At the sound of her master’s voice, the little dog poked her nose under the edge of my skirt. “I dropped my skirt over her to hide her,” I said. The dog pulled her nose in, returned to my boot and retrieved her chicken leg. This firmly in her jaw, she popped out from my skirt and ran to Alex, her whole body wagging in delight.
He knelt on the dock and pried the chicken leg out of her mouth, tossing it into the water. “You are a naughty girl, Kukla, and I cannot let you have your pirate’s booty.” He scratched the dog’s ruff affectionately. He looked up at me. “Thank you for hiding her, miss.”
“Elodie, this is Alexander Balashov, second mate aboard the Osprey and the adopted son of the captain, a very good friend of mine,” Papa said.
“Spasibo, Elodie. Thank you,” Mr. Balashov said. “Please call me Alex.”
“It’s my pleasure,” I said.
A man came around the stack of tea crates then, a worried look on his face, which faded when he spied Alex.
“Alex,” he said. “There you are.”
Alex turned around, a dismayed expression on his face. Whoever this man was, Alex must have disobeyed him in some way. I hoped he wasn’t in too much trouble.
“Just the person I wanted to see.” Papa stepped forward and shook the hand of the man who had spoken. “It’s good to see you, Horatio. Elodie, this is Captain Everett of the Osprey.”
The captain appeared to be about my father’s age, but his face was lined with wrinkles, his cheeks red and chapped, which I imagined was because he’d been exposed to sun and sea for many years. He looked exhausted and not a little fed up. I was sure bringing in such a ship, and racing it across the oceans to be the first to England, must take its toll on a person. “Good to see you again, Hugh,” the captain said, addressing my father. “I trust you are well now? I was very concerned when I heard—”
Papa cleared his throat interrupting the captain. “I’m very well,” he said quickly. “Captain, this is my daughter, Elodie.”
“Your daughter? Oh, I see. Please forgive me . . .” His voice trailed off.
Hugh? Why had he called my father Hugh?
“What are you doing off the ship, Alex?” Captain Everett asked. “I’ve been looking everywhere for you.”
Alex stood up, holding Kukla in his arms. “I’m sorry, Father. Kukla ran off, and I left the ship to find her.”
The captain frowned. “That matters not. You need to tell me where you are going and what you are doing. You promised you’d do that, remember?”
Alex’s expression tightened. “I was not doing anything wrong. I was not looking for trouble.” He flicked his gaze toward me, and I saw he was embarrassed. I felt very bad for him. I wouldn’t like to be chided so in front of other people. Alex’s good day seemed to be traveling a downward path very quickly.
“I know you weren’t.” The captain laid his hand on Alex’s shoulder. “I’m just concerned.”
“Please don’t be.” Alex said this quietly and then looked out over the water, his shoulder tense under his father’s hand.
“Forgive me for interrupting,” I said, longing to break the tension for Alex, who looked for all the world as though he’d love to be anywhere else but there. “But we have to decide what we can do about the little dog. I don’t know how long you’ll be here at the docks, Captain, but if that man sees Kukla again, I don’t think Alex can save her. He was very angry.”
“You’ll have to tie her up in the ’tween decks until we embark for China,” the captain said.
Alex’s arms stiffened around his dog. “She’ll never stay there,” he said. “She’ll find a way out.” I could almost feel the horror and panic wafting off Alex. I didn’t blame him. If that sailor saw Kukla again, no telling what he would do to her.
“I see no other solution,” the captain said, his face grave. I was beginning to think that Captain Horatio Everett was incapable of smiling, but I suspected that the running of such a vessel as the Osprey probably left little time for gaiety.
“I wonder, Captain,” my father said. “Might I have a word with you? Just a few minutes of your time is all I need.”
“Oh, yes, yes of course,” the captain replied. “Alex, would you mind looking after Hugh’s daughter for a few moments? Can you escort her to the ship in a quarter of an hour?” The captain stood for a moment, looking unsure, and then, apparently deciding Alex didn’t have mischief in mind, departed.
