‘Oh,’ said Frankie. ‘Neither ideal.’ Then she gestured between them. ‘You have a forest and I… well… I have not got one.’
‘No,’ said Thea, stepping back. It had been a tongue-in-cheek comment, but now the whisky’s effects had been eclipsed by outright fear, she felt silly. Here she was, dressed as a man, with another woman with whom she shared nothing in common but a queerness and a love for plants. She wanted to talk to Frankie more. To ask her about her experiences and to talk to her about the curiosity they held for cultivation. She was tired of having to pay for her only intellectual stimulation and the more she experienced the real people of London, the more she knew they were the same. But her pride, or her insecurity, or the hazardous cocktail of both made her falter.
‘You won’t tell anyone, will you?’ she asked, suddenly nervous.
Frankie looked like she had been betrayed. ‘Of course I won’t.’
Thea believed her. She turned and started down the alley. ‘Let me give you a lift home.’
Chapter 9
‘...just keep getting worse. They keep popping up everywhere and they aren’t half irritating.’
Thea’s attention slid back to the conversation. She had been too busy thinking about the night before, and now she had no idea what Harriet was talking about. She wracked her brains for the type of things that popped up and were irritating. A jack in the box? Thea was terrified of the ones in the nursery. Or weeds in the garden? Tory MPs?
‘That’s unfortunate,’ she tried, assuming she was on safe ground.
Harriet shifted her weight a little on the bed as Thea watched from her toilette chair for any clues. She had still been in bed when Harriet had arrived at ten o’clock. She hadn’t slept, thinking about the robbery and also about Frankie. Harriet had barged in anyway and up to Thea’s room despite Fletcher’s protestations. Thea didn’t mind, she thought it might stop her mind racing, but it hadn’t so far.
‘They’re just so angry and red,’ Harriet went on, snapping Thea back to the room once more.
That ruled out weeds then but otherwise didn’t narrow it down.
‘Have you tried calming them down?’ That seemed a safe response, if the unidentified things were angry.
A wrinkle formed in Harriet’s forehead. ‘You know I have, Thea. What is wrong with you today? You’ve been combing that same strand of hair for ten minutes.’
Thea paused. She couldn’t very well tell Harriet that she was too busy thinking about the woman dressed as a man that she kissed the night previously, just before she got robbed twice. And that whilst there was clearly nothing romantic in the kiss how she was now certain she wanted the woman to work at Hawkdean because she was the best gardener she had met since Scip and she sated her intellectual curiosity whenever they talked and that it didn’t matter if she had a forest and Frankie didn’t. She also now knew that Frankie was the same as her, in her worldly curiosity and queer attraction to ladies at least. It made her feel safe, in a strange way. Like if you had someone like that around you, there seemed to be one less barrier between the real you and the world. But she couldn’t say any of that, not even to her best friend.
‘Thea?’ said Harriet again.
‘I’m fine, sorry,’ said Thea, not wanting to be pushed. ‘So, what you have tried so far hasn’t worked?’ Couldn’t be the jack in a box, Harriet could just throw that away or put it in the attic if it was an heirloom. Was it the MPs?
Harriet seemed satisfied with her response but leaned closer and lowered her voice. ‘They sometimes leak nasty stuff.’
Definitely MPs.
‘I’ve had to wash my drawers at least once a week this past month, it’s getting beyond a joke.’
Thea blinked at her.
‘That cream that Speckle gave me is definitely helping but I’m running out. I don’t suppose you’d mind having a look?’ Harriet slid off the bed, turned around and started rucking up her dress.
Thea’s mind tripped over itself trying to catch up with the past twenty minutes of conversation. Boils. Harriet was talking about her boils. And they were clearly on her…
Harriet bent over right in front of Thea, her hands braced on a side table. Her skirts were bunched up around her waist and two round mounds, currently covered in silk drawers but soon not to be, the way Harriet was pulling at them, were thrust into Thea’s face.
‘It’s just it’s difficult to see round there, even with a mirror,’ said Harriet, her voice a little muffled against her scarf in her downward position. ‘And it’s making sitting down difficult.’
‘Uh,’ said Thea, having not expected quite such an intimate examination before breakfast. Or ever, for that matter, but Harriet was never shy. She took a deep breath and decided that this was what friends were for. Better than Harriet having Doctor Herbert, or even Doctor Speckle handling her buttocks. She used one finger to shift the silk aside from the split in the middle of the drawers, so she could view the area Harriet seemed to be indicating was the problem. There were indeed lumps. Red, and angry looking. Maybe the one on the far left did look a little like the MP for Haverfordwest.
Before she could report back on her findings, a swift knock came at the door, the handle turned, and Thea heard the familiar creak of the hinges.
‘I thought I’d bring you and Mrs Henry some coffee and carraway buns, Your Gr…’
Joan’s address faltered as she took in the scene. She looked between Harriet, bent over on the side table, and Thea, with her fingers buried in the drawers. Nobody moved for what seemed like an age. Then both Joan and Harriet spoke at the same time.
‘Oh, I am sorry,’ said Joan, backing out of the room.
