Page 22 of A Fearless Heart
Gabe hurried to do the task. He wanted her to trust him, and he was very curious about what this cart contained. Could it actually be something as straightforward and harmless as roses? Or perhaps some rare and mysterious tropical plant helpfully labeledpoisonous? He could only hope.
But once he got to the cart, he was nearly knocked down by the intense, all-encompassing aroma of rose. The cart was loaded with huge baskets all leeching the cloying, sickly sweet odor. He steered the cart to the stillroom, and lifted the first two baskets (they weighed practically nothing) and walked briskly to the stillroom door. He dropped the baskets and returned to get the next.
Oh God, now he stank of rose. He always considered it a pleasant scent…now he was rethinking it. Gabe moved quickly, unloading the baskets so he could then poke around in this stillroom without being observed. Because this shed wasn’t behind multiple walls and gates, he assumed there wasn’t anything of particular interest here. But he might get a hint of what was going on at Calderwood.
The distilling apparatus appeared normal enough. Gabe had seen similar for whisky up in Scotland, and brandy over in France. Glass tubes and big barrels filled a large part of the shed. But on one wall there was a cabinet. It was locked, but the lock was a simple one and he had it open seconds later.
He opened it and peered in, finding a treasure trove. Dozens and dozens of bottles and jars and little crocks were packed in there. All were labeled in a fine, educated, feminine hand. He picked up one bottle, reading out: “Distillation of Rosa Gallica, 12 September 1810.” Another glass jar held a grainy substance: “Powdered willow bark, 16 November 1810.” A tiny, slender bottle was labeled: “Tincture of Papaver Somniferum, 30 June 1810.” Evidently, these were ingredients that Arcadia made from plants grown here at Calderwood.
Hearing footsteps, Gabe closed the cabinet, snapped the lock back on, and stepped away, bending down to the last basket of rose petals as if he’d just put it down.
When he looked over to the door of the stillroom, however, it wasn’t Arcadia who came to see him. It was Mr Addison.
“Just got the last basket, sir,” Gabe said, using his most servile tone. “That cart can go now.”
“Glad to hear it,” Mr Addison responded, looking around the stillroom almost absently. “Quite an unusual place this is.”
“The stillroom?” Gabe asked cautiously, not sure where Addison was leading him with that question, but very sure the man wanted to tell him something. “Don’t most estates have such things?”
“Ah, but for very dull reasons. Making spirits to drink, or possibly to preserve some fruits or herbs. Lady Arcadia uses her stillroom for a much higher purpose.”
“There’s more than one.”
“Oh, yes. This is for ordinary crops. She has a smaller one in her private garden for more specialized tasks.” Addison seemed to enjoy his greater knowledge of Arcadia’s activities. “You know she is responsible for a good number of the medicines and remedies in the county?”
“I didn’t, sir.”
“She cultivates exotics so rare that the medicine made out of their parts seems like magic. And magic can be feared as well as desired.”
“How so? Nothing she makes is venomous, is it?”
Addison raised a finger to stop him. “No, no. That is wrong. Snakes and spiders are venomous. Venom is delivered via a bite or injection of some type. Poisons work though contact…whether by touch, or being eaten or drunk. It’s very sloppy to use words imprecisely.”
“Forgive me, sir. What I meant was, does she grow poisonous plants?”
“Indeed she does, and guards them well lest some fool stumbles over them and hurts someone. A fool from London, for example.” Addison leaned forward, blocking the stillroom door. “From what Lady Arcadia said earlier, you’ve only just come to Kent.”
“Yes, sir.”
“Do much gardening before this?”
“No, sir. I was in the army. Not much call for gardening there.”
“I suppose the only thing the army uses shovels for is graves.”
Gabe only nodded, not liking the grim image, or the memories it stirred up.
“How did you hear about the position again?” Addison asked with more than casual interest.
He shrugged. “Newspaper? Don’t remember which one.”
“And you came all the way from London to be a gardener, despite having no qualifications or knowledge of the work.”
“Her ladyship’s given me two weeks to prove I’m useful.”
Addison crossed his arms. Though shorter and smaller than Gabe, he didn’t seem at all concerned—as the richer, higher-born man, he knew he’d be given every benefit of every doubt, while Gabe would be given nothing at all. “How exactly do you expect to prove useful to her?”
Gabe frowned. “By…gardening? It’s a big place. She can’t do half of what needs doing. Hell, a dozen men couldn’t keep all the grounds under control. Don’t know what you want to hear.”
