Like a Flower in Bloom

by Siri Mitchell

“I’ve been writing . . . writing . . . books and such to pay our bills. He’s working on an illustrated series, for which I’ve been doing the illustrations as well, but it’s a large undertaking and is being financed by subscription, and though it’s quite comprehensive, I don’t expect that it will provide any more money than his previous works have. And I don’t suppose that you are proficient in the drawing of orchids?”

  “I can’t say that I’ve ever—”

  “So I’m to leave my illustrations half-finished and my work half-done in order to find someone to marry?”

  “I never said—”

  “And leave all of my father’s work in the hands of someone who doesn’t even know the proper name for a foxglove?”

  “It was just a joke, I assure you.”

  “Yes. Exactly. That’s exactly how I feel. As if all that I’ve done and all that I’ve accomplished are to be set aside for some more suitable assistant simply because I’ve got pistils!”

  “Pistils . . . ?”

  “As if they’re somehow considered less worthy than stamens!”

  “Stamens . . . ?”

  “Can you see how this is quite enraging?”

  “I can see that you’re highly incensed.”

  “Extremely.”

  He stood once more and then bowed. “Extremely incensed. I think it more accurate, perhaps, to say that it is you whom I am ultimately assisting.”

  If he hadn’t usurped my position then I might have appreciated the sentiment. “Thank you, Mr. Trimble.” At long last, I had seen a glimpse of the man I had come to know through our correspondence.

  “So . . . would you do it, then? Make a map of your piles?”

  I felt my face flush. “Have you not understood a word I’ve said? My answer is no!”

  For once, someone pulled at the bell at a most opportune time.

  Mr. Trimble nodded toward the front hall. “Shall I . . . ?”

  “Please.” I picked up the treatise once more, with the intention of actually reading it this time, but the Admiral strode into the room. He came to a dead stop as he took my measure from head to toe. “I had hoped you would be ready by now, my dear.”

  I stood. “I am.”

  “I rather thought . . . That is, I had hoped . . . Didn’t we speak of the subject of uniforms just this afternoon?”

  “This is what I wore to London last year.”

  “Yes . . . but haven’t you something that you wore while you were in London? Something that . . . glitters or shines?”

  Glitters or shines? Were the two rows of brass buttons on my bodice not shiny enough? “I’ve just this. But it’s only a year old and very sturdy.”

  Mr. Trimble broke into our conversation. And rather rudely, in my opinion. “What your uncle means to say is that you’re wearing a traveling dress, Miss Withersby, when what is expected at this time of the day is an evening gown.”

  “Quite right, young man. Thank you.”

  “I don’t see why this can’t serve that purpose. If I wear it in the evening, then it must, by definition, be an evening gown, mustn’t it?”

  Mr. Trimble was shaking his head. “I think you’ll find your definition is rather more literal than what is generally accepted.”

  “It serves its purpose, does it not?”

  My uncle was scowling now. “The proper uniform for the proper job, dear Charlotte. You can’t steer the ship if you’re dressed as a midshipman.”

  “Proper or not, this is the most recent addition to my wardrobe.”

  Mr. Trimble inserted himself again. “And . . . what about . . . What would you wear to church for instance?”

  “Just a . . . just a dress.”

  “Perhaps your ‘just a dress’ would be a better choice.”

  “If you say so.”

  “I do.”

  I directed my gaze toward my uncle. “Then you’ll have to allow me a few more minutes.”

  Really, I couldn’t see what all the fuss was about. The Admiral had asked for something stylish, and the London outfit was the most recent purchase I had made. Not that I had wanted it, but it had been he himself who had insisted upon a new dress when he’d found out we were going. What’s more, he’d taken it upon himself to have it made. But I took it off with a sigh and debated my remaining choices.

  The first, a green striped gown, was embroidered with primroses and trimmed with ribbon. The second, in light blue, looked as if it had a jacket though it had been sewn to the bodice and wouldn’t even open. It was really quite infuriating.

