Like a Flower in Bloom

by Siri Mitchell

  When he came to me, he paused. “I will admit that your work shows some promise. If you could just bring yourself to follow the correct process, and if you’re willing to practice, I think you might be able to produce a fine little painting one day.”

  15

  Church was quite agreeable that Sunday. I nodded to several people that I had met earlier in the week and when church ended, I even spoke to some of them before Mr. Trimble dragged us back to the house.

  I saw Miss Templeton on Monday evening at a dramatic reading I attended with the Admiral. There was an air of resolution in her manner as she approached me. She took me by the arm and pulled me back toward the wall. “I confess that before the watercolor society meeting, I didn’t understand that there was a difference between a painting and an illustration. Upon reflection, I admit that you were quite right to think that a watercolor society is not the right place for your work.” She was watching me quite carefully.

  “I thought so as well, but I didn’t want to seem pedantic about it. You seemed so badly to want me to attend.”

  She smiled. “So let us try to speed you back to your work. Now then . . .” She glanced about the room. “Mr. Stansbury is here, and I think it an ideal time for you to speak to him. Shall I go with you?”

  I sighed. “Every time I see him, I think of that dreadful stumpery of his, and I just can’t pretend an interest in a man so immune to good taste in nature.”

  “Try thinking instead of that terrible Mr. Trimble and his taking over your job.”

  “I try. I do try.”

  “Then you must try harder, because Mr. Stansbury is an eccentric. He’s liable to do just about anything. It’s quite startling, really, the number of odd things he’s done since he moved here, so if the Admiral can be convinced that he’s set his cap for you, then your father cannot afford to hesitate any longer.”

  “I do understand, but if you consider that I will have to hear him talk about that dreadful stumpery—and probably have to go see it—then you would not ask me to be kind to him.”

  “Then I shall approach him for you and declare myself mad to see it and I daresay he will invite us for a tour. And if I let it slip that you’ve been invited to Overwich Hall twice now, just imagine what people will think!”

  “I hope they won’t think I approve of his stumpery.”

  “They shall think that he begins to favor you.”

  “They will?”

  “Indeed. And then I shall be able to see it too! I’ve been dying to do so, you know. He really is quite extraordinary. Perhaps he’ll even give us a tour of his house. He didn’t last time, and I’ve heard there’s an entire room given over to swords and sabers and another to a collection of clocks and watches. I’ve half a mind to tell him that to really have a respectable estate he needs a menagerie, just to see what he’d do. I’ve always wanted to see one of those what-do-you-call-thems with the long necks.” She sighed. “It’s such a pity you don’t want to marry him. I should think it ever so amusing to be married to a man like that.”

  “Perhaps you should have him, then.”

  She frowned. “My father would never approve. Although he hasn’t approved of half the things I’ve said and done, so in the end, that would probably be no obstacle.” Snapping her fan open, she fluttered it as she pondered Mr. Stansbury for a long moment. “The problem is that he seems quite incapable of falling in love with anything but his glasshouse and that stumpery. And my express wish is to marry someone completely besotted with me. Remember? No, I shall stand by my original decision: I think he’s best left to you.”

  Between the readings, Miss Templeton took my hand in hers and walked the length of the room as she conversed with me about hair falls and gowns. When she paused to open her fan and look about, I was quite surprised to find that we had come to a stop in front of Mr. Stansbury.

  He bowed.

  We curtseyed.

  She squeezed my hand. “Miss Withersby has told me such stories of your . . . your . . . ?” Her brow puckered.

  I mouthed the word stumpery.

  “Sumpery.”

  “My stumpery?”

  “That’s it! You see, it’s such a fantastical idea that I really can’t quite conceive the picture of it.”

  “It’s a garden of sorts set with tree stumps placed upside down so their roots show. Does that give you a better idea?”

  “Not really.”

