Page 94 of Bane Bloom

“Tea, thank you, Miss Gray.”

“Of course, sir. Would you like to wait for me in the sitting room or dining room?”

“Wherever I might find a fire. I’m afraid my old bones took a chill on the journey from Keswick. And then I rode here directly after checking into the inn. It’s been rather a whirlwind of a journey.”

I winced inwardly. “Thomas usually takes care of the fires, but . . . we’ve been having a warm spell. I’ll step out from the kitchen and ask him to see to it.”

I could see Harding’s disappointment, but he at least seemed to be swallowing my lies. “Very well.”

“The sitting room’s just there,” I said, gesturing to my right. “Make yourself comfortable, sir, and I’ll be with you as quickly as I can.”

I had to force myself not to sprint back to the kitchen. I found Thomas inside, filling the kettle. The stove had begun to knock and creak.

“It’s the curator,” I said in a low voice, “from the Physic Garden in London. I wrote to him about the Bane Bloom—the Elfbloom—before . . . everything. I suspect that’s why he’s come!”

Thomas moved close, so close our bodies were touching, and he raised a hand to my cheek, speaking softly. “Easy, lass. I’ll go and light the fire; you give him tea and find out what he wants.”

I covered his hand with mine and nodded.

He went out, and I heard voices as he greeted Harding. While I waited for the water to boil, I searched the kitchen for something to give the curator with his tea. We still had some of the bread Thomas had brought back from Hamish’s farm, and with no time for cooking, it was the best I could do. I sliced it up and toasted it—burning two pieces in my anxious state—and added it to the tea tray along with some butter and jam. I quickly ate one of the burned pieces while the tea steeped.

Thomas came back in as I was lifting the tray and held open the door for me. I shot him a panicked look, and he planted a kiss on my forehead.

“I’m going out to see to his horse,” he murmured. “Call for me if you need me.”

In other words, I was on my own. In Harding’s eyes, Thomas was no more than a servant.

I carried the tray to the sitting room.

“Here we are, sir.”

Harding was settled into a high-backed armchair before the fire. I placed the tray on a table beside him and poured. Then I filled my own cup, sloshed in some milk, and sat down on the end of the sofa nearest him, stifling a sigh.

“Thank you, Miss Gray.” He raised the cup and sipped.

“I’m sorry that I have nothing more than toast to offer you. A trip to the village for provisions is overdue, and—”

“Not necessary, my dear. I understand that you were not prepared to receive a visitor.”

“Thank you, sir.” As he buttered a piece of toast, I asked, “How was your journey?”

“Deucedly uncomfortable, if you’ll forgive my language, as are all such journeys. But the country is pleasant, and the inn seems it will be comfortable enough.”

“Are you at The Mill?”

He shook his head. “The Fish Inn.”

“Ah, yes.”

I let him be for a while so he could eat, my head filling up with worry. What if he had come about the Bane Bloom? Whatever was I going to say to him?

“If you haven’t yet received my letter,” he said when he’d finished his toast, “you must be wondering why I’ve come.”

I rose and refilled his cup. “I am indeed very curious, sir. You seem to have undertaken this journey with some urgency.”

Harding’s gaze moved around the room. “This is my first visit to Pine Cottage. In fact, no one from the Society had visited here in decades until . . .” He cleared his throat and set down his cup. “Well.”

“Until Mr. Carroll?” I said casually, my boldness taking me by surprise.