“It deserves nothing less,” I said, with sincere admiration. “Clearly, science runs in your family’s veins.”
“I was just ten when my uncle left England, and my mother died giving birth to my sister. Except for occasional holidays and my schooling, I know little of life outside these walls. As a girl, I discovered I had a knack for horticulture, and I like to use it to create beauty. I hope to publish my results someday. Cross-breeding and hybridization fascinate me.”
“And you have employed that fascination with considerable success. Are they entirely for your family’s enjoyment?”
Again, that lilting laugh.
“Grandfather would never allow that,” she said. “When the flowers are ready for transplant, we take them to the gardens. We also supply the local florists, and, thanks to refrigerated railroad cars, we can take our flowers all over Europe. The less spectacular varieties are planted on farms around the estate to give them some beauty and to supply the apiaries with pollen for honey. Nothing goes to waste in a Moreau enterprise.”
“Will you have to give this up after your wedding?”
The smile faded.
“You must swear silence,” she said, “but I have to tell someone, or I will burst. The Baron is fifty years old and a corpulent drunkard, but he is wealthy enough to satisfy Grandfather that he is not interested in me for my money alone. He is, in fact, the owner of a railroad company. Grandfather wants it, and I am to be the unwilling prize. I was able to get the Baron to agree to let me have my greenhouse, in exchange for proving a male heir.”
“Sold in marriage with no more rights than a slave,” I grumbled. “Don’t you get any money from your flowers?”
“Only what Grandfather allows. Most of it goes to the estate.”
I could not restrain a harsh oath, which both shocked and secretly pleased Sophie.
“I am most heartily offended to hear this,” I said. “You could be to botany what your uncle could be to zoology.”
“Is that why you seek him? What has he done?”
“Now I must ask your silence, or my visit is for naught. Your uncle, Dr. Moreau, has endowed animals with reason and speech.”
I had often heard of a jaw dropping, but until that moment I did not know it ever actually happened.
“Surely that is not possible!”
“I have seen the results with my own eyes, and a former laboratory assistant gave me his name. He seeks to stop your uncle. I plan to save him.”
“Where is he?”
“I don’t know, but someone here does. If I am successful, I’ll be on my way soon.”
“Then I wish you Godspeed, sir. “
Was there just the hint of reluctance in her voice? My heart leapt at the thought.
“M’selle, must you go through with this cold arrangement? Can’t you at least find someone younger and more agreeable?”
Sophie shook her head.
“Grandfather gets his way,” she said.
“You have my sympathies. I would help you if I could.”
She gave my hand a gentle squeeze.
“I know you would, and I appreciate it,” she said.
The servant called my name.
“I am summoned,” I said. “May I bid you good night?”
“Good night, Monsieur Challenger.”
I had hoped for another of those superb cigars, but no such luck. Henri had left. Moreau, looking drained and irascible, said, “I am quite tired, M’sieu Challenger. Ordinarily, I do not remain up so late, but you have brought to us the most extraordinary proposal, worthy of full consideration. We will need to examine the matter more fully in the morning. I’m sure you understand. I will give you my answer tomorrow.”
“I am grateful for your consideration,” I said. “I thank you for your excellent repast and bid you a very good night.”
“Good night.”
I found myself in no condition to sleep. Quite possibly the greatest of scientific adventures tantalizingly within my reach, and warm feelings in my heart when I thought of Sophie, a human rose every bit as lovely and delicate as those she has created in her garden. I could not think about anything because her image filled my mind, her plight pulled at my heart. I wanted to enfold her in my arms, protect her, caress those soft dark French tresses, kiss those succulent lips, and share with her everything filling my heart.
Visions of a fantasy marriage filled my dreams once I finally did fall into slumber. In those dreams, I had found success, and between us, we created such lovely floral hybrids and needed nothing more out of life than one another’s company. When the time came to wake, I tried to hold onto it and remember every enchanting detail.
But a decision which could change my very life awaited. Before last night, I all but counted the minutes until I could leave this hidebound ice palace. Now, I dread the thought of leaving and never again seeing the enchanting flower princess named Sophie Moreau.
My stomach clenched and my heart raced a bit as I made my toilet the next morning. To be so close, and yet … I tried to see my proposal from their point of view. To comply with my request, they would have to admit lying to the public for years, and perhaps to violating any number of treaties and laws, and all based on the word of a possible madman so far as they knew. I have no doubt the real reason they asked to have me as a guest and to take all this time deciding is so that they can have me investigated. I shuddered to think what they must have uncovered, even though I gave them permission. I do not know what it is about me people find so offensive, unless it is jealousy over my intellect and my refusing to hide it simply to placate the foolish. My intellectual gifts are a simple fact, and I see no reason not to acknowledge them. It’s not my fault lesser minds can’t keep up. Unfortunately, human pettiness is a constant fact of my life, and I have to bear the consequences.
