Page 10 of A Fearless Heart
When Gabe returned to thekitchen, all evidence of the servants’ meal was cleaned up, the long table spotless. He glanced over at the scullery, and saw that Martha and Cook were hard at work near the big basin, which was full of sudsy water.
He put a general question out if he could help with anything else. Mr Rundle told him that it would be a great help if he could walk to the front gate and ensure it was closed for the night.
Gabe nodded at the order, guessing it was a way to get him out of the house for a bit. This small band of servants were very clannish. Despite his efforts to ingratiate himself, he’d sensed that they didn’t trust him. Maybe they didn’t trust anyone who hadn’t worked there under the late Lord Calder, who seemed to have a grip on people from beyond the grave.
Heading outside, Gabe made quick work of the errand, running rather than strolling down the long drive to the gate, a massive thing that looked like a medieval portcullis, except that it split vertically down the middle to allow both sides to swing open. Gabe took hold of one of the heavy iron sides and pushed it forward, rewarded with a screeching noise so loud it could wake the dead.
A horse whinnied on the road, startled by the sound.
Gabe called out an apology to the rider.
The rider was a heavy-set man who looked to be about fifty. By the quality of his clothes, he was either a merchant in the village or perhaps a gentleman farmer.
“Who’re you?” the stranger asked, obviously surprised by a new face. How nosywasthis village? “Work here?”
“I’m a gardener,” Gabe replied, to keep him talking. “Just started this week.”
“From the city, are you? Well, then, you don’t know any better.”
“Any better than what?”
“Get out now. Leave Calderwood and work somewhere else. Anywhere else.” The man’s tone was kind, even though the warning was dire.
“I can’t do that,” Gabe said with perfect honesty.
“Then you’ll come to regret it, my good man. Calderwood is a deadly place.”
“Just because the old master died?” Gabe put puzzlement and even a little stupidity in his voice.
“Notjustthe old master,” the man said with emphasis. “The old mistress too, years before, bless her heart. And the son—no one’s seen him in years, so how do we know he’s alive at all? Now it’s only the daughter’s left, with her potions and whatnot.”
That was the first Gabe heard about potions.
“I’m not one to gossip,” the man said, apparently believing the words he spoke. “Listen here, though. Don’t eat or drink anything in that house, and flee back to London quick as you can.”
The man rode off before Gabe could question him further.Potions?Had that man just accused Lady Arcadia of killing her entire family over the course of years? What the hell was he getting into?
Gabe finished shutting the gate, pulling the thick chain tight around the bars. He wondered if the gate was meant to keep people out…or in.
Back in the kitchen, the staff had completed all the other work. Even the wash basin was empty and shining. Gabe looked over the small crew of loyal servants. Would they stay on if they thought their employer was a killer?
“Gate’s closed and chained,” Gabe informed the butler.
“Good. Don’t like the notion of anyone wandering onto the grounds.”
“That happen often?”
“Just local children playing pranks,” Cook said hastily. “Boys will be boys.”
“That’s quite enough chatter,” Rundle said. “It’s late. You’d best get off to bed.”
“Aye, sir.” Gabe ducked his head and resumed the pose of the humble gardener.
After waiting an hour or so to let the others find their beds and fall asleep, Gabe went back outside. Earlier that day, he had secured the longest ladder he could find and carried it toward the walls of the locked gardens, hiding it from the view of the house behind a long hedge of boxwood. He had severe doubts about its ability to hold his weight, though. It had been stored in a disused shed, possibly not used since the restoration of the monarchy.
The grounds were deserted when he left his warm bed and snuck outside into the gloom, making his way toward the ladder’s hiding place. He propped the ladder up against the wall of the locked garden and climbed gingerly, testing each rung as he went. When he could look over the top of the wall, he reached out and used the ivy to hold himself in place—it felt considerably stronger than the ladder. Then the moon came out, and Gabe beheld a fairy-tale landscape below.
The walled garden was perfectly square, and the plants that grew here were relatively far along thanks to the protection from the weather provided by the wall. White gravel paths intersected at the middle, with an elaborately carved stone sundial as a centerpiece. The moonlight washed away all color, bathing the graceful forms of the plants in an otherworldly glow. Everything looked as if it were coated in silver leaf, or frost, or pure white marble.