  “There are twenty-three such stumps. I just began to cultivate it last spring, and I—”

  Really, I’d had enough of such foolishness. “What I’ve always wondered is how one cultivates a stump.” It defied the definition of the word cultivate, did it not, when the thing was dead to begin with? “Perhaps caretaking would be a better way to explain it.”

  Miss Templeton’s smile was fixed to her face, although her eyes looked quite vexed. “I really have so little imagination, Mr. Stansbury. I’m afraid it’s one of my most grievous faults.”

  He smiled down at her as if he considered her fault a virtue. “I’ve always been a man more inclined to the practical than the fanciful myself, Miss Templeton. I see no reason for you to apologize.”

  “That’s so kind. So very kind. Isn’t it, Miss Withersby?”

  I felt my brow wrinkle as she looked at me.

  Her brows sunk into a curve. “You’re so very kind, Mr. Stansbury, that I wonder if you would consider doing me a favor?”

  “For you I would descend into the salt mines, Miss Templeton; I would brave even those steaming, malodorous salt pans.”

  Her cheeks colored. “I’m such a dreadfully curious creature. My father is forever saying so. I’ve always supposed it the consequence of having been left motherless—”

  The levity left Mr. Stansbury’s eyes in an instant. “I’m so sorry. I had no idea that your mother—”

  “There’s no reason you ought to be sorry, but in any case, I do so wish I could see your stumpery.”

  He searched her eyes for a moment before answering. When he did, his smile had returned. “I would consider it an honor. Why don’t you come tomorrow? I will show it to you myself.”

  She linked her arm with mine. “You’re too generous! You’re so thoughtful! We’d be delighted to come. Wouldn’t we, Miss Withersby?”

  “Tomorrow? I’m not certain I can—”

  She jabbed me in the ribs with her elbow.

  “Yes. That would be fine.”

  “Is anything wrong, Miss Withersby?” Mr. Trimble asked the next day as we sat across from each other at our midday meal.

  “Wrong? No. Why would you think so?”

  “You’re attacking that veal quite violently.”

  I looked down to find I’d been shredding the meat with my knife. “It’s just . . .”

  Father looked over at me, pushing his spectacles back up his nose.

  “It’s just that . . . I am contemplating Mr. Stansbury and how dreadful it would make me feel to leave this place for his.”

  “Dreadful? You sound as if you don’t care for the man.”

  “Did I say that? No. I did not. I’ve actually become quite . . . quite . . . fixed to the idea that I could improve his taste.”

  Mr. Trimble was frowning at me. Again. “It seems to me one ought to marry a person of whose taste one already approves.”

  I smiled. “They say love is blind. I daresay it must be true.”

  He was looking at me as though he held my words suspect. “Perhaps. In any case, we received a missive yesterday from the butcher demanding last month’s payment. He said he had sent the bill, and I know that I saw it, but it’s quite gone missing.”

  Father sighed. “I searched for it half the night.” He stifled a yawn. “I can’t imagine what happened to it. Mr. Trimble has quite the system, you know, for managing . . . for managing . . . everything.”

  He’d stayed up half the night? Looking for a bill I’d hidden? Guilt pinched my conscience.

  “Might you have come across it, Mis
s Withersby?” Mr. Trimble’s gaze seemed to peer deep down into my soul.

  I meant for him to be the victim of my perfidy, not my father.

  My father spoke again. “I suppose . . . there must be someplace I didn’t look. Perhaps I’ll just start again and look through everything once more.”

  “No!” Heaven help me, I was no good at deception. “Let me look. Maybe I’ll find it.” And the letters from Ceylon and the University of Edinburgh as well.

  Once the men began their discussions after lunch, I made quick work of undoing my deceit. I couldn’t leave fast enough once the Admiral arrived with his carriage. We fetched Miss Templeton, who chattered the entire way.

  Once arrived, we exchanged our carriage for Mr. Stansbury’s open landau, and he proceeded to take us through his stumpery at an excruciatingly slow pace. I have to think that several hours passed before we reached the middle of it, and there—in a pagoda up on a rise where we could view the stumpery in its entirety—we found tea waiting along with a tray of biscuits and some tiny little sandwiches. The Admiral took up several.

