Henry brought it and asked, “What bonnet, dear?”
She probably should wear one, but she was walking inher own garden. If she was mistress here, she could set the rules.
Once outside, Kitty found the air even colder for being damp and the sky overcast, but she felt immediate relief from escaping the house. That wasn’t a good sign, but in time, with changes, it would become a comfortable home.
She decided to explore the outbuildings, heading first for extensive ones that were probably the stables, despite being built as a miniature of the house and painted as perfectly white. When close, she realized the first high wall was roofless. It was a walled garden, so probably the kitchen garden.
Kitty put Sillikin on the leash and explored. When she went through the door she encountered an affronted stare from a wiry man who was directing two others in some digging project.
But then he doffed his hat and said, “My lady.”
Kitty gave him good morning and asked his name.
“Garrison, m’lady.”
“Everything looks in good order, Garrison,” she said, trying to look as if she understood what she saw. She gave him leave to return to his work and strolled a path in spurious inspection.
Much of the ground was empty, but there were some tall green plants and other smaller ones beneath glass bottles or inside low glass frames. From Cateril Manor she knew vegetables could be kept beyond their season by such means, but no more than that. She was skilled at choosing good fruits and vegetables at market, but knew nothing about growing them. A closer look at the tall plants showed little cabbages growing along the stem, larger at the bottom and smaller toward the top. Heavens, they were brussels sprouts. She’d never known they grew that way.
Branches wired to walls would be fruits, she supposed.A glass house ran along one wall, full of plants. She’d like to explore in there, but not under the wary observation of the gardeners, who seemed worried that she’d run amok in their domain.
She left and continued on to the stables. They were unmistakable because of the smell. Remembering the alarmed and alarming white horse, Kitty picked up Sillikin before going into the stable yard. A black dog slunk out of a building, growling.
A bowlegged, sinewy man followed. “Down, Roller.” He touched his forelock and said, “Milady,” but with a wariness that was becoming tiresome.
Then Baker came out of a stall, smiling. “Good morning, milady. Can I do something for you?”
No sign of the white horse.Ah. Braydon is probably riding it.
“Does someone have time to show me round?” Kitty asked. “I know little of horses and stables, having spent most of my life in London.”
She saw Baker silently defer to the older man and be given the job.Excellent.
Baker took her through rooms where food, straw, tack, and other necessities were kept. Sillikin wriggled, keen to explore, but Kitty said, “No.”
“Most of the horses are in the paddock, ma’am,” Baker said, “but Corsair’s here. We’re keeping an eye on him ’cos of a bit of a limp. He’s Miss Godyson-Braydon’s mount.”
Kitty remembered the black. “Has she had Corsair a long time?” Kitty asked.
“Not as I understand, ma’am. She had a gray before.”
So upon the deaths, even the stables had been adjusted to mourning. “Are all the horses black?” she asked.
“No, ma’am.” Baker took her to the paddock rail, and she saw five horses there. Two brown ones stood out as prime specimens, and she recognized Braydon’s curricleteam. The other three were various shades of brown and didn’t look highbred.
“What are they used for?” Kitty asked.
“Not much,” Baker said. “Toby and Trump were the late viscount’s riding hacks, and Teapot is used with the dog cart.”
“Teapot? Who named her that?”
“Miss Isabella, as I understand, ma’am.”
So Isabella had been playful when younger, and a romantic more recently. She’d named her black horse after Byron’sThe Corsair. That could be something to build on.
“Do they all just loll around doing nothing?” she asked.
“They’re exercised, ma’am, and Teapot sometimes takes Mrs. Quiller on errands.”
