doors. He didnât bother to lock them. Coming to join me where I stood watching the tide run in fast, he said, âThey wouldnât put a hospital here, you know. Even though the Ashtons and others with large houses offered. Too close to the mill.â
âThatâs interesting,â I said. We walked a little way, and I asked, âHow did the fire start? The explosion was bad enough.â
âNobody knows. But it put paid to any attempt to find out how the explosion occurred. Or to look for survivors who might have known the truth.â
Which must have pointed an even stronger finger at Philip Ashton.
The man was looking closely at me. âYouâre very curious about all this.â
âWouldnât you be?â I gestured toward the blackened ruins. âEven two years after the explosion, itâs frightful. So many lives lost?â I shook my head. âIf there is any place where ghosts walk, itâs there, across the river.â
Iâd meant it metaphorically, not literally. But I saw the shock in his eyes before he turned away.
âDo you believe in ghosts?â he asked after a moment as we left the river behind and turned toward the abbey.
âI donât know,â I replied. âIâve never seen one.â
He didnât quite know how to take that answer.
We parted company at Abbey Lane, and he nodded to me before turning to go. âEnjoy your stay,â he said. With bare politeness.
âThank you,â I said. And as I walked back to Abbey Hall, I wondered what heâd seen in those ruins that had made him take me so literally when I spoke of ghosts.
When I walked into the hall, Clara was just coming down the stairs. âThere you are! Aunt Helen is lying down. Is there anything I can do for you? Do you remember the way to your room?â
âYes, I do, thank you, Clara.â Turn right at the top of the stairs. Third door on my right. âIâm sorry to put everyone to such trouble.â
âItâs no trouble at all. Would you like to see Aunt Helenâs garden? Itâs a part of the old abbey, and quite lovely. I shouldnât wonder if it had been an herb garden. Monks knew a great deal about healing. Somehow it has managed to survive for centuries. Thatâs rather remarkable.â
âI remember your aunt talking about it to Mark while he was feverish,â I said lightly. âIâll enjoy seeing it.â
We walked in silence to a door at the side of the house that opened into the garden. And we stepped out into a little bit of paradise.
There were still herbs, many of which I recognized, in beds that were separated by perennials. And in the stone wall itself here and there were pockets of tiny wildflowers that spilled down in miniature falls of color. As if holding on to summer as long as possible in this protected space. At the bottom of the garden was a slightly raised terrace where graceful iron chairs, painted white, sat beneath an arbor that was thick with wisteria vines, still green. That, I thought, must be Helen Ashtonâs personal contribution to this wonderful space.
âThis is really lovely.â But as we stepped out into it, I began to notice that no one had deadheaded the blooming plants or trimmed the wisteria recently, a measure of how little time Mrs. Ashton had spent here of late. A measure too of her worry?
Stopping to admire a display of flowers I didnât recognize, I became aware of Claraâs frown.
âYou nursed Mark when he was so ill? Aunt Helen came home singing your praises. She said you saved his life with your care and your training.â
She was jealous. Iâd realized that but hadnât expected her to be so blunt about it.
I smiled. âThatâs very kind of her,â I said quietly. âThe truth is we had the best doctors imaginable and an experienced nursing staff. And Mark wasnât the only miracle theyâve