“Was it a gift?” Anne asked.
A kaleidoscope of emotions passed over Lady Celia’s face. Confusion, dismay, distress? She frowned, glanced at Anne, then set the vase aside with a dismissive hand.
“I ... forget. Never mind. No need to mention it. No harm done, after all. And a gesture kindly meant, I’m sure.”
Anne was not so sure. Bewildered by Lady Celia’s odd expression and unexpected dismissal, Anne picked up the tray without mentioning her intentions. “I’ll take this down, if you’re sure you’ve had enough to eat.”
“Yes, thank you. And do thank Mrs. Pratt for me. The iced cream was delicious.”
Anne carried the tray back to the kitchen and there sought out Mrs. Pratt. She found the woman reviewing the inventory of the pantry.
“Lady Celia enjoyed the meal and wished me to pass along her thanks.”
“My pleasure.”
“Also Clara mentioned it was your kind idea to include a vase of flowers on Lady Celia’s tray today?”
“My idea? No, miss. I’ve been run off my feet today. Hadn’t the time to think of such niceties. Clara was probably just being modest.”
“And the iced cream? Lady Celia certainly enjoyed it.”
“Not my idea either, I’m afraid. Miss Fitzjohn requested it. Said her mother deserved a treat after her ordeal. Thought it might tempt her appetite on such a hot day.”
“And the flowers? Did she bring them in?”
“Might have done. Can’t say that I noticed, busy in here as I’ve been. We received a large order from the greengrocer today.”
“Then I’ll let you get back to work.”
As she was leaving the kitchen, Anne asked Clara, “Did you happen to see any of the family down here today?”
“No, miss. I don’t think so. Why?”
“Never mind. Thank you, Clara.”
Later that afternoon, while Rosa was brushing and washing Lady Celia’s hair, Anne crossed the lawn toward the flower garden. There, she saw Katherine Fitzjohn, her pale face shaded by a broad-brimmed straw hat. One by one, she staked tall delphiniums to canes with twine. She was wearing a stout linen apron over her day dress, gardening tools—pruning knife, shears, trowel, and a length of twine—protruding from its ample pockets. Her hands were protected by long gauntlet gloves that reached nearly to her elbows.
She looked up as Anne approached. “Ah, Miss Loveday. Is Mamma all right?”
“Yes. Rosa is washing her hair, so I thought I’d come out for a few minutes of fresh air. Your flowers are lovely. You must enjoy gardening.”
“Must I? I don’t know that I enjoy it so much as it gives me something to do. Something to tend, to nurture. And the flowers are pleasant to look at, I agree.”
Anne looked around again, seeing lavender, lilies, foxgloves, irises, and more. Then she noticed poppies growingnear the stone garden wall, their fluffy heads swaying in the breeze. “The red ones are bright and cheery.”
Katherine looked over. “Papaver somniferum. I prefer the lighter ones. White exterior, bruise-purple heart.”
A bee flew past, and Anne stepped back, startled. It landed on the delphinium near Katherine, but she paid it no heed.
“Are you not afraid of bees?” Anne asked.
“Hm?” Katherine looked up as if just noticing the creature on the flower nearby. “No. I ignore them and they ignore me. Then again, everyone does. Well, almost everyone.”
“Then you don’t share your mother’s unpleasant reaction to bee-stings?”
“No, thankfully.”
Anne licked dry lips and asked casually, “I suppose it was you who added the vase of flowers to your mother’s luncheon tray today?”
