"But surely if Frederick knows they're sycophants he won't favour them anyway when he comes to the throne?" she said.
"If he comes to the throne," Sir Anthony said in a very low voice so as not to be overheard. They both watched as the man whose father they hoped to drive from the country came striding back towards them.
"Here you are," he said, handing Beth a rake. "Now Anthony, if you will just follow me. The stones must be laid out in a particular way … "
It took Beth a few minutes to establish a comfortable rhythm, after which she worked automatically, pulling the rake through the fine soil and making her way slowly and methodically along the plot. She let her mind wander, remembering the pleasant childhood afternoons when she had worked with Graeme, watching carefully as he showed her what to do, then copying him with the small rake he had made especially for her. Sometimes she would make wavy patterns in the soil, pretending it was the sea. And once, when she was very small, she had used a twig to demonstrate proudly that she could write her own name in the freshly-raked earth. She breathed in deeply, inhaling the loamy scent of the rich soil and felt a wave of nostalgia wash over her as she remembered that smell clinging to Graeme's well-worn leather waistcoat, along with the fresh green scents of the plants he grew. She missed his dour affection and wondered how his rheumatism was.
"So you're Sir Anthony's wife, then," a voice came from directly behind her, startling her out of her reverie. She turned to see a tall large-boned young woman standing directly behind her, leaning on the handle of a spade.
"Sorry. Didn't mean to frighten you. You were miles away. Just wanted to say hello. Heard of you but not seen you before."
"Hello," said Beth. "It's Lady Philippa, isn't it? I was supposed to be helping you with some digging."
"That's right," affirmed the young woman, taking Beth's proffered hand and shaking it vigorously. "Lucky bugger. Wish I was tiny. Raking's much easier."
"I'll swap with you if you like," Beth offered. "I'm stronger than I look."
"God, no! Fred'd never stand for that. Works it out carefully. Those with the really dirty jobs he can't stand at all."
Beth looked around.
"He must really hate that poor fat man over there, then," she said, pointing to an elderly, rather portly red-faced man in heavily soiled burgundy brocade, who was reluctantly spreading horse manure across one patch of soil.
"Exactly. Can't stand him. Damn good judge of character, Fred. Toadying old fool, Papa."
Although her staccato way of speaking was reminiscent of Edward, nothing else was. Beth liked Lady Philippa immediately. Even so, she was aware that she'd put her foot well and truly in her mouth.
"Oh God," she said. "I'm sorry, I didn't realise he was your father."
"That's all right," grinned Lady Philippa, her hazel eyes sparkling. "Agree with Fred. Can't stand him either. Can't wait to be married and away from the old fool. Serve him right. Just wish I'd known, that's all. You obviously did." She looked down ruefully at her aqua-coloured velvet dress and delicate slippers, which had presumably also been aqua-coloured at one time, but were now dark brown.
"No, not really," said Beth. "Anthony did. He told me what to wear, that's all. I had no idea what to expect. This is the first time I've visited the Prince of Wales."
"Sensible chap, Sir Anthony," remarked Philippa to Beth's surprise, who had heard Anthony called many things, but never sensible. "Told you enough, but not enough to spoil Fred's fun, eh? Clever. Wish I'd known. Bloody idiot told me we were coming to see a play. Papa, that is, not Fred. Should have known you don't see plays at two o'clock. Own fault. Enjoying yourself?"
It took Beth a moment to realise she'd been asked a question. It took some getting used to, this clipped manner of speaking.
"Yes," she admitted. "I am actually. I've always enjoyed the outdoors."
"Hmm. Thought so. Good hand with a rake. Ride? Hunt?"
"No," said Beth. "That is, I ride, yes, but I've never enjoyed hunting much. When are you getting married?"
"Summer. June. Have to watch bloody Helen then. Bitch. Try to take him off me. Watch out tonight."
"I'm sorry?" said Beth, who had not quite followed this.
