The Rose Garden

And I felt sure that she did.

Coming out of the churchyard, I stood for a moment, trying to decide whether I should take the more scenic path through the newly made car park and down to the house through the gardens from there, or walk back the way I had come, by the road. I chose the road because it had more shade, and started walking down again beneath the arching trees.

The day was going to be a warm one. Even the birds seemed to sense it and sang their songs lazily, saving their energy. Now and then something unseen, some small animal, rustled in the green and grassy banks along the roadside and fell silent. Everything seemed to be slumbering, and there were no dogs today bouncing out from the drive of Trelowarth to welcome me home.

The dogs were likely out wherever Mark was in the gardens. But the silence of the house did strike me odd.

And something else was wrong, as well. I couldn’t put my finger on it, to begin with, and then all at once I realised I was walking on hard ground and not on gravel, as I should have been. I’d missed the sound of crunching steps, the shifting feeling underfoot. And even as that struck me, I heard someone coming whistling out the front door of the house.

It was the same tune that Jack Butler had been whistling on the morning when I’d heard him coming up the stairs, just after he’d climbed in the kitchen window. The same morning he had found me in his brother’s bed. And if I had surprised him then, the jeans and T-shirt I was wearing now would raise his eyebrows even more.

I looked for somewhere I could hide myself, and quickly.

The trees by the roadside were too far away to make a run for them. I hugged the shadow of the house and moved towards the back.

Then, with relief, I heard another voice I recognised. And laughter. Daniel, I thought. Daniel out with Fergal, in the back. They’d get me safely in the house, before Jack saw me.

Moving faster now and with less care, I came around the corner.

Daniel, standing at the far edge of the yard, glanced up and saw me as I stepped from shadow into sunlight. But he didn’t smile or nod or show in any way that he’d acknowledged my arrival. He was careful not to. And I saw at once the reason why.

The man who stood before him wasn’t Fergal.

CHAPTER TWENTY

It was not the best of places I could be. I couldn’t duck back around to the side of the house because at any minute Jack could come round that way himself and find me there. And there was no place in the yard for me to hide. I could do little more than freeze there, like some creature who’d been flushed out in the open and had caught sight of the hunter.

Daniel shifted his position very casually, to draw the man in front of him a little further round. I recognised Mr Wilson from his clothes, the long coat of elegant dark-green brocade, the high-cut black boots, and the white wig beneath the wide brim of his hat.

And then Daniel looked straight at me over the other man’s shoulder, the briefest of looks, and with a quick darting glance and a tilt of his head made it clear I should run for the stables.

I did. How I made it across that wide yard without losing my footing or making a noise I would never remember. I didn’t risk looking behind me, not even when I’d reached the stables themselves and the relative safety of their shadowed stalls smelling thickly of hay. One or two of the horses looked over the boards at me, but it seemed they’d seen more interesting sights than myself in their time and they looked away, unimpressed. Scooting past all of them, I found a stall at the end that was empty and, slipping in, pressed myself close to the rough wooden wall as the after-effects of adrenaline set my legs trembling.

I had no idea how long I had been there before I heard Daniel come in, heard his boots on the floorboards and then his voice saying, ‘’Tis no trouble.’ Then other boots behind his. Mr Wilson had come in as well, protesting, ‘You need not be my groom, Butler. Stand back, man. I’ll do that myself.’

I tried not to breathe. Not that they would have heard me, with all of the noise Mr Wilson was making with saddling his horse.

He said, ‘He will be glad to know that he does have your loyalty.’

‘When will you see him next?’ asked Daniel.

‘Two days hence. I’ll tell him, also, that your ship is his, if he has need of her.’

‘Ay. Tell him he has but to say the word.’

The big horse grunted as the cinch was pulled and buckled, and the jangling of the bridle told me Mr Wilson had the reins in hand.

The men were moving.

Daniel said, ‘If you do chance to meet our constable upon the road, you would do well to sing the praises of King George.’

‘Faith,’ Mr Wilson said, betraying his first flash of humour, ‘if I meet your constable, I’ll call him by his name and say his king sent me here to test the hospitality of those who claim to serve him. I may get myself a meal of it, if nothing else.’

I’d missed the sound of Daniel’s laugh. ‘You may, at that. I’ll see you to the road.’

When they had gone, the quiet settled round the stables once again, with nothing more than the faint snort or shuffle of a horse to break it.

I heard the booted footsteps coming back, alone this time, and let my breath go with relief. My legs still shook and I was trying to convince them it was safe for them to move when all at once the man approaching broke into a careless whistle.

For the second time, I froze in place. It wasn’t Daniel after all, but Jack.

He came into the stable unaware, and clucked a greeting to the horses, who replied with stamping hooves.