. I'm afraid it will be a great deal of work.”
“For a great reward, if I do say so, ma'am. Something out of the ordinary. The baron will be proud.”
“Do you think so?” That was precisely what Prudence hoped. “Oh, thank you, Mr. Newhall. You're kind to indulge my whimsy. Be sure to get all the help you need, and let me know if there is anything I should do to make it work.”
“That I will, my lady.”
When he had gone, Prudence looked around the room, envisioning the garden that would appear there. She hoped it would seem magical rather than pretentious to Ledbetter's neighbors. But they were country people, as she was, and they must be as tired of winter as she. Surely an early spring display would be just the thing to perk up spirits and encourage the warmth and hopefulness of that delicious season.
* * * *
When Ledbetter joined her for their midday meal, he noticed a suppressed air of excitement about her. “Dare I ask what has you in a state of high excitement, my dear?” he queried as he helped himself to a pork cutlet.
“Oh, it is merely my planning for the dinner next week,” she said, waving a hand in dismissal. “Mr. Newhall has such a fine display of early spring flowers. Ledbetter, how long has he been deaf?”
His gaze rose swiftly to hers and he frowned. “Deaf? Newhall? I am not aware of it.”
“He is quite capable of telling what you're saying when you face him. Either he understands the movement of one's lips, or his hearing is not entirely gone. But when I approached him from behind, he was completely unaware of me.”
“You must be mistaken, Prudence. Someone would have mentioned it if he were deaf.”
“Not necessarily. He's an old man and your staff might have been afraid you would retire him if you knew. I trust you will not.”
“Perhaps he
should
be retired.”
“I shall regret that I told you if you're going to take such a stand. He's obviously a genius with plants and it would probably break his heart to be retired from Salston.”
“For God's sake, Prudence, you can't know that! He may long for a chance to spend his days in a rocking chair out in the sun, without having to lift a finger in anyone's garden for the rest of his days.”
She glowered at him. “And he may prefer to work in the succession houses and out in the gardens. I should think he would be particularly offended to be pensioned off just because he's lost his hearing. And don't you dare do a thing about it before the dinner party next week, for I depend upon him to provide me with spring blooms for the house.”
“I'm sure Newhall is not the only one who can provide spring blooms.”
“It is all arranged, William, and I would be most distressed if you were to put all my plans in disarray. Promise me that you will not.”
His natural impatience was rising. The management of Salston, after all, was his obligation, not hers. And if he had an employee who had become deaf and deserved to be generously pensioned off, he wanted no interference in his ability to act as he chose.
“I shall have to deal with the matter as I see fit,” he insisted, intending to put a period to the discussion.
“Am I to understand that you take no account of my wishes, William?” his wife asked in a surprisingly chilly voice.
“You have nothing to say to this matter. It is entirely my province.”
“But I
have
said something. I have said that I would be most distressed if you were to put all my plans in disarray.”
“I can hardly put your plans in disarray by pensioning off old Newhall,” he protested, annoyed. “Really, it has nothing to do with you.”
To his astonishment, his wife rose from the table and excused herself. Before he had settled on what exactly to say to her, she had left the room. Dumbfounded, Ledbetter stared after her.
* * * *
Prudence had never done anything comparable to walking out on her husband at luncheon. On the one hand she felt indescribably guilty for behaving so badly. On the other she was so seriously annoyed that she could scarcely bring herself to sit still. At first she went to her room and attempted to read, but, afraid that Ledbetter would show up there and berate her (with his voice unraised, of course), she quickly decided to leave the house.
Escaping by way of the side door, she wrapped the ragged shawl he'd provided the previous day around her shoulders to ward off the cold breeze that blew around the corner of the building. The wind played havoc with her unrestrained hair and nipped at her ears, but she continued to stalk off across the yard toward the home wood. Nothing was likely to cool her temper so effectively as freezing to death, she decided grimly.
This kind of scene would never have taken place if she'd married Allen. For one thing, Allen would have been all consideration of her. And for another, he would have paid attention to her simplest request. Oh, why had she even mentioned Newhall's deafness to Ledbetter? She should have known that he would behave perversely.
And how was she to manage living with a man like that? Though Prudence had always considered herself to have a reasonably mild disposition, she was finding that it was far from difficult for Ledbetter to set up her back. It almost felt as though he did it on purpose.