“I knew Kukla’s food thievery would bring her grief one day,” Alex said. “I’ve tried to break her of it, but she lived off her own cunning in the streets for too long, and it’s impossible for her to understand that she no longer needs to fear an empty belly.”
“Is it just a matter of hiding her from the sailor she stole from?”
He nodded. “We hope to sail in a fortnight. We have to return for a cargo of the early season’s tea, the gunpowder tea, which is most valuable. We have some repairs to make to the Osprey’s mast and spars. Once we set sail, Kukla will be out of the sailor’s way.”
“How about if I take her home with me to Kent and then return her the morning you’re ready to sail?” I found I wanted to help the sailor more than anything. The idea of doing something kind for someone else made the shame I felt about the orchid a little more bearable. “I’m sure it would do her a world of good to run in the meadows near our home. I’ll make sure she never leaves my side. I promise you that, Alex.”
Relief filled the young man’s face. His shoulders relaxed, and his fingers unclenched from the dog’s fur. “You would not mind? She’s very good company.”
It would be nothing for me to give Kukla a home. In truth, I would love to have the little dog, and my sisters would find her a delightful diversion, I was sure.
“Then it’s settled,” I said. “We’ll have to hide her as we walk back. I don’t think the stevedores who lost their cargo will be happy to see her.” I tugged my shawl from around my shoulders. “Will she let me hold her like a baby, do you think, Alex? I can wrap her in my shawl.”
Alex laughed. “She would adore such a thing. She’s always acting the sad one in hopes someone will hold her.” He handed her to me, placing her in my arms like a newborn baby and drawing the edge of the shawl over her face and tucking her long fox’s tail in. Kukla immediately assumed a doleful expression. Then she snuggled against my bodice and made a little sigh.
“Poor little thing,” I crooned.
Alex snorted with laughter. “Spoiled little thing, more like.”
We made our way back through the stevedores, making sure to skirt well around a good bit of the action. As happy as Kukla was for me to hold her, Alex wasn’t at all sure she’d remain that way should a cat leap onto the dock or someone push a fish-filled barrow by. But in my arms she remained.
“Is there some reason you and the captain call my father Hugh?” I asked.
Alex looked puzzled. “But that is his name, is it not? Hugh McGregor?”
“No. His name is Reginald Buchanan.” Hugh McGregor sounded familiar to me. I’d heard it before in the not so distant past. Where, I couldn’t recall.
“Why would he not want us to know his name?”
I shrugged. “He must travel under a different name,” I said, and left it at that, adding this information to the pile of secrets my father kept. It was as though he conducted a completely separate life away from us.
“What brings you both to the dockyards? Did you come to see the race?”
I shook my head. “My father has to return to China to fulfill his contract with his employer. His mission to find orchids was a failure the last time he was there. His employer is insistent.”
Alex looked taken aback. “I’m surprised to hear this. It’s very brave of him to return after what happened to him.”
“Were you able to assist my father after he was wounded?” I asked.
&n
bsp; “No. We knew so little at the time,” Alex said. “It’s very sad that the emperor’s Summer Palace was destroyed in retaliation for the men’s capture; it was a beautiful place, I’m told. But I suppose one barbaric act deserves another. Your father looks better than he did when the Chinese released him. I saw him before he was sent home and he appeared a walking skeleton. . . .” My face must have registered the horror I felt because Alex stopped talking. “I’m sorry. I’ve said too much. The details no longer matter. Your father is on the mend, and that’s good.”
Papa appeared on deck with Captain Everett. He had secured passage on board the Osprey, which would depart as soon as repairs were made and a new cargo secured. With Kukla done up like a baby in my shawl once more, Papa and I returned to Kew.
Alex’s report about Papa kept turning around and around in my head. Papa looked content after speaking with Captain Everett, and indeed he looked brighter and more himself, but I couldn’t help wondering what were we doing sending him back to China. What if the men who had hurt him wanted to do him harm again? What if his name was linked with this Summer Palace destruction forever?
