A Flower for the Queen: A Historical Novel by Caroline Vermalle, Ryan von Ruben Read Free Book Online

was such money to be had in the business of gardening?”
    Mrs Masson was hardly able to hide the look of triumph on her face as she carefully took back the document before folding it and putting it back into the Bible, which she returned to its place on the mantelpiece.
    “Constance, are you not happy for Mr Masson?” asked Mrs Everidge.
    “Yes. Of course. It’s wonderful,” Constance replied, her gaze not shifting from the floor.
    “You know,” said Mrs Masson, “I always knew it. A mother does know these things, after all. Oh, I had my doubts, of course. I mean, how was I to know that there would be anything in flowers and trees. When we had our farm in Scotland, you planted things to eat, not to look at. But now it seems the whole country has gone mad for gardens — the gentry especially. Do you know that they are planting American trees in all the big country estates now? Do you know why? For the colours! Can you imagine! Thousands and thousands of pounds to dig up the grounds and plant trees just so that when it comes to autumn they can ride along through shades of yellow and orange instead of green! And the lengths they will go to just to show off some exotic bloom that wouldn’t survive a minute without those heated green houses. It’s all a perfect waste of good farm land if you ask me, but then no one is asking me, are they?” Mrs Masson paused for breath and looked towards her son. “But if it means that they are willing to pay Francis handsomely to go halfway around the world just so that they can have their fancy, then who are we to question it?”
    “Mr Masson,” said Trudy, taking her chance at the lull in conversation and tugging again at Masson’s sleeve. “Do you know what they say the natives eat, that’s even more ghastly than dead vultures?”
    Masson looked down at the little girl, her bright blue eyes wide in amazement. “They eat sailors! They put them in a big pot, and—”
    “Oh, Trudy, do keep quiet,” said Mrs Everidge wearily.
    “For heaven’s sake, stop it!” shouted Constance as if on the verge of tears.“Enough with … those … ridiculous inventions!”
    “But it’s true! I swear it’s true, I read about it in Papa’s newspapers!” retorted Trudy, hiding behind Francis’s frock coat.
    Mrs Everidge turned back to Mrs Masson to offer an apologetic explanation. “Her father insists on encouraging her to read. I told him that it would only lead to trouble.”
    “Francis,” said Mrs Masson, exchanging a knowing look with Constance, “why don’t you take Constance and show her the piece of land that you’ve picked out. Besides, I am sure that there are many things you want to discuss before your departure.”
    “Yes, very important things indeed,” repeated Mrs Everidge, giving an equally meaningful look to her daughter.
    Masson took Constance’s demurely offered hand and led her out of the house, closing the front door behind them. As they walked down the path running from the cottage towards the road, Constance seemed to grow even more nervous.
    “This is all so sudden and unexpected, isn’t it?” asked Constance carefully.
    Masson just smiled in reply as they continued to stroll down the path, conscious that their every step was being watched by at least two pairs of eyes from within the house.
    “It’s over this way,” Francis said, ushering her gently across the lane that led over the hill to Leeds Castle. “It’s not much to look at now, but I think that with a little work it could turn out quite nicely.”
    They walked for a few minutes more, the silence broken only by the crunch of the chalk gravel beneath their shoes, and then stopped beside a large open paddock.
    Constance looked up at him, waiting for his next words as he stared out at a large open field of Tor-grass, alive with the flowers of wild orchids, meadow clary, clustered bellflower and field cow-wheat. Slightly further back from the road was a small wood that contained beech,