I prepared myself for the worst and went downstairs to breakfast, which the elder Moreau insisted be served promptly at eight o’clock. A broad array of choices greeted me – coffee, champagne, fresh fruit, delectable French pastries and cakes. I decided on the safest course, limiting myself to strawberries, coffee, and a chocolate croissant.
I noticed that neither Sophie nor Florinda had joined us. My heart sank; Sophie was likely to be the only ray of joy for this day. Was this a good omen? Or an ill one? I simply did not know. Frenchmen are supposed to be somewhat excitable, but both Henri and Alexandre pere remained inscrutable as Chinese priests as we ate.
I composed a farewell speech in my head.
“Another cup of coffee, Monsieur Challenger?”
“Please.”
“Perhaps you might prefer champagne,” said Henri, “for we have decided to grant your request.”
At first, the import of Henri’s statement did not sink in, but once it did, my heart leapt in gratitude.
“Monsieur Moreau, I cannot find the words. I am truly most grateful.”
“You have also not misrepresented yourself,” said the old man. “This is very important. You may be considered a boor by most who know you, but money clearly does not drive your thoughts and actions, and it is the opinion of those who know you that you might well make a true scientist one day. We believe you are worthy of joining Alexandre in his researches, and we will find a new home for him.”
“You are the most generous and careful of men,” I replied, my heart racing both under the strain of forcing myself to be so polite, and with anticipation. “I shall not disappoint you.”
“Do you understand the consequences of this?” asked Henri. “You will be giving up your academic career, and you will disappear from public view for a very long time. Few will know your whereabouts, and it is possible they may think you dead.”
“All the better when we share our research with the world,” said I. “Who would not wish to have his nam
e on the next step in man’s evolution? And who knows what fortunes might be made? This could prove your wisest investment, Monsieur Moreau.”
A dark pleasure showed in Moreau’s smile.
“Henri has made the arrangements,” he said. “You will depart from Marseille in six days’ time. I suggest you use it to prepare.”
I signaled for champagne.
“To the future,” I offered, and we all sipped happily.
Has the course of my life just changed?
As I write this, I am feeling a happy glow, for I have spent most of today in the delightful company of Sophie Moreau, with whom I believe I am falling in love. I cannot expel her image from my mind – her dazzling white smile, the laughter which conjures silver bells, her dark, exotic hair and dancing green eyes. Never have I been so besotted.
I have left the Moreau estate in favor of the village hotel, my parents having come through with a bit of money to support my work. I have not told them everything about Dr. Moreau, of course, and I am grateful they seem not to have heard of the man. Or, perhaps the idea of sending me halfway around the world appeals to my father. We never did see eye to eye on much. If he had his way, I’d be spending endless, boring days shuffling money and screening dullards applying for loans.
I dare not dwell on that; thinking of my family always makes me morose.
Once I settled in at the hotel, I went to the bar for a glass or two of good Irish whiskey when a wagon delivering an order of flowers for the hotel arrived, and with them, Sophie.
“Monsieur Challenger!” she cried on spotting me. “I was afraid you’d returned to Scotland!”
“No, I have decided to remain here until the next voyage of the Meribelle. I thought I would tour the countryside and catch up on my academic journals.”
“The Meribelle?”
“The ship taking supplies and equipment to your uncle on his mysterious island in the Pacific Ocean. It leaves from Marseille next week. Until that time, I am at liberty.”
“Let me conclude my business here,” she said. “Then I will give you the village tour. Shall we meet here in an hour?”
I took advantage of the time to enjoy an honest meal of baguette, soft Brie, and good red French table wine. Once Sophie returned, we strolled the village streets, where she showed me the sites of medieval battles, the public square where witches were burned at the stake, the best views of the snow-covered countryside, still beautiful and serene despite this being the chilly heart of winter.
Without even thinking, Sophie’s hand and my own found one another as if that were the most natural thing in the world. I found myself damping down my natural behavior, not wanting to drive her away. We must have spent two hours simply chatting away in the hotel bar.
Free from her family, Sophie relaxed and showed me her true self, her eagerness to learn more of the horticultural arts, her desire to study painting in Paris, and even explore music, that most magical and impenetrable of the arts. (At least to me.)
All day, I have resisted the impulse to sweep her into my arms and kiss her madly, but of course she is still betrothed to someone else.
“Monsieur Challenger—”
“We aren’t at your family’s table, my dear. Please call me George.”
“George, why did you come into my life now, of all times? Why did we not meet before it was too late? There is so much in the world, and I feel as though I’m going to be imprisoned for crimes I never committed.”
“Sophie, you don’t have to marry that man,” I said. “You have free will. Just say the word, and I can—”
“What a pleasant thought, but we barely know one another.”
“True. I could never offer you the life of luxury you now enjoy. All I have in its place is my sheer joy at being in your company.”
“Still, we have this time together now,” she said. “I am grateful for that.”
At last, the time came when Sophie had to return to the chateau. A coach bearing the Moreau crest arrived at the hotel to take Sophie home. As we parted, I embraced her with passion, a passion her own embrace returned.
“Come back to see me,” I said. “You know where to find me. I can’t just let you vanish from my life, not before I absolutely have to.”
