Page 8 of A Fearless Heart
The stillroom was, as the name implied, set up for the distilling of liquor, aqua vitae, and—under Cady’s watchful eye—the essential oils of the many plants in her gardens. Fresh plants were best for eating and for medicines, of course. But plants, once picked, had a distressing habit of not staying fresh. Thus, the determined practitioner needed to find ways to preserve the core parts so that they could be used when needed. Some plants could be dried, hung up in bunches, or with the leaves spread out in the sun. There was the process of cooking plants in oil and wax to emulsify the precious oils in a salve that could last for years. But to really tap the essence of a plant, distillation was key.
Today she had a small amount of jasmine harvested from the conservatory. Cady set up the apparatus, and fired up the little burner below, which would heat the water and create steam. The steam rose up through the plant parts on the tray and took the essence of the plant with it into the next chamber, where the newly infused steam condensed back into water. But the volatile oil of the plants was lighter than water, and thus floated on top, or clung to the glass. Cady carefully skimmed the surface and scraped the glass with a little rubber block, gathering all the precious liquid to store in dark glass bottles, each labeled with the species, the date, and the concentration.
Soon, the issues of the outside world faded, the aroma of jasmine swirled around her, and Cady inhaled deeply, cherishing a rare moment of joy.
But even that joy was fleeting, replaced by the image of the new gardener—foreign, dangerous, unknown. A man who knew nothing about gardens…so what brought him into hers?
Chapter 5
Several days passed since Gabefirst wormed his way into Calderwood. So far, he hadn’t done anything impressive. In fact, he regarded his first (and thus far only) meeting with Lady Arcadia to be a harbinger of things to come…intriguing, but ultimately a dead end. He hoped for some information or hint he could use later, because after nearly a week at Calderwood, he wasn’t any closer to the lady within, or the secrets she kept.
Gabe was still disgusted with himself for failing to take advantage of his arrival. He’d been walking through the gardens as Rundle suggested he do. He’d kept a close eye on the windows of the drawing room of the house, where he heard the lady would be taking tea with her guests.
Then Gabe had turned away from the house for one damn minute, and of course that’s when this woman hurtled into him with the full force of her body. She didn’t even cry out as she fell onto the gravel pathway. Only her ragged breathing revealed that not all was well.
“You all right, miss?” he’d asked, remembering just in time to use the lower-class accent he perfected over his career as an agent.
She gazed up at him, alarm spreading across her features. No, more than alarm. She was terrified. Ofhim?
Gabe knelt down, not wanting to frighten her. He couldn’t risk scaring a lady of the house. He avoided touching the fabric of her skirt—black silk, with a massive floral pattern dancing across it. Her cloak was a very dark brown, and the overall effect was that of a wounded songbird, a thrush shot out of the sky.
“Who are you?” she’d whispered, her face pale amid all the dark fabric.
The butler had run up then, cutting off any chance Gabe had to charm her—at which point he’d learned that this slip of a thing was none other than Lady Arcadia Beatrice Osbourne herself.
He’d helped her up, trying not to show his reaction when the incredibly soft skin of her hands grazed his. Damn, he should have been wearing gloves, if only to avoid exposing her to sandpaper-rough palms. Yes, he’d begun with an accent that sounded nothing like his usual tone. But that was acting. Same for the dyed hair and hasty beard, because it was usually a good idea for a spy to disguise himself a bit. But the ripped skin on his hands and the ache in his back? That was just the result of doing a very grubby job (espionage) in very grubby conditions (politics). Luckily, she must have assumed it was physical labor.
The interview had gone as well as he could have hoped, though he’d had to beg and plead a bit. From his preliminary scouting around the village, Calderwood was in dire need of help, though the villagers were vague about why they wouldn’t work there themselves. It defied all he knew about people’s desire for money.Notwork at the great house where you’d have a position for life? What could be so bad there?
