She’d capitulated. More because of the happy smile on Libby’s face than because, really, it wasn’t her decision. But nothing said she had to be gracious about it. “And what are you going to do with the cat while we’re gone?”
“Leave him outside with food enough to see him through.” Libby bent down and lifted the mite into her arms, laughing when the tabby tried to crawl onto her shoulder like a blasted parrot.
“You oughtn’t to let him do that. He’s trying to assert dominance over you.”
Libby lifted her brows, more curiosity than challenge in her expression. “Really? How do you know?”
Mabena scowled. “It’s what my mother always said. I don’t know. Seems logical, doesn’t it?”
Yet there the creature was, all but wrapped around Libby’s neck as she shrugged. “I rather thought it was just their instinct to find the highest place to perch. But then, cats aren’t my specialty. I’ll have to do some reading about it.”
And in the meantime, she apparently meant to wear the thing like a scarf. Mabena rolled her eyes and strode toward the bedrooms. “I’ll pack for us. You try to convince the little monster to go back outside.” Mabena had been trying for days, but the beastie wouldn’t cross that threshold again for anything, even the promise of more bacon. “And name it, will you, if you mean to keep it?”
Libby grinned, as if the request were a sign that Mabena was softening toward it. Which she wasn’t. She just knew that her companion would get cross eventually if she kept calling it “the little monster.” And much as a cross Libby sounded amusing in theory, she had a feeling it wouldn’t be half so fun in practice. One of them needed to be all sunshine, and it certainly wasn’t Mabena these days.
“I’m fairly certain it’s a tom, though it is rather difficult to tell on so small a kitten.”
“If you say so, my lady. I haven’t a clue.”
“In which case, I was thinking Darwin.”
Mabena paused. “Not after Charles Darwin.”
“Well, he was one of the greatest naturalists of the modern era.”
“There’s controversy around nearly all his theories.” Not that she’d known much about his theories until she started serving Libby, aside from the fact that most people on the isles considered them heretical.
“He was awarded the most prestigious scientific award in all of Britain! The Copley Medal isn’t handed out to just anyone.”
“Your mother would be appalled and think you were railing against the church.”
There, a crack in Libby’s smile. Though it brought Mabena no pleasure to widen it, not really. “Plenty of clergy thought his theories noble and not at all in opposition to biblical teachings.”
“And others—the voices that won the day—thought they demanded a polarization of science and theology.” Mabena shook her head. “You’ll find the people here far more given to theology than science, my lady. Some may find it offensive if you name it Darwin is all.”
Libby’s sigh made her wish it were otherwise. “Very well. Darling, then. That’s what I’ve actually been calling you, haven’t I?” She rubbed a finger under its chin. “I was considering Darwin largely because it sounded similar. But we’ll just stick with my original thought.”
A tomcat named Darling. Though she shook her head, Mabena’s lips finally twitched up into a semblance of a genuine smile. “Well, convince Darling to go outside. I’ll have everything ready in ten minutes, and we can be off.”
It was bound to be a trying two days. But they might as well get them started so they could get them over with.
Libby was far from the only tourist in the Abbey Gardens on such a gorgeous sunny day, which was a bit of a shame. She stepped from the Garden Lodge, past the artfully arranged figureheads of ships long since sunk or retired, and wished she had the whole place to herself so she could explore every bloom and leaf. The Lodge delivered visitors onto what they called “the Avenue,” a winding path that led through the Gardens. She took the first turn it offered, into an area marked as “the Wilderness.” Ferns abounded—identifiable as such, but far different from the varieties to which she was accustomed. She’d seen images of a few, but to behold them with her own eyes . . . Her breath caught with glee.
Behind her, Mabena chuckled. “You’re going to be here all day, aren’t you?”
“Come and find me in a week. Maybe a month.” She intended to start right here by the door and move as slowly as necessary to take in absolutely everything.
“And this is why we came here even before going to my parents’.” At least Mabena finally sounded amused again, instead of angry. Libby’s stomach had been in knots for days, the way she had refused to come out of the mood Lottie had put her in. “Have fun. I’ll take our things to their house and find you later. Shall I arrange for luncheon and tea somewhere, or just bring you a sandwich?”
“Sandwich. Please.” Positioning herself as out of the way on the path as possible, Libby dropped to a seat on the ground, crossed her legs under her skirt, and opened her notebook. The Abbey Gardens had provided her with a little booklet that named many of the blooms, and between that and the gardener, she meant to put together an exhaustive catalogue. Though really, two days wouldn’t be enough for such an undertaking, not even close. She’d have to start working on Mabena now to come here with her at least one day a week this summer. Or let her come on her own. There were tourists aplenty on the boats between islands. Surely that would be acceptable if Mabena didn’t want to join her.
According to the booklet, the gardener counted the blooms every January, and this year there had been two hundred and eleven varieties, nearly all of them exotic and to be found nowhere else in England—other than when the seeds had been carried to the other islands in the chain. The Gardens were arranged like the empire itself, with species from the different colonies and outposts grouped together. Here, at the door, she was in Australia. As fine a place as any to begin.
She started with a sketch of the Gardens themselves from this vantage point. She always liked to get the wide view before she switched to the narrow. When she was back in her cottage, she would put color to it, but for now, black strokes on clean white paper would suffice.
“An artist, are you?”
She was nearly finished with this first sketch and ready to flip the page when the deep voice drew her gaze up. She smiled when she saw the older gentleman crouching down beside her. If she wasn’t mistaken, he was the gardener, though she’d caught only a glimpse of him inside, where he’d promised to chat with each guest and answer any of their questions. It would hardly be fair to dominate his attention, but she knew well she’d have questions enough to keep him busy all day.
She flipped to one of the sketches she’d done the other day of the seabirds, complete with scientific names and her observations. “A naturalist. The sketches are just part of my observation and discovery.” That was always the first step to learning, after all—observation.
The gardener nodded, appreciation in his eyes rather than condescension, which was the usual response she got from people. Especially men.