"Watch out. You. Helen. Very pretty, yellow dress. Tries it with all the married men. Sir Anthony. Fine chap. Watch her. With him."
"Ah. I see," said Beth. "Thank you. I will."
Lady Philippa wandered off, and Beth watched her go, bemused. There was something vaguely familiar about her, and yet she had never met the woman before, she was sure of that. She would not have forgotten meeting someone like her. She looked across the garden to where her husband was, amazingly, managing to move stones quickly and efficiently whilst maintaining a foppish, somewhat limp-wristed attitude. He was quite remarkable. He would make a good living on the stage, she thought. He could certainly give Garrick a run for his money. He looked up, saw her, and waved merrily. She waved back, smiled, and returned to her work.
At five o'clock Prince Frederick finally took pity on his guests, or perhaps it was simply that the light was failing. He called a halt to the day's work, telling his grubby workforce that they had half an hour to freshen up before dinner was served.
"It had better be good, after all that," grumbled one of the guests as they made their way up the stairs behind the footman, who showed each guest to a different room, where hot water, soap and towels had been provided.
"Well, this is very nice, at least," said Beth gratefully, sitting on a well-padded chair and looking round the green and white room. The furniture was all made of walnut, and consisted of an old-fashioned carved four poster bed, a chest, dressing table, and the chair Beth was sitting on. An expensive Turkish carpet covered the floor and she sank her toes into it, wriggling them blissfully. "I thought we'd all have to wash under the pump in the yard. That's what I used to do when I'd been gardening with Graeme."
"Don't mention that to Fred, for God's sake," said Alex, taking off his shoes and throwing himself on the bed. He patted the space next to him and she went to lie beside him, her head on his shoulder. "Are you enjoying yourself, then?"
"Yes, immensely. It was very amusing, watching people try to use tools they've never seen before, avoid getting their ridiculous clothes muddy and still remember to smile when the prince walked past. Although I feel a bit guilty getting pleasure out of watching the discomfort of others."
"Don't. They all deserve it. Or nearly all, anyway. They spend most of their time with their noses in the air, thinking everyone else beneath contempt. They treat their servants appallingly. So Fred does the same to them, because he can. They won't learn from it, though."
"Lady Philippa seemed pretty down to earth," Beth commented.
"Ah, yes. Saw you talking. Bloody fine woman. Like her," Alex said. Beth punched him playfully.
"Don't you start," she said. "It was quite hard to understand her at first. She fillets every sentence back to the bone. She doesn't seem to like her father much. Or Helen. She warned me to keep an eye on her with you."
"Really? Will you be jealous if she tries to seduce me?" he asked, smiling.
"No," said Beth. "I'll be angry, with her if she tries it, and with you if you let her."
"Oh dear. I was hoping to flirt with her a little, to make you jealous. I thought it might make you realise what a desirable man you married."
"I know exactly which man I married, thank you," said Beth. "And it wasn't Angus. So if you start behaving like him, I'll castrate you."
"But you're not jealous."
"No. Tell me about Philippa. She looks vaguely familiar."
"That's because she's Caroline's cousin. They've got the same eyes."
"Is she?" said Beth, surprised, sitting up.
"Yes. Her father is Caroline's great-uncle Francis. She mentioned him the other night, remember?"
"The friend of General Hawley," Beth said. "She doesn't seem like the sort of woman who'd disapprove of Caroline marrying Edwin."
"She didn't. But her father did so she's not allowed to mention Caroline, or visit her. They still see each other occasionally, though. Philippa spends a lot of time at Harriet's."
"Is she Caroline's mad old aunt?"
"That's the one. She's not so much mad though, as deeply eccentric. And forgetful, now she's old. But she virtually brought Philippa up after her mother died. They speak the same way, very staccato. I haven't seen Philippa for ages, but I suppose Caroline's mentioned me."
"Yes. She knew you were married. And she said you were sensible."
"Did she? Well, I suppose if I'm sensible I'd better try to brush this mud off before we go down to dinner. I want to look my best, for Helen."