Ashworth Hall - Anne Perry [78]
She straightened herself a little more, held her chin high, and almost unconsciously swayed her hips a trifle. She must attract his attention without seeming to wish to. She was not very good at playing games; she did not have sufficient practice. She had noticed how skilled the other ladies’ maids were. They could flirt so well it came to them like nature. But then they had nothing of real seriousness to do. They couldn’t solve a crime if the answer were under their noses. Lot of silly little creatures, sometimes, giggling at nothing.
She was level with Finn Hennessey. She would have to walk past him and say nothing. She ached inside with the frustration of it, but she would not let herself down by playing games any child could see through.
The cat leaped from the tree, an arc of some ten feet. Its claws scraped the bark, sliding another two feet, but it eventually held fast, and it scrambled onto the branch just as the bird flew away.
“Oh!” she gasped involuntarily, afraid it would fall.
Finn swung around. His face lit up with a smile.
“Hello, Gracie Phipps. Looking for herbs, are you?”
“No, Mr. Hennessey, I came for some flowers. The ones we got are lookin’ faded so I put ’em out. I don’ mind what I get, so long as it’s fresh. Sooner ’ave leaves than flowers what’s droopin’.”
“I’ll carry them for you,” he offered, moving over to walk beside her.
She laughed. “I’m only gettin’ a few. Gardener said I could ’ave a dozen out o’ the cold ’ouse. But you can carry ’em for me if you like.”
“I’d like,” he accepted, smiling back.
They walked side by side along the path, through the gate and the high box hedge, and on towards the cold greenhouses, the gray light reflecting on the glass panes irregularly as it caught them at different angles. The earth was dark and wet, well-manured and ready for planting in the spring. There were cobwebs gleaming in the clipped branches of the hedge, and a gardener’s boy was cutting the dead stalks of perennials and putting them into a barrow about twenty yards away. It was chilly, and she was glad not only of the smartness of the coat but of its warmth.
“Smells like winter coming,” Finn said with pleasure. “Wood fires, that’s something I love, bonfires with old leaves on, and blue smoke in the frosty air, crackle of twigs, breathe out and it hangs white in front of you.” He looked sideways at her, keeping step exactly. “How ’bout an early morning, when the sky’s all pale blue and the light’s as clear as the beginning o’ the world, red berries in the hedge, air so crisp it prickles in your nose, tangle of bare branches against the light, and time to walk as long as you like?”
“You ’ave some wonderful dreams,” she said hesitantly. She loved the way he spoke, not only the wild things he said but the soft lilt of his voice, foreign and full of music. But she did not begin to understand him.
“That’s the things we can have for nothing, Gracie, and if you fight hard enough, no one can take from you. But you have to fight, and you have to hand them on, to your children and your children’s children. That’s the way we survive. Never forget that. Knowing your dreams is knowing who you are.”
She said nothing, just walked beside him, happy that he was there.
They reached the greenhouse and he opened the door for her. It was surprisingly easy to behave like a lady when she was with him, to accept such courtesies.
“Thank you.” She went through and stopped in wonder at the rows of flowers all in pots on benches. The colors were vivid, like hundreds of silks. She did not know the names of them, except the chrysanthemums