“Ever well, thank you. I hired two of the townsmen. One is proving skilled at repairs. The other was a batman in the army, and has begun organizing the household and serving as valet.”
“That must be Harold. He is an honest man.”
“As are many of Langdon End’s residents, I am learning. I now have three more chairs and two tables. They appeared outside the door yesterday morning, along with a basket of cutlery and several copper pails. I have you to thank for that, I believe.”
“I am relieved to hear some of the borrowed items were returned. I think more will be. Then you will not have to furnish the house completely.”
Rebecca’s big eyes turned on her at mention of borrowed items. Eva ignored her.
“I welcome that. Mr. Trevor visited and drew up a list of major repairs. Today I rode the property, to see what was what there.”
“If you have been riding long, you must need refreshment. I can only offer water, but it is from a good spring.” She stood. “I will go and bring some for you.”
He was on his feet as soon as she. “Allow me. The day is fair. Do you have a garden?”
“Yes, a very nice one.”
As he turned to walk around the table, Mr. Fitzallen saw the paint box. His gaze went to the walls, and two of her paintings that decorated them. He paced over to one, casting a distressingly interested glance at the shrouded canvas on the easel. He squinted at the landscape on the wall.
“Which of you is the artist?”
“I dabble,” Eva said. “They are just an amateur’s whimsy.” No one ever bought her own paintings. Several had been in Mr. Stevenson’s shop for years.
“A very good amateur,” he said.
“How kind. Thank you.” Eva led the way toward the back of the house. “Come along, Rebecca.”
“Do you mind if I do not?” Rebecca responded. “I will read my book here, if it will not be thought rude.”
“You have been reading for hours,” Eva said pointedly, locking her gaze on her sister’s. “The day is fair and fresh air will do you good.”
“Too fair, I fear,” Rebecca said, all innocence. Her big eyes kept shifting subtly to Gareth, and she barely kept a smile from breaking. “This wool I am wearing will be uncomfortable.”
“For your health’s sake, I must insist that you—” Eva broke off. Rebecca had looked in Gareth’s direction with something akin to alarm.
Eva looked over to see Gareth’s fingers reaching toward the edge of the cloth covering the borrowed painting.
“Mr. Fitzallen, let us leave and enjoy the garden even if my sister will not,” Eva hastened to say.
The fingers halted their path. Mr. Fitzallen agreeably followed her toward the back of the house.
She brought her guest out to the garden, then returned to the kitchen to fetch a crockery tumbler. By the time she returned, Mr. Fitzallen was carrying a pail of water up the path from the springhouse.
There were only benches back here. She sat on one with him, and he dipped the tumbler into the cold water. The breeze blew cool but the sun shone warmly. Tiny leaves speckled the branches of trees and shrubbery, and the tips of plants poked up from the earth.
“It is a very nice garden. Your gardener maintains it very well.”
“I am the gardener. I have found that I enjoy growing things, and moving plants and such. Rather like painting, since it is all about color and light and forms.”
“Have you been the gardener since your brother became ill?”
“You were told about him? I suppose there is little privacy in a town like ours. I was ignorant of my family’s finances until he came home with that pistol ball in his side. His infirmity meant I became aware of how dire our situation had become. I let the servants go at once. So, yes, I have been the gardener since then.”
“Yet you discovered a new joy, so you triumphed over adversity.”
“Yes. I am proud of this garden. It is my creation now. I like that.”
She also liked saying that out loud. There were those who pitied her and Rebecca, as if all that mattered were money. Mr. Fitzallen did not seem to, and that impressed her. She experienced a companionable intimacy with the man listening.
