“You know he does.”
Her mother pointed. “You see the shadow it casts here, and this bed has been completely upended. The plants are safely bedded down for the winter, but they must be replanted as soon as the frost is gone from the soil, and I have no plan for them! Mr. Marchand awaits my instruction.”
The only person who shared her mother’s passion for roses was the head gardener at Haynesdale. If a single plant did not survive, the two of them would commiserate together and likely weep buckets.
“You have less garden space,” Eliza noted.
“Yes, dear, and that is the conundrum. Some of the older roses had even suckered into the border, so we have more plants and less space.” She heaved a sigh. “Kitchens.” She seized her teacup and drained it, though the tea was likely cold.
“What about the pavilion?” Eliza asked.
“What about the pavilion?” her mother echoed with disinterest. “There are no gardens around the pavilion.”
“And I have always wondered why,” Eliza said, prompting her mother to look up. She took a piece of paper and drew a circle to indicate the pavilion, a tribute to Greek architecture that existed in solitude in an area adjacent to the rose garden. “Do you remember the reflecting pool at Hampton Court?” She drew another larger circle around the first one.
“Lilies,” her mother said. “Water lilies grow within it.”
“And there is a path around it and a hedge. A most tranquil place.”
“Is there not a fountain?”
“We have a pavilion instead,” Eliza said. “And there could be a border of roses either immediately around the pool or on the other side of the path, inside the hedge.”
“No hedge. The deer will consume it. A wall!” Constance swept away the placards with a gesture and turned over the large sheet of paper. She surveyed the room, then seized the saucer from her cup, inverted it and drew a circle around it. Eliza, well accustomed to these planning sessions, was already looking for a larger circle to trace. She removed a small mirror from the wall, one with a simple round frame, and placed it on the paper. Her mother adjusted the position before tracing around it, then nodded satisfaction when Eliza returned the mirror to the wall. They both scanned the room without finding what they sought.
“A dinner plate,” Eliza said.
Her mother rang the bell and Higgins appeared shortly. “Yes, my lady.”
“I need round plates,” she said. “Larger than a saucer but smaller than this mirror.” She considered her own words. “Or even larger than the mirror, if we plan for a truly splendid border.”
The older man blinked, then peered at the paper on the table. “A new garden, my lady?”
“Perhaps around the pavilion,” Eliza contributed. “With a reflecting pool.”
“Like the one at Hampton Court, except with a pavilion and a rose border—if not two—and a wall instead of a hedge, but otherwise precisely the same.”
Higgins bowed. “An excellent notion, my lady. I will bring plates shortly to assist.”
“Have you had breakfast, Maman?”
“I have no time for such fripperies! This notion will change all.” Her mother was arranging the placards in rows. Eliza joined her, knowing they had to be sorted by height of the plant and color of the flower.
“Perhaps breakfast at the same time, my lady?” the butler prompted.
“An excellent notion, Higgins,” Eliza said, because her mother was murmuring to herself.
“An entire border of Apothecary Roses,” the dowager mused with obvious excitement. “Completely surrounding the pool. They would be magnificent. And the scent!”
Eliza worked with her mother until Higgins returned, and the butler aided in the arrangements of the various plates so that they could be traced. He vanished with them as soon as the plan was completed.
“This is north,” the dowager said. “Which means the Great Maiden’s Blush can be against the inside of this wall, sheltered from the wind and in full sun. It will do splendidly there.” She looked up suddenly, changing topics with her usual swift unpredictability. “I should invite Lady Dalhousie to visit when it is done. She will be vexed beyond measure.” The dowager chuckled a little.
“That is unkind, Maman,” Eliza said, realizing in that moment that her mother only spoke thus about the lady in question.
“She is the one who made trouble for me. Beware jealousy, Eliza. It drives women to harsh deeds.”
“But she has a rose garden of repute of her own, at Hexham.”
