Kingston waited while Jamie topped up his wine glass. He took this as a sign that she wasn’t going to doze off quite yet and that the lubrication was meant as encouragement for him to go on.
‘Towards the end of the nineteenth century,’ he said, in a professorial tone, ‘a veritable battle was taking place between two English gardeners. One was author William Robinson, the other, the architect Reginald Blomfield. Their divergent views were easy to distill. The cantankerous Robinson insisted that only the gardener, with his knowledge of horticulture could decide on the layout of a garden. The opinionated Blomfield insisted it must be the architect’s province since only he knew anything about design. Robinson championed the idea of “natural” garden design with hardy rather than tender plants used in the scheme. Drawing much of his inspiration from the simple cottage-style gardens of the time, he became a fervent crusader of natural gardening, writing books and periodicals, encouraging readers to grow old-fashioned hardy plants in the same manner as the cottagers. His book, The English Flower Garden, first published in 1883 went into fifteen editions in his lifetime.’
Up until now Jamie had been showing keen interest in everything Kingston was saying but now he recognized the beginning signs of tedium in her expression—one that he’d seen before on the faces of his students. He was realizing, too, that he hadn’t even reached the twentieth century, yet. He decided to wrap it up before she did.
‘We may have to continue this some other time, Jamie,’ he said. ‘I didn’t mean to be so long winded but there is an awful lot of ground to cover. Anyway, by the end of the nineteenth century most English gardens—with the exception of cottage gardens, of course—were starting to reflect the trend to a formal style of gardening. As is the case here at Wickersham, you’ll find most of today’s preeminent gardens use architecture in its varying forms: stone and brick walls, stairs and archways; pergolas, water features, gates, fountains, sundials, statuary, manicured lawns, clipped yew hedging forming compartments and boundaries, wide grass walks with paved footpaths and plantings, all of which are the result of careful planning and design. I’ll quote Blomfield, who may get the last word, since the designs of most gardens nowadays are essentially based on his precept that horticulture stands to garden design much as building does to architecture; the two are connected but very far from being identical. He said “The designer whether professional or amateur, should lay down the main lines and deal with the garden as a whole, but the execution, such as the best method of forming the beds, laying turf, planting trees and pruning hedges, should be left to the gardener, whose proper business it is.” ’
Kingston placed his hands face down on the table. ‘So there you have it, Jamie.’ He smiled. ‘Probably left you more confused than ever.’
‘No, not at all. It all helps to give me a greater appreciation of what I—we have here.’
‘There’s no question that Wickersham has its place in English garden history, all right.’
After a moment silence of silence, Kingston spoke again. ‘I’m curious, have you always been interested in gardening or is it a more recent thing, as it were?’
Jamie brushed a strand of hair from her forehead. ‘To be honest, mostly since inheriting this place. I mean I’ve always enjoyed gardens and the little bit of gardening I’ve done but I have to confess, up until now, I’ve been one of those self-indulgent people who like gardens solely for the pleasure they give. It’s not that I don’t like plants and flowers, the nitty-gritty, the hands in the dirt thing, the Latin names, it’s just that I prefer the sensory aspect of gardens, as a means of escape, for the serenity, as a quiet and beautiful place for contemplation.’
‘You’ll have a wonderful time over here then. There’s no end of extraordinary gardens to see. Quite a few in this neck of the woods, too.’ He looked up at the ceiling moulding. ‘Let’s see, Hestercombe is close by and there’s a lovely small garden at Tintinhull. Then there’s Hadspen House—as I recall, the gardeners there are Canadian. Barrington Court, East Lambrook Manor. You could spend all summer doing nothing but visit gardens, Jamie.’
At that point, Dot made a well-timed entrance to take away their empty plates and inquire about tea or coffee, telling them that ‘afters’ was on the way.
‘That’s such a quaint phrase,’ Jamie commented the moment Dot had left.
Kingston took a sip of wine. ‘You’ve got to admit, it’s right to the point. Personally, I’ve always thought “dessert” was a trifle pretentious, if you’ll pardon the pun. Plus, it comes from the French,’ he said with a sniff. ‘Desservir, loosely translated as clearing the table.’ For a split second his mind flashed back to a vaguely similar set of circumstances two years ago, sitting across a dining-room table from Kate Sheppard, an equally attractive young woman. She and her husband, Alex, owned the garden where a blue rose was discovered. He glanced briefly at Jamie who was lost in thought, studying her wineglass. They sat in silence for a few moments, each with their own thoughts.