chapter 2

Portent

Seldom, very seldom, does complete truth belong to any human disclosure; seldom can it happen that something is not a little disguised, or a little mistaken.

—Jane Austen, Emma

Hearing the door open, Master Gardener Robert Turner looked away from the rake he’d been polishing with a zeal that suggested it was to be used strictly for ceremonial purposes. His mouth formed a scowl that William, frankly, would have been disappointed not to see on the Scotsman’s face. The master gardener reminded William of a man he’d served with.

“You’re here,” Turner said by way of introduction. “On His Grace’s direction, you’ll begin as an apprentice, which I must tell you is unusual enough, seeing as how it passes over laborer duties.” Turner’s eyes went wide and he looked pointedly at William, as if to emphasize the irregularity of such a decision. Turner himself had begun at Chatsworth as a laborer, then moved on to apprentice and assistant gardener before finally managing a staff of over two hundred; his bent posture reflected the many hours he’d spent fussing over the extensive gardens.

“But I do suppose you are a bit older, having served our country. And you do have a wee one to feed.” Here Turner’s grimace deepened, which he may have intended to be a grin.

“Any questions you have, don’t be afraid to ask. Remember,” the master gardener added tersely, “there are no stupid questions, only the fools who don’t ask them. If I’m not available, as I often am not, then ask the assistant gardener, Ben Hudson. Ben’s wife is a cook, so he’s used to doing what he’s told. Ha!”

William flinched at the sound of Turner’s laugh, which erupted from the man like a musket shot. After both men had recovered from the gaiety, the old Scotsman continued, “One last thing—be careful who you trust.”

Unsure how to respond to such a comment, William simply nodded. Turner paused, seemingly dissatisfied with his new apprentice’s reaction, until finally the codger waved his hand, dismissing the former soldier and himself in the same stroke. “Attend to your duties, Apprentice Gunn.”

But Robert Turner’s gaze followed the young man as he went outside toward the apprentice’s shed; then, with a shake of his head and a heavy sigh, the old Scotsman returned to his tools.

William did his best to put aside his doubts as to why the duke had hired him and focused instead on learning all he could about his new position. He was delighted when he was assigned a small home not far from the Hudsons’ cottage. The former British officer worked stubbornly to acquire the practical experience he had missed while away at war; William promised himself he would never accept as a given his employment on the estate. He was fortunate to have Ben Hudson, the assistant gardener, for a mentor. Being the father of two young girls, Ben felt kindly toward William, and helped him at every opportunity. Luckily, William found gardening to be something he had a knack for. The work relaxed him, producing a peacefulness he hadn’t realized was possible.

William kept Sarah nearby, asking her to never stray too far from where her father worked. Ben told his new charge there were few dangers lurking about the grounds at Chatsworth that a child could fall prey to; William just smiled, and politely but firmly said that he would prefer it if his daughter stayed close, if it was all the same. Ben left it there. William would find someone soon, Ben reasoned, a woman who could be a mother to Sarah. That would settle him.

Ben’s youngest daughter, Grace, was overjoyed to have a little girl her own age join the house. They immediately became fast friends, gathering stalks of grass together into small bunches and using them like brooms, playing “kitchen maid” while Mrs. Hudson’s eldest daughter, Annie, kept an eye on them. Mrs. Hudson often watched the girls play when she wasn’t busy in the kitchen.

One day, Ben was showing William how to trim the hedges on the side of the house near the servants’ entrance. William noticed that Annie had ushered the children away from where the gardeners were working. “Why doesn’t Annie let the girls play closer to us?”

Ben started to explain, when the sound of a horse in full gallop cut him short. Leaning forward in his saddle, the rider tore up the drive, urging his mount on faster with his heels. The horse’s nostrils flared, mouth frothing from exertion. He pulled up short at the main entrance, scattering gravel, and jumped to the ground. A groom seized the reins and held the lathered animal, allowing the rider to rush into the house.

“That’s why, lad, it’s best to keep the children back a ways. That sight isn’t uncommon around here.” He held up his hand. “The duke gets a lot of visitors, and it’s best not to ask any questions.”

A few weeks passed, and with each day William grew more confident and capable. He was helping to fix a fence gate near the big house when a fine carriage arrived that caught his eye. Usually Smythe would ensure that the servants were arrayed in a perfect line to greet arriving aristocrats, but this time there was just the head butler.

A slim young gentleman with a high forehead stepped out of the carriage. He paused to adjust his spectacles before proceeding into the house.

“His Lordship, the Viscount Palmerston,” Ben remarked, noticing that his apprentice had put down his shovel as his attention drifted to the new arrival, “that’s who that is. Big man in the government, so I’ve heard. Comes by to see the duke quite often. In fact”—Ben winked—“the missus says he comes to Chatsworth more often than most of His Grace’s lady friends. Old childhood chums, I believe.” The assistant gardener let out a deep breath. “Still, a bit strange. But then again,” he said with a smile, “no one’s paying me to think, are they?”