But he had no choice. No choice at all. And there was nothing I could do but pray for his safety.
I TOOK ON ALL THE TASKS REQUIRED TO SEND PAPA TO CHINA. ALL OF his supplies had been lost in China, and he’d left the country with the clothes he stood up in. I sat down with Papa, with Alex’s Kukla at my feet, and wrote a list of things needing replacement. I turned his wardrobe out, inspecting the clothing he had to hand and packing what he needed in his traveling trunk. I wrote to Thomas Burberry, ordering a new waterproof coat, and to Harrods for expedition equipment: a tent, compass, several gas lanterns, cases of tinned and dried food, a medical kit, and a folding bath, chair, and bed. And finally, I wrote to James Purdey & Sons for a rifle, revolver, and ammunition. This last purchase only served to remind me of how harrowing Papa’s journey truly would be.
At night, I fell into an uneasy sleep, waking several times to listen for Papa’s sobs, but I never heard him cry again, and I hoped this was a sign that he was on the mend.
Several days later, Papa returned to Kent with me. I tried to chat with him on the train journey about this and that, but he seemed diverted and only answered when I repeated my questions, always fading off before he finished his thoughts. He sat across from me in the train carriage, staring down at his hat, turning the brim round and round in his hands. He’d left off the smock and was wearing a coat with overly long sleeves, and by now I knew this was to hide the scars on his wrists. I wondered how he would explain the wounds to Mamma. I had assumed they would have their usual reconciliation as soon as Papa appeared. It would do Mamma a lot of good to see Papa again, even for just a little while. And even for the villagers to see them together. Perhaps that would stop their wagging tongues.
After the train arrived at the station, Papa helped me alight from the train, and we set off on foot for home. When we reached the common, Papa stopped.
“Do you need to rest, Papa?”
“No, my dear. I’m not going any farther,” Papa said. “I’ll say my good-byes here. There is an evening train back to London in an hour, and I mean to be on it. There’s much to do to prepare for my journey. I have glass Wardian cases to consign and other bits and pieces . . .” His voice trailed off, and he looked toward the train station.
“What do you mean? I’m sure Mamma wants to see you. And the children, as well.” Kukla, tired of waiting, lay down in the grass. Her gaze switched from me to my father.
He shook his head, a sorrowful look on his face. “I don’t think so.”
“Well, you are quite wrong! Papa! How can you come home and not see them? That’s cruel!”
“You don’t understand—”
“You are quite right! I don’t understand. I don’t understand you at all. Mamma has been so ill, and it would be nothing for you to go inside and greet her. And for the villagers to see you doing so. People have been gossiping, and it affects Mamma’s health.”
“Elodie, stop!” Papa said, sounding angry and a little desperate. “All the more reason for Mamma not to see me. Now please do not argue with me. It’s better this way. I know it is, and you must not quarrel.”
“Please, Papa, don’t make me go in there alone and tell Mamma and the girls you refuse to see them.” I tugged on his arm, trying to force him to come with me, but he stood solid as a stone.
“I can’t. Elodie, you saw the way Violetta reacted when she saw me. I won’t have your mother distressed. We only argue when I’m home, and if she sees . . . if she knows of certain events, well, things will grow worse between us.”
“What do you mean?”
“This is between your mother and me.”
“How can you think her so coldhearted that she wouldn’t welcome you?”
“There are certain things you don’t understand, Elodie. Things your mother and I have decided. People already look on you as different. A father who is gone a great deal of the time is not usual, and people judge. I know this. I wish I could change things. But, Elodie, God help me, I cannot be any different. I travel under an assumed name because I don’t want my deeds to affect your mother, you, or your sisters, ever. To the villagers here I’m simply a man who finds plants and nothing more.”
