“No problem.” She thought Finn might laugh at the transparently grudging apology, but his tone was brisk. “If you change your mind, just let me know and I’ll spruce the cottage up for you.”

“Thanks.” Lucy’s sense of awkwardness faded a little. “It’s probably better that I’m tucked away down here. That way you won’t need to worry about me getting in the way of your work on the cottage gardens. I understand you’re involved in a historic excavation project?”

“That’s right,” Finn said. He cleared his throat. “Except that the garden excavation involves the whole estate and isn’t simply up at Gunpowder Cottage. Did Verity mention anything about it to you?”

“No,” Lucy said. She looked around the terrace with its terra-cotta pots overflowing with starflowers and fuchsia and nicotiana. It looked strikingly new and modern, hardly the site for some sort of archaeological survey.

“I know Verity’s been researching the history of Gunpowder Cottage for ages,” she said, “but we hadn’t talked about it recently.” She felt a pang; she’d practically lost touch with her aunt in the past few years because both of them had been so busy. A few flying visits had not given them the chance for a proper catch-up and only now, with the enforced break, was Lucy realizing how much she had missed.

“Verity thinks that there’s a lost Tudor-era garden hidden in the valley,” Cleo said. “She found some references to it in an old book that gave some of the early history of the estate.” She looked smug. “I found the book for her, actually. It was antiquarian and out of print.”

“I can see there was a walled garden farther down the hill,” Lucy said, “but I didn’t think it was as old as that.”

Finn nodded. “You’re right, it isn’t. Those are the remains of an old kitchen garden nursery from the Victorian period. Any Tudor detail would be beneath that. There are a few more well-hidden clues around the cottage and elsewhere in the valley if you know where to look. But I’m not surprised that no one noticed before, especially as there were no documentary clues until Charlie—” He stopped abruptly.

“Verity told me what had happened to your brother,” Cleo said with quick sympathy. “I was very sorry to hear about it.”

“It’s fine,” Finn said, although judging by his deep frown, Lucy thought that it was very far from fine. “My brother Charlie was doing some research for Verity on this project,” he said, turning to her. “We’re both historians but he specialized in Tudor history whereas I focus on gardens and landscape.” He took a breath. “Charlie was down here doing some work when he had a fatal car accident.”

“Oh God, how awful,” Lucy said. She felt sick, winded at the revelation. A wholly unexpected urge gripped her to reach across the table and touch Finn’s hand to offer comfort. “I’m so sorry,” she said, knowing how inadequate it sounded, feeling helpless.

Finn shrugged as though trying to shake off an unbearable weight. “If you’re staying for a few weeks you’d be bound to hear about it,” he said, a bit roughly. “It was back at the end of March, so a while ago now.”