“Tomorrow, then? I’m heading into Nantes. It is one of the most historic cities in France. Also, I know where the best cafes are.”
“Until tomorrow, then.”
One more embrace, and, just briefly, our lips brushed together.
“Not in front of the driver,” she whispered. “Tomorrow.”
“Tomorrow, Sophie.”
With that, and a wave of her hand, Sophie Moreau slowly vanished from my view.
How will I make it to the morrow? I don’t think I’ll be able to sleep tonight. Thank God for wine.
Must all good things come to an end?
Tomorrow, I leave for Marseille and the Meribelle, destination unknown but to a select few. And that means I am unlikely to see Sophie ever again.
We have been lovers for the last week, a grand passion fulfilled. Had I the ability, I would write a play; we meet in secret, we take the greatest of care to make sure the liaison never reaches Sophie’s family, we make love with fire, and part only at the last possible moment.
Needless to say, I have been begging her to forsake her family’s callous treatment in favor of marriage to me. It is the only thing about which we argue.
“You could transform every garden in England,” I said. “Together, we can amass a fortune, a fortune none of the others could touch.”
“George, please don’t ask me again. The deal is done, and my fate is sealed, though I take a certain pleasure in the fact that you, and not the Baron, was the first who took my virtue. That alone may persuade him to end the engagement.”
Sophie sighed, and continued, “You can’t know the consequences of angering my grandfather. They are deep and far-reaching. He would revenge himself on both of us. I would lose everything. Would you have me if I were not wealthy?”
“What an absurd question! I’ve been near poverty all my life. Your wealth doesn’t enter in to how I feel about you. As for your grandfather, revenge be damned! I’ve cowed lions with a single hot glare. I’ve wrestled crocodiles in Egypt. I have even weathered academic politics, the nastiest and pettiest of them all. We can handle one dyspeptic old man.”
“Does my happiness matter to you, my love?”
“With all my heart.”
“Then let us just have cherished memories of our days together. Perhaps, one day, when the baron tires of me or dies, we may find one another again. Until then, let us just enjoy what we have.”
As I write this, Sophie is dressing, and will soon no longer be a part of my life. I cannot put into words the feel of my heart turning slowly into a leaden, unfeeling mass.
When this affair began, I had dreams of glory and, dare I say, immortality, at least in the halls of science. Because of one beguiling young woman, now I could not care less about science, or fame, or accolades. I would trade my entire future for just one more kiss.
March, 1887
Though I still miss Sophie, I must say the bracing breeze of the sea is slowly restoring my spirits, and I find I can once again turn my thoughts to the quest which launched this amazing adventure. A few more days, and I will, at last, meet the great Alexandre Moreau.
Despite the fact that I have no means to communicate with anyone who is not on board, I have still not been told our precise destination, save that it is in the tropical Pacific. I feel this is ridiculous. I would hardly betray the man I wish to be my mentor.
Our vessel, the Meribelle, is a 3,000-ton cargo boat, powered by a steam engine with the impressive horsepower of 6,500, and this translates into 18 knots. Despite the mighty engine, however, the ship still has
full rigging and sailing capability, in case the engine should fail for some reason, or we get unusually favorable winds. In merchant sailing, speed is everything.
We have a most unusual cargo: it holds what most Moreaus consider to be the basic necessities of life: cases of brandy and fine wine, what must be a ton of cigars, hundreds of gallons of saline, various chemicals used in biological research, and several large, wild animals. They spend their days in morose captivity, mercifully unknowing the role they will soon play in the advancement of mankind’s scientific knowledge.
This is the first long voyage I have taken in several years, and I must say that, after a day or two of being tossed about on choppy waters, I have gotten my sea legs, adjusted my digestion to sailors’ fare, and am finally comfortable. I have been given a small cabin with a single berth, an ample supply of wine and gin, and plenty to read.
One unexpected bonus is my becoming a junior member of the crew. Contrary to Dr. Trevor’s somewhat sarcastic comment on my personal charms, I am far more at home with these rough Frenchmen than I am among their wealthy, and a whole new avenue of learning has opened up to me. I’m learning basic seamanship, the ways of rope, and new uses for my muscles. All of this may be useful one day, when I go further into the field and explore the natural world on my own.
Now that the weather is pleasant and the seas calmer, we are moving along at a good clip, and I am allowing myself to relax and refresh myself in the invigorating sea air, a fitting period of rejuvenation before the labors and triumphs ahead.
It is amazing to me how so much can change over the course of a few hours.
This morning began as did every other; we rise at dawn, breakfast (coffee and sea-biscuits), followed by a spell of work. Despite my recent adventures, I am still a zoologist, and I have taken advantage of my time to catch up on my ornithology. Seabirds are never far from us, and their antics have given me some new insights into these fascinating creatures. I have to wonder if Dr. Moreau has added them to his experiments. Imagine a parrot which could actually talk! Perhaps Moreau has done that in order to have some company.
Sherlock Holmes and The House of Pain Page 12
