“Just moved in then?” he asked. Miranda noticed he spoke deliberately and slowly, clearly a man in no hurry.
“Yes. Do you know the house?”
“Aye. This was once the most beautiful garden in Dorset.”
“Really,” she said, showing him to an armchair. He noticed she hadn’t lit the fire in her study either, but it smelled of smoke, which was encouraging.
“Mrs. Lightly was a gifted lady.”
“So I’m told.”
“You should light the fires in this house. I could bring logs in for you if you like.”
“Thank you. You see, we need someone like you.” Although, as he put his stumpy finger up his nose and wiggled it about, she wasn’t quite so sure.
“Got an itchy nose,” he explained, giving his finger another wiggle.
“Thank you, Mr. Underwood. Now tell me, I gather you worked for Jeremy Fitzherbert?”
He withdrew his finger and wiped it on his jacket. “I worked on the farm for over forty years. Ploughing, sowing, but what I enjoy most is gardens. Have you seen the toadstools in the woods?” His eyes shone like hematite.
Miranda shook her head. “Toadstools?”
“Aye. There’ll be a fair few up there. It’s a wet autumn. D’you know that the mushroom itself is only the fruit of the mushroom plant?”
“No, I didn’t.”
“It’s only when the plant growing in the ground becomes strong enough to produce seeds that mushrooms appear.”
“Really?” She tried to sound interested. This wasn’t going quite as well as she had thought.
“There are a lot of edible toadstools but most people don’t know that. They eat only mushrooms. Mrs. Underwood cooks a good toadstool soup. She knows which ones to eat and which ones not to eat.” Miranda noticed Mr. Underwood’s large belly. He was clearly well fed. She narrowed her eyes thoughtfully.
“This is a large property, Mr. Underwood.”
“Mrs. Lightly did it all on her own,” he said, nodding slowly with admiration.
“Didn’t she have anyone to help her?”
“Only Hector. It was her passion.”
“Well, it’s been left to go wild for a year at least. There’s a lot of work to be done. I’m not sure that you’re strong enough to do it on your own.”
He looked affronted. “Not strong enough!” he gasped, insulted. He jumped up, took off his jacket and stood, flexing his muscles in his shirtsleeves. “Look at this. Hard as rock it is. Hard as solid rock.”
“Thank you, Mr. Underwood.”
“You’re as old as you feel, m’lady. Inside here I’m a strapping lad.”
“I’m sure you are, Mr. Underwood. Mrs. Underwood is very lucky to have you. Tell me, how well does she cook?”
He rubbed his belly. “The little wife? She’s a good woman. No one can cook like Mrs. Underwood.”
Miranda decided to take a gamble. Desperation compelled her to be impulsive. “We’re looking for a cook,” she said. Mr. Underwood’s weathered face widened into a smile and his round cheeks shone pink.
“Look no further, m’lady. Mrs. Underwood will feed you all up good and proper. Used to cook for Mrs. Lightly when she had visitors.”
“So she knows the place?”
“Aye, she does.”
“Would she have the time?”
He nodded eagerly. “Aye, she’s got time all right. Little nippers are grown up now with nippers of their own.” Miranda’s mind was racing.
“I’d like to meet Mrs. Underwood,” she said firmly. “Perhaps she could come up tomorrow and cook Sunday lunch for the four of us. As for you, Mr. Underwood, let me speak plainly. This place is a mess and you clearly know a thing or two about gardens. Perhaps you could start sweeping leaves and chopping logs so we can light our fires and I’ll keep looking for someone”—she hesitated, anxious to find the right word so as not to offend him—“to work with you on the landscaping side. I think this place requires two pairs of hands, don’t you?”
Mr. Underwood nodded slowly. He didn’t quite understand what she meant by landscaping. However, he loved chopping logs and lighting fires, and was already envisaging vast mountains of leaves.
“I’ll pay you eight pounds hour and you do as much as you’re able.”
“That’s as good to me as plum pudding, m’lady,” he replied, clearly pleased.
“Call me Mrs. Claybourne,” she added.
“Mrs. Claybourne, m’lady.”
She sighed and let it go. “You can start on Monday and don’t forget to tell Mrs. Underwood to come up tomorrow, if she can—perhaps she could call me to discuss details.”