But perhaps the most peculiar visitor was a rather striking caller who arrived at the estate on a late-June afternoon. For several long moments the silver-haired gentleman with a dark beard had scrutinized Sarah as she played nearby before continuing on his way, careful not to be seen by anyone outside the staff. He hadn’t noticed William working in a nearby flower bed.

The other servants deflected any questions William posed concerning the mysterious gentleman or the duke himself.

William waited for that fateful day when the duke would summon him and reveal the real reason he had been hired at Chatsworth. But his employer remained aloof, and William’s time in the gardens became more demanding as the days grew longer and the estate moved deeper into summer. Soon his anxiety faded and William relaxed, settling into the rhythms of life on the estate, with its little dramas among the staff. There was the budding romance between a groomsman and a scullery maid; the latest trouble with Porter, the blacksmith, and his horrid wife, who were forever loafing or cheating the rest of the staff. William stopped waiting for the other shoe to drop.

On a quiet summer evening, when the duke had left the estate on one of his frequent absences, Mrs. Hudson was able to join Ben and William outside. They watched the girls play and waved good night to some of the younger staff who were walking into town for a dance. The sun had gone down, but the sky was still illuminated, producing that golden hour which can make the English countryside look like the Mediterranean. Ben and his wife shared a pot of tea while William stared at the beauty that surrounded them. He wondered how it was possible that he could feel so lucky and unlucky at the same time and if everyone felt that way.

Mrs. Hudson glanced at her husband. Taking his cue, Ben coughed and interrupted his apprentice’s reverie. “What’s your story, soldier? How did you make your way here to Chatsworth?”

“Fraud.” William smiled. Somehow, everyone on the estate had already deduced that he had served in the war. He’d attributed that to his being a youngish chap who stood over six feet tall and was both lean and muscular. He was less aware of his bearing, how he moved with the self-assurance and loose grace of a professional soldier, not usual in others his age. William had avoided discussing his time on the Peninsula with anyone; besides, he wasn’t much of a storyteller.

“What I mean to say is, how did you catch the duke’s eye?”

William shrugged. “I was an aide to the Duke of Wellington; he commended me for my service at Waterloo. I took advantage of his favor and petitioned him for a position outside the service. He must be well acquainted with the Duke of Devonshire, for it wasn’t long after when I received my summons to Chatsworth.”

Mr. and Mrs. Hudson shared a look. “I suppose we owe you a great debt. If not for you, our Annie would be speaking French.”

Sarah had approached while they were talking and wordlessly put herself in her father’s arms, letting him hold her. He’d hoped the fresh air at Chatsworth would do her good, but she still tired easily.

William spoke, “I followed my orders and trusted the men above me to make them right. I know my place—whatever is owed, is entirely on my side.”

These words seemed to agree with Ben down to his core. He nodded and said, “If you work hard and put your faith in those above you, the good Lord will make sure it all works out in the end.”

Mrs. Hudson said nothing.

Sarah turned her face into her father’s shirt and coughed. “My head hurts,” she said. The coughs deepened, becoming ragged. Suddenly William felt as if the blood had left him; he jumped to his feet, still holding Sarah in his arms.

Ben asked, “Did she swallow an insect?”

“It’s not that.” William’s face was distraught as he studied his daughter. Sarah’s lips turned blue as she struggled for breath, deep hacking coughs shook her entire body.

“What is it?” Mrs. Hudson stood to get a better look at the child’s condition. “Let me feel her forehead.”

Mrs. Hudson furrowed her brow. “She has a fever. I’ve never seen a fever come on that fast.”

“I have.” William was grim. “It was the same that took the life of her mother, eight months ago.”

His wife, Miriam, had not been the only one to become ill. Sarah, too, had been afflicted by the same sickness, but Sarah had managed to pull through, though her battle had left her in a severely weakened state.

She would have wilted had they remained in the flat in London. William was certain. This desperate knowledge had driven him to beg his former commanding officer for help and seize whatever opportunity the great man could provide. William had hoped their move to Chatsworth would grant Sarah the chance to recover. It had appeared to work—until now.

Putting these thoughts aside, William threw himself into caring for his daughter. He moved Sarah’s bed into his room and tried to keep her comfortable.

But despite everything he did, Sarah continued to decline. Several days into her fever, William heard a knock on the door. Opening it, he was greeted by a gust of wind-driven rain. Framed in the doorway was the mysterious silver-haired gentleman whom William had caught staring at Sarah on his way into Chatsworth. Now he stood facing William, water cascading freely down his dark beard in the torrent.

“William Gunn?” the man asked, peering into William’s home.

William hesitated, unwilling to let this stranger in.

The man held up his large black bag. “I’m Dr. Ferguson. I was sent by His Grace to attend to your daughter.”