Page 100 of Bane Bloom

“She was, sir,” I said.

“And how came the thing to be on the floor in the sitting room? It was not there before, I’m certain. Might it have slipped from the mantel?”

“Not likely, sir,” said Thomas, “as it is normally kept in my hut.”

“Prudence seems to be lingering about the house,” I said softly.

Harding looked at Thomas. “Is this true?”

“Aye.”

Brows lifting, Harding murmured, “Fairies, ghosts, witches . . .”

I had done some thinking while I was cooking, and there were a few things I wished to say to Mr. Harding. I believed that now, thanks to Prudence’s interference, he might be more open to hearing them.

“Sir,” I began, “if I may speak freely, it seems that you have a choice to make.”

Curator

Harding frowned. “How so, Miss Gray?”

Pushing my plate to one side, I said, “Well, you could return to London and relate your experiences at Pine Cottage to the Society and see what they make of it. You could proceed with your preparations to sell the place, and observe from a safe distance the effects of the Elfbloom—and the house—on its new owners. Though if the property has increased in value, it is due in large part to the time and effort invested by Thomas and his family, and—forgive me, sir—if you are not moved by the threat of fairy vengeance on the new owners, perhaps you will be by the cruelty of selling the house out from under Thomas.”

Harding let out a long breath, and I continued. “Or there may be an option that benefits everyone while harming no one.”

“Let me hear it, then.”

“Carroll was right about one thing—the glasshouse needs an official curator. Someone who can look after the many valuable medicinal plants, maintain the grounds, and ensure the Elfbloom doesn’t claim any more unsuspecting victims.”

He smiled thinly. “And you would propose yourself for this curatorship?”

I laughed. “No, sir. I would propose the person who’s been doing it quietly and expertly his entire life while the Society essentially ignored this place.” Harding’s gaze slowly slid to Thomas. “I’ve never seen healthier, more cared-for botanicals, and Thomas’s grandfather collected and installed specimens from all over the world. Apothecary shops could be supplied from here. Live plants, too, could be sold. Trusted apothecaries such as yourself who share our understanding of . . . of the special spiritual status of Pine Cottage might make very interesting scientific observations here.”

This last statement may have been laying it on a bit thick, and I wasn’t sure how the garden spirits were going to react to the idea of being studied, but I was in a fight for Thomas’s life.

Harding sat a few moments in thought. I glanced at Thomas, but his expression was guarded. Finally the curator reached into his pocket and, with shaking fingers, drew out my illustration of the Elfbloom.

Studying it, he said, “I hope you won’t mind that I took the liberty of inspecting some of your work in the bedroom upstairs. Your notes are clear and thorough, and your illustrations very fine.” He looked at me. “You once proposed a book of illustrations—botanicals and fairies—with proceeds donated to the Society.”

Attempting to conceal the hope that sprang up at this, I said evenly, “That is still on offer. Perhaps instead I might focus on the darker botanicals of Pine Cottage. Even write it as a kind of fairy tale.” The Glasshouse Witch. “I don’t know whether you’re a reader of novels, sir, but people do seem to enjoy tales of the uncanny.”

“Mmm.” Harding continued to eye me keenly. “Tell me, Miss Gray, what is your interest in all of this? Do you still wish to become an apothecary?”

I could feel Thomas’s eyes on me as I said, “I am still considering my options, sir. But if we have an accord about the curatorship, you shall have your book.”

“And you would complete the work you’ve already undertaken? Cataloging the garden?”

I glanced at Thomas, and with a jump of my heart, I noticed a wisp of smoke behind him. Watching it curl toward the ceiling, I said, “I may need to return home to London for a short time, but after that, certainly.”

Harding took a deep breath, and he got slowly to his feet, still unsteady.

“Be careful, sir,” I said, rising. Thomas’s chair scraped as he stood up, too.

“I’m well enough now, Miss Gray. I must be honest with you—I can’t make up my mind whether one or both of you are mad, or whether all three of us might be.”

“Yes, sir. The house does seem to have that effect on people.”

“Well,” he said, turning, “let me have a tour of the glasshouse now, and some time to collect my thoughts.” He looked at Thomas. “If you could fetch my cane, young man, I would be grateful.”