She sat at her easel, her face serious with concentration as she attempted to faithfully replicate the rows of vegetables in front of her. She wore a warm coat and gloves, but no hat. Her fair hair, the colour of ripe wheat ready for harvesting, hung down her back in a thick plait. He had heard from the other gardeners that she had been seen painting, but she had not ventured this near to the work yard before. The humiliation he had been subjected to at their last encounter still felt surprisingly raw. He turned his attention back to his chore, each stab of the fork an attempt to spend his pent-up anger — no frustration — at not being able to argue back the last time they had met. He did not notice the girl exchange words with her governess, leave her easel and take a walk towards the yard.
‘Hello.’
He paused for half a breath and then stabbed the fork into the stinking mess at his feet.
The girl tried again, this time a little louder. ‘Hello.’
‘I heard you,’ he replied curtly, straightening to look at her. He gave her his meanest stare. She had the good grace to look a little nervous.
‘Don’t stop working on my account.’
She expects me to say, ‘It’s all right, miss. I’ll stop for you, miss. I’ll doff my cap to you, miss,’ thought Drake. She’ll get none of that bowing and scraping from me.
He stabbed his fork into the seaweed again.
‘What are you doing?’ she asked.
‘What does it look like?’ he asked rudely, lifting a fork laden with seaweed and dropping it over the side.
She fell silent. Drake tried to concentrate on his job, but remained acutely aware that she continued to watch him as she absently twisted the heel of her right foot into the ground. Eventually she tried again.
‘I am painting the vegetable garden for my father. I have painted most of the others already. I plan to show the gardens in the different seasons, but Miss Brown says I won’t be able to spend so much time in the garden during the winter.’
Drake ignored her. He did not care what she chose to do with her time.
‘Can you paint?’ she asked. The absurd question almost made him laugh.
‘When do I have time to paint?’ he retorted angrily. Her nervousness turned to hurt and for the first time he felt he had gone too far, but then her questioning began again.
‘How is your apprenticeship training?’ she asked quietly.
Her interest confused him, almost as much as her manner. He grew wary. No one, except his mother, had ever asked him that question. No one else really cared.
‘Why?’
‘I would like to know. Nicholas is taught lots of things, but I’m a girl.’ She did not explain further. ‘Is it difficult?’
Drake thought for a moment. ‘The bothy’s cold, my bed is hard and I am running out of ink.’
‘Oh, I could get you more ink,’ she said, looking hopeful.
Drake felt he had worked her out. He went back to his task. ‘And be dismissed for stealing from you when you inform your parents that I have ink from your father’s desk.’
To her credit, she sounded horrified. ‘I would never do that!’ she said, climbing the wheel of the cart.
Her sudden appearance unsteadied him. He felt his foot slide.
‘Why are you so mean?’ she asked as he landed on his bottom.
‘You were the one who laughed at me.’
She watched him get up. ‘I was not laughing at you. Don’t roll your eyes at me.’
Drake returned to his chore, lifting the heavy seaweed over the opposite side of the cart to where Miss Evelyn clung to the side, glaring at him. Mr Timmins could arrive at any moment. If he was not finished, he would have some explaining to do. Miss Evelyn, however, had other ideas.
‘I did not laugh,’ she insisted. ‘I smiled. It was a gesture of friendship.’
The girl was clearly mad.