  “So what do you think of my stumpery, Miss Templeton?”

  “If you must know, I think it completely appalling!”

  I very nearly choked at her words.

  Mr. Stansbury blinked, and a flush began to rise up around his ears. “You . . . you do? I rather thought it the height of fashion.”

  “I do hope you’re not finished with it yet.”

  “Well, no. In fact, I’m not. I had thought that—”

  “What’s needed are some ferns and some vines.” She had left us at the table and was walking around the pagoda, looking at the views.

  Mr. Stansbury had half risen from his chair in order to keep her in sight.

  “And I do hope you’re thinking of adding some birds?”

  “Well, I hadn’t thought that—”

  “Because I find birds are so necessary to creating a natural sort of garden. I should think they’d find these roots the perfect place to build their nests.”

  “I’m sure they—”

  “You will have some vines, won’t you?” She was walking back to us now. “I’m sure Miss Withersby knows exactly which ones would grow best. You’d want some really vicious ones that like to climb.” She was looking at me as if I ought to say something. “You know the ones, Miss Withersby, don’t you?”

  “Perhaps some ivy. Or wild lilac.”

  “A wild lilac! Those flower, don’t they?”

  I nodded.

  “They’d like it here ever so much.”

  Mr. Stansbury was spluttering. “But it’s meant to look like a ruin!”

  “Yes, but ruins are only a means to a romantic vista. When I visited Tintern Abbey last year, I was delighted to find it overgrown. It was so picturesque. You do approve of the picturesque, don’t you?”

  “I’d never considered—”

  “Yes. I think the picturesque is what’s lacking here.” She paused and turned to survey the stumpery once more. “I’m sure Miss Withersby could have it looking perfectly decrepit in a matter of days. She’s an expert in botany, you know.”

  “I certainly agree with—”

  “A veritable genius.” She came forward and took me by the arm, propelling me from my seat toward his. “I’m sure it will take some time to get it to look respectably overgrown, so you and Miss Withersby have much to talk about. I don’t mind taking a bit of a ramble while you speak. If, that is, you don’t mind my going about here and there to look around?”

  “Of course not. Please, feel free . . .”

  The Admiral had already offered up his arm to her. They turned to stroll down the steps and then ambled off along a pebble-strewn path toward a particularly monstrous specimen of an upturned stump.

  Mr. Stansbury watched them for a moment and then slid a glance in my direction before looking once more toward Miss Templeton. “I hadn’t quite realized before how bare this all is. But if she says it needs to be more picturesque . . .”

  “In my experience, Miss Templeton is quite knowledgeable where fashion is concerned. If she says a thing is stylish—or not—you can be certain it’s true.”

  “She’s rather formidable for one so young.”

  “I quite agree.”

  He threw back his head and laughed. “I haven’t been so entertained, nor so thoroughly scolded, in ages.” He left off looking at Miss Templeton and turned his green-eyed gaze upon me. “Now then, Miss Withersby, I throw myself entirely upon your genius. What would be the quickest, most fashionable way to make my stumpery more suitably picturesque?”

  We spoke for quite some time about ivy and honeysuckle, dog roses and wild clematis. While I didn’t generally approve of invasive plants, I laid aside my prejudices for the greater good of covering up Mr. Stansbury’s stumps.

  Miss Templeton and the Admiral took quite a long walk, so after conversing about the stumpery, my conversation with Mr. Stansbury turned toward his other plants, and I asked whether his orchid had not yet bloomed. We had got into quite a discussion about the perils of entrusting our work to colonial correspondents when they returned.

  During the drive back to Overwich Hall, I noticed Miss Templeton glancing wistfully at the house. Why didn’t she just ask him for a tour? Perhaps I could help her.

  “Miss Templeton said you’ve not been long at Overwich Hall. Have you changed things very much inside?”

