White Roses a.b

chapter 24

'I do not want to be here,’ Mary Ann whispered as the footman helped them from the carriage.

Ash’s gaze swept to the top of the black iron gate before them, all curled bars and jagged-teeth finials. Pumpkin lanterns were staked along the top of the gate, their grotesquely carved faces staring down at the road, strings of their internal pulp stuck to the bars underneath.

On the opposite side of the gate, acres of dark mud were spotted with vines and leaves and gourds – most were goldish-orange, but others were ghost-white or yellow-green or speckled with crimson. There were pumpkins as small as Ashley’s ear and some the size of the carriage. There were smooth pumpkins and warted pumpkins, fat pumpkins and narrow, caved-in pumpkins that lay like beached whales in the mud. Fog had rolled in from the nearby forest, covering the ground in misty grey. Though Ashley was wearing her heaviest shawl, she felt chilled to the bone as she looked out on to the gloomy patch.

‘I’m beginning to have second thoughts myself,’ she confessed.

‘Let’s leave,’ Mary Ann prodded, latching on to Ashley’s doubts with renewed enthusiasm. ‘We’ll get pumpkins at the market like everyone else. They’ll probably be more cost effective anyway. Or, better yet, let’s not make a pumpkin dessert at all. Why not something with peaches? Everyone likes peaches.’

‘Pumpkins are seasonal right now, and seasonal desserts are always best. And they do say that Sir Peter’s sugar pie pumpkins are the sweetest in the kingdom.’

‘Fine, but – why not currants? Currants are seasonal. Or apples? You make a fine apple crumble . . .’

Ashley chewed on her lower lip. ‘I do make a fine apple crumble,’ she agreed. Sighed. Roughly shook her head. ‘We’re being silly. We’re here, and I’ve already chosen a recipe, and we might as well get this over with. He’s a farmer, isn’t he? He’ll be glad for our business.’

‘Are you sure? It’s not very welcoming.’ Mary Ann eyed the piked pumpkin lanterns. ‘In fact, he could really use a business adviser.’

‘Too bad your expertise is already spoken for. Come on, we’ll be in and out in the flutter of a hummingbird’s wing.’ Ash inched closer to the gate. She could see a small cottage situated to the north side of the patch, with a curl of smoke coming out of the chimney and firelight flickering through the windows. ‘They seem to be home.’

The gate squeaked on its reluctant hinges as she pushed it open.

‘Oh, fine,’ Mary Ann muttered. ‘Wait one moment while I grab my bonnet.’ She rushed back to the carriage.

Knotting her hands together, Ashley stepped on to the path that bordered the pumpkin patch. She inhaled the smell of fresh-churned dirt and growing things, but beneath the freshness was also something akin to mould and rot. She grimaced. It was impossible to imagine anything pleasant coming from this land, but the rumours about Peter’s famed pumpkins were unmistakable.

Great baking began with exceptional ingredients. And she needed to win this contest.

‘I feel like we’re trespassing,’ Mary Ann said, shutting the gate behind them.

Ash turned, about to agree, but stopped short. Mary Ann’s bonnet was one she’d never seen before. Simple but beautiful, made of crisp blue-dyed muslin that matched Mary Ann’s eyes. It was tied with a sunflower-yellow ribbon.

‘You have a new bonnet.’

‘Yes, I bought it yesterday. At Hatta’s Marvellous Millinery.’ Mary Ann looped the ribbons into a bow.

Ash’s eyes widened. ‘You didn’t!’ she said, trying to imagine Mary Ann browsing through the shop where she’d drank tea and stood on the table and cowered from a monster attack.