Thea recognised the attempt to diffuse attention. ‘Absolutely,’ she said. ‘Thank you, Frankie.’
She began to walk back to the house with Martha and Crumpacker, but a thought nagged at her. ‘I will join you in the parlour,’ she said, and looped back to the glasshouse. Annie had joined Frankie with the children, and Frankie had Abigail in her arms, holding her up to touch the tendril of aScindapsus. She ignored Thea in favour of the plant.
‘Did you tell anyone?’ Thea asked in a low voice, ‘about leaving the lily outside?’
Frankie shook her head. ‘Nobody apart from those who work here, I was thinking the same myself.’
Thea nodded. ‘Could be a coincidence.’
‘Could be,’ said Frankie, but she didn’t look so sure.
When Thea arrived in the parlour Crumpacker already had his head in a book. One of the new maids whose name Thea couldn’t quite remember brought tea, and she sat sipping quietly with Martha while Crumpacker perused the pages.
‘Did you enjoy your time at Upper Plumbthorne, Mr Crumpacker?’ Thea asked, slipping a candied cherry off the plate in front of them.
‘Tolerably well,’ said Crumpacker, his eyes on the page. ‘My room was a little draughty and Mrs Knatchbull is a little overenthusiastic for my tastes, but the plants made the visit worthwhile. I only spent a fortnight or so there.’
Thea wasn’t sure whether to be impressed or alarmed by Crumpacker’s unfailing honesty. It was unusual in society, but she found it strangely refreshing. ‘I understand Mr Knatchbull is having significant success with his growing.’
‘Yes,’ said Crumpacker, not looking up. ‘His gardener is at least. Knatchbull is only interested for his social endeavours. Extensive stove ranges. A wealth of plants but also significant pests. It is quite the living collection, Your Grace.’
‘And do you still have links there?’ she asked. ‘Contacts with the gardeners?’
‘I am in regular correspondence with Mr Knatchbull,’ he said simply. ‘When there is a specimen of note or a query on cultivation. Do you have a requirement of them, Your Grace?’
Thea swallowed. She knew she would get an honest answer to her next question but wasn’t sure she wanted one. ‘Is he having any luck with his protea, do you know?’
Crumpacker finally raised his head but fixed his gaze out of the window. ‘Ah, fascinating plant. Has one common scaly periantheum and noticeably bristly styles. Obtuse stigma, too.’
Thea struggled to follow this information but was almost certain that he hadn’t answered her question. ‘And were there any at Upper Plumbthorne, Mr Crumpacker? The bristly styles?’ She glanced at Martha who sat with her arm across the back of the chair next to her, a smile on her face. Thea got the impression she could have intervened but was enjoying this exchange.
‘Plenty,’ said Crumpacker.
‘Plenty?’ said Thea, not sure about what he meant. ‘Of the protea? At Knatchbull’s?’
‘Absolutely,’ said Crumpacker. ‘Tens of them in the stove waiting to go out for the summer.’
‘Oh,’ said Thea, her heart dropping. She glanced up at Martha and knew she could see her own disappointment reflected on her face. ‘I suppose that’s it then.’ If Knatchbull had germinated the protea, he would have the plants to the queen before the year was out. And she would, yet again, be left behind, and seen as the woman that did not achieve.
‘The king protea?’ Martha asked Crumpacker, sitting forwards. ‘Protea cynaroides?’
Crumpacker’s eyes flicked to her and back to the window. ‘Of course not, nobody can get that from seed. I am talking about theLepidocarpodendrontypes. You really should try to be more specific, Your Grace, when talking about species. It is why the use of Linnaeus’s botanical naming system is so important.’
Thea was beginning to understand why Mrs Jenkins had stormed out of the carriage, and come to think of it, she had been keeping a low profile ever since. Having a lie down, she expected. She opened her mouth to suggest that Crumpacker may like to be more respectful, but Martha held out a hand to stop her.
‘How did thoseGorteriaseeds go?’ she asked, giving Thea anot nowlook.
‘Gorteria?’ asked Crumpacker, dropping the book on his lap and sitting up. ‘You have them here?’
‘Just out in the glasshouse,’ said Thea, ‘by the…’ but she trailed off, as Crumpacker had already left.
‘And you said Frankie has little respect,’ she said, eyeing Martha as she sipped her tea.
‘He has plenty,’ said Martha. ‘His understanding of it simply doesn’t come from rank or status. It comes from earning it, and I find that refreshing.’
‘I did not get the impression that he was looking forward to his time here,’ said Thea. ‘In fact, he practically told me he wouldn’t be impressed with the garden before he saw it.’
Martha put down her cup. ‘Algie approaches every new situation with the expectation that it will be difficult. It is only because he is anxious. Give him a week and he will be waxing lyrical over your plants.’