And then, just like that, I recalled where I’d heard the name Hugh McGregor. This name was amongst the few survivors released from China’s Board of Punishments. Hugh McGregor had survived while the others had perished of their injuries. I remembered what the newspaper editor had written: The captors had tied their feet and hands behind their backs as tightly as possible with leather cords, and then tipped water on the bindings to increase the tension as the cords dried. The men were kept in this position until the condition of their hands and wrists became putrid and riddled with vermin.
Hugh McGregor was my father.
“Papa. I know what happened to you. I saw your scars. I know that a Hugh McGregor was captured during the war. That’s you, isn’t it? Papa, how could you think what had happened to you would change how we regarded you? You were a victim, not a villain.”
He stared at me, and then he started to laugh—a joyless, cynical laugh. “Oh, my dear, you don’t know half of the story. If you did, it would most certainly change how you regarded me.”
His words chilled me so much that I shivered.
And then he kissed my cheek and left. I let him return to the train station without saying another word to him.
What had my dashing and adventurous father done?
Scenarios filled my mind. Had my father killed someone? Had he been the cause of someone else’s downfall? Had he stolen?
It was Kukla’s whining that snapped me out of my trance. In a daze I took her up in my arms and went home. I didn’t know what else to do.
TWELVE
When I walked in my front door, I was very grateful for Kukla’s presence. The little girls fell on her the moment her paws touched the tiled hall.
“Puppy!” Peony shouted, rushing toward her with outstretched arms. My other sisters followed swiftly. Kukla sat in the middle of their circle, thumping her bushy tail on the floor and looking at each of my sisters in turn, eyes snapping with glee, thrilled by their attention and admiration.
“A dog?” Violetta said, humor in her voice. “Wherever did you find a dog?”
“I’m only minding her for a fortnight or so,” I said. “I’ll tell you where I found her later. Girls, why don’t you take Kukla out into the garden to play?” I watched my giggling sisters run off, Kukla dashing alongside them, her claws scrabbling for purchase on the wooden floorboards. “Where’s Mamma?”
She looked resigned. “In bed. Dr. Thumpston insisted. He said arising from her sickbed too soon caused her accident. He’s blaming you, as it happens. I think he suspects you did something to her medicine. He wasn’t amused w
hen he saw the empty Chlorodyne bottle on Mamma’s bedside table doing duty as a sweet pea vase.”
“Well, he can think what he likes. Papa agrees with me. The Chlorodyne is bad for her. Don’t give her any more.”
“Now that you’re home you can take the responsibility of it,” Violetta said, her voice petulant. “I don’t want anything more to do with Dr. Thumpston.”
I rubbed my forehead where a headache was beginning to form. I didn’t want to snap at Violetta, but honestly, I was getting exhausted with looking after every last detail. At times of self-pity, such as this one, I wished that someone would look after me every now and again. My shoulders were beginning to ache with all the burdens I carried. I was only seventeen. I should be going to dances and meeting young men and reading novels. What I wouldn’t give to sit under the oak trees on the common and read, as Violetta did constantly. Or have time to while away alone, with no children present, in my conservatory.
“Where is Papa?”
“He’s returned to Kew,” I said shortly, having not the energy or the desire to moderate my words, as I did usually, so that Violetta wouldn’t become cross. I cared not how harsh my words sounded or how she’d react to them. “He won’t come in, and I’ll thank you not to throw a tantrum over it.”
Instead of her usual grim retort when it came to my father’s actions, Violetta simply nodded. “I don’t think it would be wise for Mamma to see him right now. She’s too poorly.”
My irritation with Violetta drained away with those words. If Violetta had grown angry, I could not have borne it; I would have burst into tears. “Do you think so?” I said. “Papa said the very same thing. And now I feel that I’m inclined to agree with you.”
“The look of him, Elodie!”
“I know.” I glanced up the staircase, wanting to hold back telling Mamma that Papa had returned to London without seeing her for as long as I could. “I’ll have to tell her something. I’m sure she’s expecting to see him. What shall I say?”
The Forbidden Orchid Page 11
