Felix called the garden abandoned before Maud finished climbing the causeway.
She stopped with one foot on the higher stone.
“Seasonal beds. Shared landing. Fishing families use the shelter when the weather turns.”
“Quiet, then.”
“That you can have.”
Low Bell was a small islet above the salt line, with stone beds tucked behind a broken wall. Tough root plants survived where deeper soil and shelter had outlasted the old paths. Maud had permission to tend two beds that season. Nobody had given her the whole islet to hand onward to interesting strangers.
Felix asked who else needed to agree before any new use began.
She named the landing users and the local keeper of the seasonal arrangements. He put them in his notes before opening the instrument case.
