Mr. Chandler shook his head. “My father used to help out the elder Reddens quite a bit. They had no sons, and they treated him quite well. We’ve always kept it going, and used what we could out of it.”
“We found one of their books in the attic. They grew some remarkable plants.”
“The soil here is very good,” he said. “My father learned a lot from them.”
“And your father is still living?” she said. They hadn’t seen any indication of the elder Mr. Chandler.
“He is,” Daniel answered. “He’s getting on but still a very active man. He was visiting my daughter up in Avonford. She was married last year, and he misses her. He should be back in a few days. He’d be very happy, I think, to know someone like you was here to tend to it.”
Maddy inexplicably brightened at the thought of meeting the elder Mr. Chandler. Anyone who shared an interest in gardens or books was generally good company, and someone who might have particular knowledge of plants was especially welcome. If he was anywhere near as affable as his son, he should be quite pleasant company. And maybe there was something she could learn she could take back to Everwell.
A pang of something—something so unfamiliar and potentially troublesome that she found herself putting a hand to her chest—distracted her. It wasn’t strong enough to be regret, but rather a sense of missing…but what? Was it Everwell? Of course she missed home, but this was something more. New. It was missing…this.
Maddy straightened, as if the idea was so utterly impossible it threatened to toss her off balance. The Everwell Society saved her. She owed Phillipa, Lady Em, and Tilda her life. She’d always been safe there and kept them safe in return. Whatever this sensation was, she had to rid herself of it.
Before she could contemplate it further, Mr. da Silva approached with Teddy at his side, jumping around with the twitchy energy of a fourteen year old. With his straw hat and simple trousers, white shirt, and vest, Mr. da Silva looked very much like he belonged at The Grove. Like he’d always been a part of it.
“Careful Daniel,” Mr. da Silva called out. “If you touch the plants, she might toss you over her shoulder.”
Maddy smiled in spite of herself, even as a look of curiosity crinkled the skin at the corners of Daniel’s eyes.
“He once plucked a rose from my garden without my permission,” she said to Daniel by way of explanation.
“Which apparently was against the rules. I didn’t know there were rules about gardens,” Mr. da Silva said. He cocked an eyebrow, that familiar sly grin coming back that Maddy was coming to adore. Well, not adore. Adore would suggest she liked him. But she did like that smile. She liked it a lot.
“There are rules about touching people’s things without permission,” Maddy said, quietly ignoring the fact that she had in fact broken that rule herself more times than she cared to admit. But only books. Books that were unloved and unappreciated. “And there are many, many rules about gardens.”
Mr. da Silva was looking at her again in that way of his, like he was smiling at her, and yet there was something deeper under his shiny smile. A wanting. It couldn’t be possible, or course.
“We should get moving,” Mr. Chandler said, “if you want to get a head start on your pergola. We’ll be the rest of the morning to get to the mill and back. We can probably get started on it this afternoon.”
“You’re not going,” Maddy said, crossing her arms. “We discussed this. Daniel was going to fetch the wood.”
“My dear Miss Murray, you will find I am a stubborn man as well as a selfish one,” he replied. “I’m going with him.”
“Fine,” Maddy said, shaking her head. “I’m coming.”
* * *
Despite Madeline Murray’s fears, the trip to the nearby mill in St. Croix proved uneventful. Even with the danger of rutted roads from the wet weather, the Chandler’s sturdy cart and sure-footed horses made good time. And if anyone recognized Beau from a public notice, there was no evidence of suspicion. Indeed, one of the men assumed he was a relation of Daniel’s, and Beau decided to allow that impression to remain. Better to be known as a distant cousin of a local farmer than an absent landowner who also happened to be wanted for the murder of his father. For her part, Miss Murray watched from her perch in the carriage, studying every face with the same appraising look he’d imagined a lioness might give to any intruders threatening her brood.
“We should take the opportunity to check the telegraph office,” Beau said, after the wood was loaded. “We already have the horses out, and it would spare us the extra trip. The messages are all going to be addressed to the Chandlers, so no one would be the wiser. Would it be worth the risk, do you think? After all, we might get good news, and you can be back to Everwell sooner.”
Miss Murray blinked, staring at Beau as if he had sprouted an extra head, neither of which contained a lick of sense.
“It’s too risky,” she said, looking between Daniel and Beau. “If you get spotted in his wagon, they may not come for you in the middle of town, but they’ll know exactly where to find you. And if they’re motivated enough to come looking for you, they might not give a care who gets in their way.”
Damn this woman and her good sense. Beau glanced over at Daniel. The very last thing he wanted to do is bring the Chandlers into his mess any more than was necessary.
“What if I ask about a canvas tarp?” Daniel offered. “I saw a few lying around the mill. They might be willing to part with one, and you could settle underneath it. Between that and the lumber, no one should think twice about it.”
“Are you certain?” Beau asked.
Daniel pursed his lips slightly and shrugged. “I think it would work.”
Both men looked to Miss Murray, who crossed her arms and surveyed the wagon.
“Let’s give it a try.”