  Being that it was rather chill, I settled on the one with the useless jacket, though it took some time to fasten, seeing as how I had to turn my back to the mirror and do up the hooks with my hook holder in one hand and the hook fastener in the other. It had taken me quite some time to devise the method, but I’d been left without recourse after Mother had died. The hooks done up, I took out my bonnet, which looked very much like an open-ended vasculum, and tied the ribbons at my chin.

  If I had expected smiles or congratulations upon my return to the parlor, I would have been sorely disappointed.

  The Admiral frowned. “You’ve got nothing then with . . . more . . . material? Or spangles?”

  “Spangles? I should think not.”

  “Perhaps . . . perhaps we should stay in tonight, my dear. I could have a note sent and—”

  “That will never do.” Mr. Trimble had been staring at me, and now he stepped forward as he nodded toward my skirt. “That’s a day dress, not an evening dress. You need something with more . . . Are you wearing any petticoats beneath that?”

  I didn’t see why he should be lecturing me on fashion, considering he, himself, was a sheep farmer. With his height and those broad shoulders of his, one might have accused him of looming over me. It made me feel distinctly . . . odd. “Petticoats? Why?”

  “Because that’s what’s done. Least it was when I left for New Zealand, and I haven’t noticed that fashion is much changed.”

  I wasn’t wearing any petticoats. I detested them. They always got caught up round my ankles, unless, of course, I wore those I’d used when I was much younger, but they were too tight about the waist. “How am I to do anything if I wear all those skirts?”

  “The point is not to do something, the point is to—”

  “I’m to do nothing? Then why am I even going?”

  “That’s beside the . . .” He was peering with great interest at a place just below my bosom. “Is that a . . . What is that exactly? That splotch on your bodice?”

  I peered down to try to see it, but my sight was blocked by my bosom. “I couldn’t say for certain.”

  I took up the pocket glass Mr. Trimble had left on the desk and held up a black book behind it. Aiming it at my bosom, I recognized the stain immediately in the reflection. “It’s a bit of India ink. As a rule, I wear a smock when I work on my illustrations, but there was that day last month—”

  “India ink?” Mr. Trimble’s words were indignant. “The gown is ruined.”

  I scoffed. “It’s not so bad as that. I only got it several years ago. It’s still quite serviceable.”

  “If the spot can’t be got out, then it’s ruined.”

  “Well, it won’t be got out tonight, and it’s just a small spot.” I looked into the pocket glass again. “It’s hardly longer than my thumb. Just a smear, really, and I don’t see why—”

  “Then at least do us all the favor of wearing some sort of mantle. You do have one of those, don’t you?”

  “I do. Of course I do.”

  The Admiral cleared his throat. His face had gone flush. “If we do not hurry we will be late, and punctuality is the duty of subjects.”

  I ran up the stairs and grabbed my mantle from its hook. And I put on a petticoat as well.

  In the front hall, Mr. Trimble stopped me with a hand to my arm. Untying the ribbons that bound my hat to my head, he took it off. “This is a carriage bonnet.”

  “It can’t be. Why,
I ask you, would I have purchased a carriage bonnet when we have no carriage? The very idea is ridiculous.”

  “It’s just that it’s meant for a daylight excursion instead of . . . Never mind. Better to go without one. Perhaps . . .” He drew me into the parlor and dashed toward the Wardian case in which I was growing moth orchids. Lifting the lid, he broke one off its stem.

  “But that’s . . . that’s my orchid! I’ll thank you not to concern yourself with things that aren’t any of your . . . your . . . concern!” I’d worked for months to grow it so that I’d have a living specimen from which to draw. But I suppose it didn’t matter anymore if I wasn’t to be allowed to draw anything ever again.

  He pushed it into my hair just above my ear. “As we decided earlier in the evening, Miss Withersby, it is you whom I am ultimately assisting.”

  The advantage of wearing a flower in one’s hair is that it was much lighter in weight than a bonnet. But even so, I could not quite bring myself to forgive Mr. Trimble for ruining my orchid.