Gabe’s false letters of reference, hastily provided by the Zodiac, seemed to do their job…though he had a nasty moment when he realized that the lady was actually reading their contents, and that she actually seemed to care about his qualifications.
A very subtle hint that he’d be happy to dowhateverthe lady told him went nowhere. A woman of over twenty years, wealthy, and the daughter of a lord…still unmarried? Gabe had looked at those facts and concluded that she’d managed to ruin her reputation. But Lady Arcadia hadn’t seemed to pick up on it. She was either not that perceptive, or she was more innocent than he assumed, even though she was certainly good-looking enough to attract attention.
He snorted at his own bland description. She had a rare beauty. Those solemn brown eyes and the dark, windblown curls surrounding her lovely face, with its prominent cheekbones and her pretty, almost too-ripe mouth…he’d have no difficulty spouting the usual tripe about how she took his breath away.
Whether the figure matched the face, he couldn’t tell yet. It was impossible to know under the loose-fitting, billowy gown and the even more shapeless cloak—which she wore throughout the interview, as though she were the visitor and planned to leave again as soon as her business was done. But she moved with grace. And she was so little, perhaps an inch or two over five feet. He felt like a lumbering giant next to her. No wonder she’d been so apprehensive when she first collided with him.
Apprehensive? No, that wasn’t correct. Gabe was used to assessing people’s attitudes and emotions. And hers were wrong. It would be normal for a woman to be startled by the appearance of a stranger. Perhaps even nervous.
Arcadia Osbourne wasterrified. At the conclusion of the interview, she’d darted off before he could say anything else. Of course he followed her—at a distance, after pretending to Rundle that he wanted to get the lay of the land—but his pursuit stopped abruptly when he encountered a locked gate. He could see a formal, walled garden through the bars, and beyond, another door in the far wall. But when he paced the perimeter of the garden, he found only more walls, constructed of unforgiving sandstone blocks that brooked no resistance. He frowned as he looked up at the surprisingly high wall. Ivy grew thick over the very top, and he could see the tops of a few narrow trees within.
He could get a ladder and climb up to peek over, but not until nighttime. Until then, he had to play his part. He returned to the house, but his mind was full of the young lady who’d slammed into him and then just as quickly fled.
Unfortunately, Gabe’s choice of cover meant that he had little reason to be in contact with the lady of the house. For days, he received instructions from Rundle (who clearly was just listing off what the mysterious lady told him). His tasks were all simple. Not pointless though—clearly Calderwood’s grounds had been neglected over the past year or so. Gabe didn’t mind hard work. He dug holes, moved piles of earth and stones, directed the estate’s goats and sheep to the appropriate areas to crop the grass, and pulled hardy, tough weeds from the white gravel drive that led to the house.
The next day, Rundle also gave him a short accounting of how fine a job he was doing.
“Good work on digging the holes for the poplar avenue. Remember to not harm the moss on the north walk—there was a scrape from the wheelbarrow yesterday. Excellent job on weeding the drive. You’ve proven you have the wherewithal to weed the vegetable gardens as well now.”
All these observations meant that Lady Arcadia was watching somehow. But he heard from the other staff that she rarely left the house except to go to the gardens, and since he never saw her, that meant she had to be flitting about at night, or when his back was turned.
Gabe did not like being outspied, and Arcadia’s knowledge of his work implied that she might be sneakier than he was…and that she had a reason to be so stealthy.
Patience, he reminded himself. Gabe always considered himself a patient man. Much of his work with the Zodiac featured long stretches of nothing happening, followed by a few frantic hours of action, often ending with a death or two.
Weeding just wasn’t the same, though there was something strangely satisfying about seeing the tangible results of his work. Before: the beds choked with random plants and decaying vegetation. After: a tidy arrangement of what was intended to be there, set against the dark, rich earth. It was, in a way, a little like investigation work. Pull away the unnecessary dross hiding the important facts, and then you see the whole picture clearly.
Lord, was he comparing gardening to spying? He must need a break.
