Ava had mentioned the week before that she was thinking of starting a small herb garden—something practical, something that grows, and something to do with her hands early in the mornings before the household fully woke.
Esther had appeared at her elbow the next day with a look that meant she had decided she was involved.
They went to the kitchen on a Thursday morning, when the head cook, Mrs. Ross, was in the village and the kitchen belonged to the scullery maids and anyone else who wanted it.
Ava had gathered the herbs from the castle’s existing stores. Some dried, some fresh from the cold frames, and laid them out along the big worktable in the way she liked things, in order.
Esther climbed onto a stool and surveyed the arrangement with the serious, methodical attention she brought to anything she found genuinely interesting.
“There are a lot,” she said.
“There are.” Ava picked up a small bunch of dried thyme and held it out. “What does that smell like?”
Esther leaned forward and sniffed. Thought about it. “Like the soup Uncle Noah likes.”
“Exactly. That’s thyme. It’s good in soups and stews, anything that cooks for a long time, because the longer it cooks, the more flavour it gives.” She set it down and picked up the next. “This one?”
Esther sniffed again. Her nose wrinkled. “That one is strong.”
“Very strong. That’s rosemary. Ye use less of it than ye think ye should, and it’s very good with lamb.” Ava pinched a small piece off and rubbed it between her fingers, releasing the oil. “Smell that.”
“Oh.” Esther’s eyes went slightly wide. “That’s better.”
“The oils are in the leaves. When ye crush them ye let them out.” Ava held her fingers out for Esther to smell. “That’s why ye always bruise herbs before ye add them, it wakes them up.”
Esther considered this with the gravity of someone filing information away. She reached out and pinched a rosemary sprig herself, rubbing it carefully between her small fingers, then held them to her nose.
She smiled, the unguarded kind, the one that had taken months to appear and now came more easily every week.
“What’s that one?” She pointed to the next bundle along.
“Sage. Very good with pork, and also, and this is the important part, very useful for settlin’ a sore stomach. If ye ever feel queasy, a sage tea is better than most things the healer will give ye.”
Ava moved along the row. “And this is lavender, which is nae for cookin’, usually, though ye can use a little in sweets. Mostly it’s for sleepin’. A lavender sachet under yer pillow.”
Esther looked interested. “Does it work?”
“For me it does.” She picked up the lavender and held it out. “What do ye think?”
Esther leaned in, closed her eyes while she smelled it, then opened them. “I think it smells like the linen cupboard.”
“Because Mrs. Murray puts sachets in the linen. She’s done it for years.” Ava set the lavender down. “Now, the ones ye have to be careful with.”
Esther straightened on her stool, which meant she was paying the closest possible attention.
“Everything we’ve smelled so far is safe to eat, in the right amounts. But there are herbs that look similar to safe ones and arenae. So the first rule of any herb garden is: if ye daenae ken it, ye daenae touch it.” Ava held up a finger. “Second rule: if ye’re nae certain, ye ask. There’s nay shame in askin’. The shame would be in nae askin’ and gettin’ it wrong.”
“What happens if ye get it wrong?”
“Depends on the herb. Some will just give ye a sore stomach. Some are considerably worse.”
She picked up a small illustrated page she’d brought from the library, an old herbal, its margins soft with use. “Which is why we have books. Other people have already made the mistakes. We learn from them instead of repeatin’ them.”
Esther looked at the illustration with interest. “Can I borrow that?”
“Ye can keep it. I made a copy of the pages we’ll need.”
Esther took the herbal with both hands and the careful reverence she gave to all books, a habit she’d developed since learning to read, as if each one were something valuable that could be taken away.