  The Admiral got himself into a sort of stew as we drove to the dinner party. It seemed to be that general kind of foul mood that usually presaged some launch upon the waters of the empire’s politics, or some policy of which he considered the government in grave danger of doing the wrong thing. But as we turned from the road onto an estate’s lane, he made a rather unexpected pronouncement. “There is just one rule, that which we call golden in polite society, my dear. Treat others as you would like to be treated.”

  Just one? I felt myself begin to relax. “I shall endeavor to keep it in mind.”

  We were greeted by a footman, and I was shown to a room where I could leave my mantle. Considering Mr. Trimble’s opinion of my India ink stain, I decided to keep mine with me. The attendant did not seem to understand my wishes, so a momentary scuffle over my mantle ensued, but I emerged victorious.

  After rejoining the Admiral, we were bid to ascend the stairs, and soon we found ourselves at the entrance to a large open room. It was lined on both sides with windows festooned with red curtains. They were held back to reveal the night by thick golden ropes that ended in tassels. From the coffered ceiling hung three chandeliers that must have counted a hundred candles between them. The room was filled with people milling about, conversing in groups.

  As we crossed the room, the Admiral pointed out our hosts, the Bickwiths. Perhaps a decade younger than the Admiral, they looked a pair, being rather short with florid faces. He introduced me to various guests in turn, and I noted that his demands for a dress with more material or spangles were not quite as unmerited as I had earlier thought. My skirts looked like a wilted flower compared to those of the other women. Although most of them had bared their shoulders, I was glad of my long sleeves and covered bosom. I was quite thankful as well for the mantle I had refused to surrender, since the windows had been thrown open to the night.

  By the time we crossed the room, Mr. Bickwith was conversing about dogs and their keeping with quite a number of those gentlemen who had come from London for the hunt. I had just determined to speak to one of them about the possibility of their taking more care with the flora in the area when the Admiral took me by the arm and introduced me to Mrs. Bickwith.

  “Miss Withersby?”

  I had never thought my name difficult to pronounce . . . although her difficulty might be explained if she were hard of hearing. I raised my voice when I answered. “That is correct.”

  “I don’t believe I have ever met anyone so secure in their expectations that they can afford to flout convention.”

  I smiled. “Thank you.”

  She sniffed and walked away, leaving me quite pleased with the encounter.

  6

  The Admiral led me over toward an older man and a girl. As we approached, he identified them as Sir Templeton and his daughter, Miss Templeton. With no little trepidation, I understood somehow that she was the ideal specimen by which the rest of us in the room must be judged. What was a generally accepted practice in botany suddenly seemed most unfair.

  The blond hair that had not been twisted into a profusion of curls above her ears had been gathered at the back of her head into a knot and then covered in a mass of ribbons. She was wearing a dress in a shade of pink that was common to hollyhocks but the fabric was embroidered with all manner of strawberry blossoms and strawberry fruit attached to twining vines. As I peered more closely at the pattern, however, I began to suspect that the depiction of the flower petals was faulty. If only she would stop moving, I would be able to tell.

  She smiled while the Admiral made the introductions. As he embarked upon a conversation with her father, she turned to me. “It’s very nice to meet you, Miss Withersby. I must confess that I feel quite certain I’ve seen you before.”

  “Perhaps out in the field.”

  “The field? What field would that be?”

  “It’s difficult to say exactly. I’ve visited so many of them.” It looked as if some of her strawberry flowers had five petals and some of them had six! I could see it quite clearly now. “I take a ramble every morning to look for specimens.”

  “I do as well! That is, not every morning. And if truth be told, not very often, but I have done. Once or twice. Botany is all the rage at the moment, you know, and I do so like to keep up with rages!”

  I heard myself sigh. “My rambles are finished though. At least for the time being. My father has decided I should marry. He’s afraid I’ve nearly become too old to do so.”

  “Mine too. But . . . how old are you, then?”

  “I just turned twenty-two.”

  Her brow crimped in concern. “You are old! However did you manage to stay out of society for so long?”

