Evelyn heard Doctor Birch’s cultured voice break the silence, as he began to recount about his latest trip to London. His monologue filled the vacancy to perfection, both in subject and interest, as he had attended a lecture on the affliction of insanity.
Although no one owned it, every family had a distant relative who had suffered the weakness. Evelyn suspected her mother’s aunt had turned mad following the loss of her child.She had withdrawn from society quite suddenly and was never mentioned again. It was as if she had disappeared, even her portrait was removed from the wall and stored away. Evelyn stole a glance over her shoulder as she walked away and noted the interest in his captive audience’s eyes. Yes, Doctor Birch had chosen his topic well, thought Evelyn, as it tapped into their fears and gave him centre stage.
‘I hope you will not leave Cornwall to attend the elite in London,’ Evelyn heard her mother ask nervously.
Doctor Birch’s chuckle drifted across the lawn to the children. ‘Of course not. My loyalty is to Cornwall,’ he replied. Evelyn heard a murmur of delight at his answer, but in truth no one believed him.
The children walked at the pace set by Nicholas, and followed the meandering path through the gardens. Even Evelyn, who knew the gardens well, enjoyed the tour, seeing it through new eyes just as Mawgan was now. For the first time that afternoon, she began to relax. Her dress felt less constricted now that she was standing. She also felt in more control of her mother’s parasol, so much so that she began to twist its handle in her fingers so it spun daintily on her shoulder.
‘You should visit us more often,’ she ventured, squinting up at her cousin’s tall frame.
He looked down at her with eyes that observed rather than welcomed a connection.
‘I think we should be thankful Mawgan is here at all,’ answered Nicholas for him.
‘Why?’
‘Because Uncle Howard does not wish to visit more often,’ said Nicholas. ‘Cedar Lodge is situated at the boundary of Carrack Estate. This means that much of the adjacent countryside belongs to Father and is a constant reminder toUncle Howard of his misfortune at being born second by only a few minutes.’
‘Uncle Howard is jealous? Is that why he won’t let you visit more often?’
‘I would not call it jealousy,’ replied Mawgan as he looked out towards the distant parkland.
Keen to find a solution, Evelyn said, ‘The estate is so big that I’m sure Nicholas would be happy to give you half when he inherits.’ She turned to her brother. ‘You wouldn’t mind, would you Nicky?’
Nicholas’s face paled.
Mawgan came to his rescue. ‘I don’t think it will have to come to that,’ he said as he looked down at her. ‘Time has a way of sorting things out.’
Evelyn smiled nervously. She did not understand what he meant, but his unwavering look made her feel like a curious object being studied by a scientist.
‘All this talk about inheritance is depressing,’ said Nicholas. ‘Let me show you the greenhouses where the tropical fruits are grown. Father would be most disappointed if I did not show them to you.’
The children skirted the side of Carrack House and headed towards the working gardens. It was not an area that Evelyn often explored, as it was usually too busy with gardeners potting, planting, pruning and harvesting. Suddenly she felt a thrill of nervous excitement for going there. She had not seen the new boy for almost a month, even though she had often looked down on the established gardens from her nursery window.
‘We have twenty-five gardeners to tend to the gardens near the house, the parkland and wild gardens further north,’ said Nicholas as they entered the first walled garden through an open wooden door. ‘Most live out and come from the nearby villages. We have a few who live in, but not many.’
‘We also have an apprentice,’ said Evelyn proudly, glad to have something to contribute for once. The boys silently surveyed the scene.
They had entered the fruit garden. South facing sloping glasshouses lined the far redbrick wall, tempting the children to explore them. The north and east facing walls were lined with stone buildings used for storing implements, fruit and, according to Nicholas, provided a home to some of the boys. Evelyn found herself searching the small windows for a glimpse of the new apprentice, yet knowing full well he would not be there at that time of day.
Nicholas called to Evelyn to follow. Reluctantly, she dragged her eyes away and shadowed the boys along the path through the centre of the yard. Low slanting glass pineapple houses occupied each quadrant. At the centre of the yard was a man-made pond, a valuable source of water for the tender plants. Evelyn felt hot. Concerned she may break out into a sweat, she dipped her fingers into the cold water and dabbed her neck as she passed.
The children entered each glasshouse in turn, too inquisitive to pass them by. Trained branches of three peach trees skimmed the glass ceilings, like a fan, above their heads. Grapes, not yet ripe, hung tantalisingly within reach in the vinery, and melons, growing ever plumper, were like merry, round faces watching them pass through. Evelyn was the only one who paid attention to the gardeners who worked around them. She found herself waiting with a hesitant breath, until she could dismiss them as not being the boy called Drake Vennor.
They left the heat of the glasshouses behind them, and headed for the next walled garden, dedicated to vegetables. They passed by Mr Timmins’ office, unaware he was watching them stroll by.
The vegetable garden was large and precise in its design. Rows upon rows of leafy plants stretched before them likesoldiers. Large, orange clay pots stood amongst the rhubarb, waiting to be used later in the year and a scarecrow stood sentry near the middle. Apple trees, their branches trained to form a tunnel, framed the centre path and dangled small, green, unripe apples. More gardeners were at work here, digging, weeding and harvesting. None of them were Drake.
They followed the path around the side of the gardens and back to the house. The boys were in deep conversation, but Evelyn had lost interest and trailed behind them, disappointed at not seeing the new apprentice. When she noticed they had disappeared from view, she quickened her pace and followed their voices to catch them. Suddenly she was entering another yard she had never visited before. The handle of her parasol stilled in her fingers.
Almost two hundred orange pots lined the wall, waiting to be washed and refilled, but Evelyn did not notice one of them, for it was the boy drawing water from the well that held her attention.
The bucket looked heavy, as he lifted it from the well and carried it to a battered tin bath, where he set about cleaning each pot. He crouched, scrubbed and stretched for another, unaware he was being watched. His movements were agile, and although he was no more than fourteen, Evelyn could see the emerging strength of the man he would become. His trousers were dirty, his forearms smudged with soil and his face was set in a deep frown of concentration, but the way his body moved transfixed her. Her brother noticed.
‘Is thisyourapprentice?’ he asked.
The boy looked up.
