[Primrose Bolger]

Once Ginger had seen Gwenneth settled in happily among the flowers, she excused herself and made for the herb patch. This little piece of the Inn’s gardens was Cook’s pride and joy. And indeed if Ginger had the right of it, it had been started long ago by one of the cooks and had grown into the prize piece it was today. It was lovely to look at, with little paths that meandered through the different beds. And fragrant – the thymes and sages and rosemarys throwing their dusky scents into the air, mixing with the lemony verbenas and mints used for teas.

Ginger leaned on her hoe and surveyed the leafy maze of plants before her. It would take the rest of the morning and into the afternoon before she had it done to her satisfaction. The hum of the fat bumblebees wandering drunk through the flowering borage was loud as she walk down the first little path and began rooting out the weeds. The sound was pleasant and the rhythm of her movements fell in time with it. At one point, though, she looked up, a look of puzzlement on her face. Something was missing.

She looked toward the Inn. It was the sounds of the hammering and sawing that had stopped. Her heart lurched a little as she considered what that might mean. Was Ferdy already done with his building and fixing for Cook. And more important, had she been able to talk with him?

‘Mustn’t think about that,’ she told herself. ‘Nothing I can do about it now. Miz Bunce will see to what she can. The rest will have to sort itself out as it may.’ Kneeling down to dispense with a particularly entwined bit of bindweed, Ginger shook off her doubts for the while and concentrated on the task at hand.