  “No one ever seemed to notice that I wasn’t in it.” And it hadn’t ever mattered before.

  “I wish no one would notice me sometimes!”

  “It’s the Admiral’s fault. He convinced my father that it’s my duty to marry.”

  “My father says the very same thing. Duty is rather a heavy responsibility, isn’t it?”

  “I’m not against marriage in the case of other people. I might not even be against it for myself one day, but I’ve got papers to proof and books to write and bills to pay and . . . and what no one seems to understand is, if I’m not there, then none of the work will get done.”

  She was nodding as if she understood exactly. “Someone is bound to realize soon enough.”

  “That is my hope. My father took on someone to replace me. But the man knows nothing about nearly everything, so it shouldn’t take long. Until then, however, it’s necessary to continue pretending that marriage is in fact my intention. That should make my absence even more dire.”

  “That’s brilliant, Miss Withersby! You’ve such lovely hair to go with those brown eyes of yours. And such pretty ears—I daresay you’ve the ankles to match? With your fashionable figure, you could attract even the most confirmed of bachelors. Do let me help!”

  I wondered . . . should I tell her about the flowers on her dress? Would it be considered impolite? My uncle had said that I must treat others as I would like to be treated, and I would certainly wish to know that the embroidery on my dress was a gross misrepresentation of nature.

  She looked at me with a keen-eyed gaze. “You miss your rambles, don’t you.”

  “I do. I cannot lie.”

  She linked an arm through mine. “Then we should go on a ramble ourselves, you and I.”

  “Perhaps we could go tomorrow.” I eyed her dress again. Really, the mistake was quite glaring.

  “Tomorrow!” She seemed rather startled with the idea, even though it had been her own. But then she smiled again. “I would look forward to it if it weren’t Sunday.”

  “I don’t see why it should matter. I could meet you at half-past five, I should think. Depending upon where you live and how long it will take me to walk there, of course.”

  “Half past five? I’m quite a lazy creature, Miss Withersby—you can ask a
nyone who knows me—but isn’t that rather late for a ramble?”

  “I suppose I could meet you a bit earlier, at four, perhaps, but with the sun not rising until six, I don’t quite know what we’ll be able to accomplish.”

  “You meant in the morning? Oh!” Her laughter rang through the room. “To have the pleasure of my company, on most days you’ll have to wait until at least ten. I’m really quite decadent, I must warn you.”

  “Ten . . . ?” By ten I would normally be investigating the specimens I’d collected, but nothing was as it normally had been, and I wasn’t to be working. I was supposed to be engaged in finding a husband. “I suppose ten would be fine. On Monday, then?”

  “I’ll feel ever so industrious! But not on Monday. I’ll need a day to contemplate this and work up to the endeavor. Shall we say Tuesday?”

  I agreed. “I wonder, Miss Templeton, may I tell you something?”

  Her brows peaked. “Please do.”

  “Do you know that the flowers on your dress haven’t got the right number of petals?”

  She glanced down at it. “I had no idea.”

  “Some of them have five petals and some have six, and although that’s possible considering that different varieties of the strawberry have different numbers of petals, I would assume that your dress is meant to depict just one variety, wouldn’t you?”

  “Why, I’d never given it a thought!”

  “I wouldn’t have mentioned it, except that I thought you might want to be made aware of it.”

  She grasped my hand. “I’m sure I wouldn’t have noticed if you hadn’t told me, but now that I know, I can’t think that I’ll be able to wear this again with a clear conscience.” She paused and glanced about the room. When she spoke again, it was in a whisper. “Do you think anyone else has noticed?”

  I didn’t see how they could have failed to, the omission was rather glaring, but if she hadn’t noticed, then maybe . . . “Has anyone else mentioned it?”

  “No . . . no, they have not.”

  “Then perhaps they haven’t. You can hope so in any case.”

  “I do hope you’re right. I am certain that, if Mrs. Bickwith has seen the fault, she would have found some way to tell me by now. She’s really quite spiteful.”