‘How many times?’
‘Once.’
‘What was he called?’
Miss Brown gave her a coquettish glance over her shoulder. ‘Francis.’
Evelyn could not contain her excitement and began to follow her around the room as she pretended to tidy.
‘What did he look like?’
‘A little taller than me, with thick dark hair and the most beautiful eyes I had ever seen.’ She paused for a moment, a whimsical smile lit up her face.
Evelyn was intrigued. She had never seen this side to her governess before.
‘What was he like?’
‘Francis was educated, quite the activist and very courageous. Francis feared no one, which is the complete opposite to me.’
She began to rearrange Evelyn’s paintbrushes. ‘We must start a new painting project. Your father is very proud of his garden and I think documenting it through the seasons would make a wonderful collection.’
‘Why didn’t you marry him?’
Miss Brown carefully closed the lid of the paint box.
‘Marriage was not an option.’
‘Did he ask you?’
‘No. I told you, it was not an option. Anyway, Mother would never have accepted our feelings for one another.’
‘He was married! Oh, Miss Brown!’
‘Hush, before someone hears you.’
‘Oh, but—’
‘No more questions,’ whispered Miss Brown.
Evelyn tried not to speak, but failed. ‘How can you bear not to be with him?’
‘I have you to love.’
‘That is not the same and you know it.’
‘If we remained together we would have become outcasts of society. I was not brave enough to endure that.’
Evelyn felt her heart break for her. ‘Do you regret the choice you made?’ she asked.
Miss Brown paused in her tidying of Evelyn’s paintbrushes. ‘Do I regret my decision?’ she asked herself as she traced her finger across the bristles of one of them. She sighed. ‘Yes, Evelyn. Every day of my life.’
* * *
Autumn announced its arrival with the appearance of migrant redwing and ripe black sloes lining the hedgerows. Green leaves turned to scarlet, orange and yellow, adorning the trees like coins of gold and ruby gems. Despite nature’s preparations for dormancy, the gardeners continued to battle against it within the glasshouses. Eventually autumn came to a temperate end, leaving in its wake memories of abundant harvests of sweet pineapples, figs and grapes it had unknowingly helped to nurture.
On the last day of November, a heavyset horse pulled a cart filled with seaweed into the yard. As the horse was led awayto be fed and watered, Drake was given the unpleasant task of unloading it. He climbed on-board, his feet slipping on the tangled, sand peppered weed. The seaweed had been collected from the west coast of Cornwall and brought to the estate to nourish the soil in the vegetable garden. Drake had studied its properties, but it was the first time he had seen the alien plant and smelt its shoreline aroma. It was heavy, slippery and back-breaking work, so it was no surprise he did not notice Miss Evelyn and her governess arrive in the garden next door.
Drake eventually stopped, resting his forearm on his fork handle to catch his breath. The height of the cart allowed him a fine view over the red brick wall and the gardens beyond. He looked about him with a critical eye. In the midst of the earthy browns and dark green leaves of the cabbages, he saw the girl who had laughed at him and made him feel a fool.
