As I turned away, ready to stroll back the way I had come, I heard a low whistle.

Philip gestured to me from the trees.

Quickly I grabbed the note and casually walked into the wood. “How long have you been here?”

“Ages.”

I handed him the note. “It’s a job for Mrs. Sugden, my housekeeper.”

“Shall I take it to her?”

“Yes, if you want a ride to Leeds. Or you might telephone.”

He frowned, and read the note. “I could say exactly what you have written.”

“Yes.”

He nodded.

“Philip, when you said you’d keep an eye on the bee boles, I didn’t think you’d camp out in the wood.”

“I’m not camping out.”

“What then?”

“Mam wanted me to go see Mr. Battersby again about that garage. I told her I’m helping you.”

“It won’t hurt to look.”

“I can’t look at a garage yet. I’m helping you.”

“A telephone call to Mrs. Sugden will do. You might still look at the garage.”

“I told Mam I’m helping you. She’ll know that’s a good thing.”

It was no use arguing with him. Mouth set tight, eyes full of hurt, he looked away.

I relented.

“Yes, it’s a good thing that you are helping me. Perhaps you could take the message to Mrs. Sugden in person. She won’t know anything about the Bluebell Home or why it is called that. She would like to know.”

His mood changed in an instant. Poor Mrs. Goodchild. She tried so hard to make Philip’s life the best it could be. And she had succeeded. Perhaps the Battersby Garage was a step too far.

“I’ll do that now, Kate.” He took a sheet of paper from his pocket. “Here is a list of two hundred rhubarb growers. Which have you seen so far?”

He was pointing out the blindingly obvious. I hadn’t visited a single one. “Mr. Sykes has been visiting growers. But I do have an acquaintance at one of the farms in Rothwell. I’ll talk to him.”

I glanced at my watch. Hours to go before dinner.

Philip shifted his gaze. He looked over my shoulder at someone or something.

I heard the crunching footsteps before I saw Raynor, coming from the wood. He tipped his hat. Philip and I watched as Raynor walked towards the gate in the walled garden.

When he had gone, Philip said, “Was he hiding? Was he earwigging?”

“I don’t know.”

“Kate, I wish you would go somewhere else. I don’t like this place.”

He stopped to listen. More footsteps crunched through the wood.

This time it was Alec. Had we had an audience of eavesdroppers?

“Oh hello,” Alec said.

He wasn’t talking to me.

Philip tilted his head. “I’ve seen you before.”

“When you came to our garage for spare parts.”

“You work at Battersby’s?”