  “Not much. I must confess that my attentions have been devoted almost entirely to my glasshouse and the stumpery.” He smiled and the conversation ended.

  If I had been Miss Templeton, he would not have missed my meaning. She made it seem so easy to ask for something she wanted, and yet it was, in actuality, quite difficult. I supposed the only thing to do was to put the question to him quite plainly. “May we see it?”

  A look of mystification swept his features. “We just . . . we just did.”

  “I meant the house.”

  “Oh! Of course.” By that time we had pulled up in front of it. “Please.” He gestured to the entrance. “Please come in.”

  He showed us about the ground floor and led us through his collection of swords and sabers, and then he showed us his clocks and explained to us the inner workings of the gears about which he seemed singularly fascinated. He took a positively gigantic gold watch from a shelf and held it out to Miss Templeton. “What do you say of this one? Do you favor it?”

  She was already shaking her head, curls swinging back and forth. “I can’t say I do.” She gestured to a second watch, which had been displayed next to the first. “That one is much better.”

  “It only has half the shine.”

  “Yes, but it probably cost three times as much, didn’t it?”

  He nodded.

  “It’s not the shine; it’s the quality that counts.”

  He bowed. “I’ll have to remember that.”

  The Admiral became rather absorbed by a clock Mr. Stansbury said was fashioned from ormolu. I stayed with him while Miss Templeton and Mr. Stansbury wandered on into the front hall. Eventually, we met up and toured all three stories before Mr. Stansbury walked with us out to the drive.

  Miss Templeton waved gaily to him as we drove away, and then she sat back against the cushions, a satisfied smile upon her face. “So, how did I do?”

  “How did you do what?”

  “I took care of your problem.”

  The Admiral was looking at her with alarm. “What problem was that?”

  “The stumpery!”

  He hmphed and then leaned back against his seat. Folding his hands over his stomach, he closed his eyes.

  She continued on. “Mr. Stansbury is a very stubborn man, but at least he’s consented to having it grown over by vines. All in all, I consider the outcome quite satisfactory. Oh! And I convinced him to invite the watercolor society to draw in his glasshouse Friday next. Don’t you think that kind of him? He’s agreed to consider our drawings for inclusion in the publication o
f a guidebook. He intends to offer tours of the glasshouse once his collections have been completed.”

  “You mean he’s to be the editor? I suppose he’ll be paying for the illustrations he selects, then?” If that were the case, perhaps I would reconsider my opinion of the watercolor society.

  “Paying? For a drawing?” Her laugh burst forth and bubbled out over the gloved hand she had clasped to her mouth. “I hardly think so! The honor is in being invited, and the payment is in the pleasure of being chosen.”

  “For which such work, I have been accustomed to being paid by a publisher in the past.”

  “Oh, it’s not meant to be a published work.”

  “It won’t be printed then? Or bound?”

  “I’m quite sure that it won’t be.” She didn’t sound so certain.

  “Will it not be sold?”

  “Only to visitors. As a limited edition, perhaps. Or maybe on a subscription basis.”

  “For which work I am normally given a premium.”

  “Don’t be so dour, Miss Withersby. It’s all in fun. And in spite of our agreement about your not coming to the watercolor society meetings, I do think you should come to this one.” We had reached Dodsley Manor. She clasped my hand, however, as she descended and would not let it go. She leaned close to my ear. “It will be just the thing to make your father think your attentions have been captivated. Say you’ll come.”

  “I will.”

  “You’ll be so glad!”

  16

  After a week’s worth of card parties, teas, church committee meetings, and other events to which Miss Templeton had subscribed me, not to mention those evening obligations to which the Admiral insisted upon taking me, I found myself longing for the solitary pleasure of contemplating a species heretofore unknown to science. But Friday found me packing up my drawing paper, my pen and brushes, as well as my pocket glass and colors for the drawing party at Mr. Stansbury’s glasshouse. I decided to take the microscope as well. That way I would be able to really see what I was drawing.