The Secret of Hollyfield House, Jude Bayton [books for 20 year olds txt] 📗

is in poor taste assaulting Jillian by asking unpleasant questions about an experience I am sure she would rather forget.” She rose abruptly from her chair. “Come. We ladies shall excuse ourselves to the parlour for coffee.” Marabelle and I instantly got to our feet and followed our hostess out of the room, leaving the men to their port and cigars.

The drawing room was a welcome reprieve from the topic of conversation at the table. I took a seat on the now familiar red sofa while the two ladies sat across from me. As before, Marik appeared like a genie and placed a small coffee tray on an ornate ivory inlaid table next to Marabelle.

With her face all seriousness, Marabelle poured the coffee. As we sipped the delectable brew, she spoke for the third time since we had sat down to dinner.

“Do you share your uncle’s interest in plant life, Miss Farraday?” Her deep voice was not warm, and her expression devoid of character.

“Unfortunately, no.” I smiled, though I still smarted from her earlier comments. “As much as I like flowers and vegetable gardens, his obsession with mosses and lichens is beyond my scope.”

“I cannot think of anything more boring,” Evergreen commented. “They all look much the same to me, except I rather like lavender. It is so fragrant and makes such a nice adornment for my hats.” Her pretty blue eyes were guileless and naïve, yet I was not so foolish to believe the girl silly. She was toying with us.

“Marabelle thinks me frivolous with my propensity for gowns and trinkets,” she continued. “It goes against her strict Catholic upbringing to wear gaudy costumes.” She gave an unkind giggle, and I did not look at Miss Pike. Unlike her, I derived no pleasure from another’s discomfort.

“Indeed,” Evergreen continued. “My dear cousin believes my soul eternally damned for brushing a little rouge on my cheeks and lips, not to mention a dab of cologne.”

Miss Pike set her demitasse in its saucer with a distinctive chink. She got to her feet. Ignoring her cousin, she looked at me directly. “Please excuse me. There is a matter I must attend to with Cook, lest I forget.” With that, she hastened out of the parlour.

“Thank goodness,” Evergreen sighed. “I am sorry she picked on you at dinner. Marabelle is such a misery-guts. Truly, I do not understand why Father allows her to stay. She is always so down in the mouth. Can you believe the woman is but twenty-eight, Jillian? I think she was born forty years old.” She laughed at that, and my fine opinion of her lost some of its shine at her capacity to be unkind.

She continued to chatter about inconsequential subjects until the adjoining door to the dining room opened and Peregrine entered the room with my uncle in tow.

“Ladies, I beseech you to dazzle me with vocal frippery, for I have spent enough time hearing about the complexities of horticulture. My brain is exhausted.” He turned to my uncle, who took a seat next to me on the sofa. “Sir, I am drunk on knowledge.”

Everyone laughed, and it did my heart good to see Uncle Jasper having such a pleasant time of it.

“Jilly,” he beamed. “What do you think? Peregrine has agreed to my taking a specimen of his Lycopodium annotinum. It will be a wonderful addition to the collection.”

I gave a grateful nod to my host even though I had no clue what Uncle Jasper was talking about. “Mr LaVelle, it is most kind of you. My uncle will be forever in your debt.”

“Happy to help the cause.” Peregrine grinned and sat in the chair vacated by Miss Pike. “Professor, feel free to wander and collect to your heart’s content. I’ll let Billy know so he won’t run you off if he sees you in the gardens.”

“Is that young Billy Wolfe you speak of?” My uncle asked, and I found myself suddenly most attentive at the mention of the familiar surname. Surely this must be the Billy related to Dominic Wolfe, the young man I had met at the post office.

“The same,” Peregrine answered. “He took over responsibility of the gardens when his father died. Very good with the plants I’m told—has a knack for making things grow. I’ll have a word with him in the morning.”

“Is Billy related to Dominic Wolfe?” I enquired, quelling the curiosity in my voice, and wondering why I felt such a sudden interest in the Wolfe family.

“Yes.” This time it was Evergreen who answered. “Dominic is the older brother, a wonderful artist. Father commissioned him to paint his portrait years ago when Dom was a student at the London College of Art.” Her eyes sparkled. “He’s rather dashing. Artists are so romantic.”

“Oh, please, must you?” Peregrine rolled his eyes at his sister. “Dominic Wolfe is a fine fellow, indeed. I have a great deal of respect for the man with the sacrifices he’s had to make.”

I was intrigued. And when my uncle agreed with the statement, I was eager to know of what they spoke. “What has Mr Wolfe sacrificed?”

“His potential career as an artist in London,” Peregrine replied. “The man was under the tutelage of the great John Everett Millais himself. Gave it all up when his parents died of scarlet fever a few years ago, and he came back to Ambleside to run the family farm. Now all the man gets to paint are postcards which are sold to tourists.”

I remembered the beautiful little paintings I had admired. A variety of thoughts crossed my mind at this information. Several questions presented themselves, and I asked the first which bubbled to the top.

“Could Billy Wolfe not take care of the farm without his brother?” This seemed logical to me, especially if he had a way with making things grow.

Evergreen laughed, and it sounded like a little bell. “Goodness no. Billy might be good with plants, but he can barely hold a conversation or do up his own buttons. The boy