The Naturalist's Daughter

by Téa Cooper

  Julian lifted his head, groaning, as though it weighed more than he could manage and slumped back on the chair, rubbing at his eyes.

  ‘Right here, Hughes, and perhaps you’d be good enough to take this.’

  ‘Yes sir.’ The butler set the tray on the table then cleared away last night’s debris.

  ‘Leave it with me, thank you.’

  With a look of disappointment on his face Hughes made his way out of the room and closed the door behind him.

  ‘Right now, drink this.’ Finneas poured the coffee and pushed a cup in front of Julian. ‘No point in trying to hide from this one. You have a responsibility.’

  ‘Responsibility to my standing. I am to inherit the Methenwyck fortune and all that entails. I cannot be seen to have a convict sister. The gossip will be all over town in a moment. I shall be drummed out of any and all respectable establishments.’

  ‘Not if we handle it correctly. When Rose arrives we shall offer her accommodation as this man requests. By the way who is this Winton chap? Do you remember him?’

  Julian shook his head. ‘Not really, vaguely perhaps. Uncle Charles maybe. I was only five. How much do you remember that far back?’

  More than he’d like to admit. Some things didn’t fade and the horror of the Poor House and the griping pangs of hunger and misery would always remain etched in his memory. He blessed the day Caroline had brought him to Wyck Hall and given him a family. ‘And you don’t remember a sister? A baby.’

  ‘Not at all. Vague recollection of long dark curling hair falling across my face and the smell of something sharp, medicinal, lemon perhaps. My birth mother I suppose.’

  ‘Eucalyptus obliqua—the genus dominates the tree flora of New South Wales.’

  ‘Speak English man! For heaven’s sake, my head’s thumping fit to bust.’

  ‘What else do you remember?’

  ‘The voyage. The ship was a Noah’s Ark full of animal and plant specimens. Black swans … I remember black swans. Most of them died along the way. Then not much until Caroline and Cornwall. Not something I like to dwell on. Put it all firmly in the past.

  Damn it. It is the past. I won’t have it impinging on my future.’

  ‘Sadly, it’s not an option and you must make the best of it.’

  ‘We’ll send her down to Cornwall, to Caroline.’

  ‘That’s probably the best idea you’ve had. However, we can hardly bundle her into a carriage for a 250-mile journey the moment she steps off the ship. And there’s the small matter of the Royal Society. Sir Joseph might be getting a bit long in the tooth but you wouldn’t want to cross him. He has the King’s ear and if, as the letter said, this Winton chap is a friend of his … well …’

  ‘Oh God, you’re right. I’ll be going down for Midsummer. She can come with me then.’ His face brightened and he drummed two fingers on the table. Such a strange habit, the index finger and the small finger like some misshapen pitchfork. ‘I want no further reference to my birth mother. Caroline is my mother, and yours too, I might add.’

  ‘Here eat this.’ Finneas pushed the plate of eggs in front of Julian. The coffee had brought the colour back to his face a little, got rid of the God-awful chalky hue, although his eyes still resembled a blood hound. ‘My suggestion is this. I’ll go and find out when they expect the Minerva to dock. We’ll meet the girl. Bring her back here and then we’ll know what we’re up against, what she needs and exactly what this Royal Society business is all about.’

  ‘That’s more up your alley than mine.’

  Rose was almost disappointed as the ship edged its way into the mooring. As much as she longed for news of home, missed Pa, she’d enjoyed the freedom and excitement of the voyage—the wind in her hair, the unbelievable sights and terrific explosions of colour and life she’d witnessed at the ports they’d visited.

  She’d set sail for London 168 days ago and from the moment she’d walked aboard her imagination had stirred. Decked out in their dashing uniforms the various detachments had lent an air of romance to the trip, the soldiers snapping smartly to attention and escorting her hither and yon at every given opportunity.

  With the cargoes of sealskins, wool and coconut oil an exotic aroma permeated the ship for the entire trip. Then there was the day they’d rescued whalers stranded after their ship was rammed and sank. No one had offered any explanation about the poor whale but the three crew members seemed hale and hearty.

  And here she was about to step onto the streets of London. Pa hadn’t been able to tell her anything about the city he’d left over twenty years ago and Mam as always hadn’t offered very much—just said the biggest city she’d seen was Plymouth when she’d boarded the Lady Juliana. Rose pushed her shoulders back and stared at the crowds lining the docks, feeling quite the adventurer.

  The ship nudged into the quay and men looking more like monkeys swarmed as the gangplanks were lowered.

  ‘Now my dear. We’re going ashore.’

  ‘Mrs Metcalf, I want to thank you for looking after me on the voyage.’

  ‘Tut, tut. Nonsense. You did more for us than we did for you. Amelia will perpetually be reminded of your instruction. I believe one day she might make something of her watercolours and her reading has improved a thousand-fold. Why, she’s even retained a few words of Latin. I can’t wrap my tongue around all those botanical names. If you find yourself in any difficulties don’t hesitate to contact us.’

  ‘Thank you, Mrs Metcalf, however I …’

  ‘I know, I know. Your father’s research; however life can change on the toss of a penny. Should you be in any kind of trouble our door will always be open and Mr Metcalf would be more than happy to offer you a position as governess. Amelia will be at home with me while the boys are away at school. It would put his mind at ease when he returns to the Antipodes to know I have a companion.’

  Heaven forbid! As much as she’d enjoyed little Amelia’s company she could no more see herself as a governess than fly to the moon. Truth be told she’d like to travel some more. Take time to visit some of the other ports they’d called into. The world had so much to offer and now her curiosity was aroused. No. First and foremost Pa’s research. She had a job to do and after her initial hesitation—nothing more than cold feet really—she’d decided she would do her very best to make sure Sir Joseph got a full report. What she wouldn’t give to return home with his recognition for Pa’s work; perhaps they even presented fellows of the Royal Society with a medal. Now the time had come she couldn’t wait. Her feet itched to step onto dry land and get matters rolling.

  ‘Miss Winton.’

  She turned to the lieutenant standing at her shoulder looking very smart in his blue uniform. ‘The captain requests your company. Follow me.’

  ‘There you are, my dear.’ Mrs Metcalf gave her shoulder a small squeeze. ‘I expect your brother has arrived to meet you. Your trunk has gone ashore with ours. Don’t forget to collect it.’ She clutched her hands to her ample bosom. ‘Family reunions. Just lovely.’

  Rose swallowed the surge of excitement and trepidation and hugged Amelia then offered Mrs Metcalf her hand. It was pushed aside and she was clasped in a breath-snatching embrace. ‘Just remember what I said. You know where to find us if necessary.’

  She bent down and picked up her dilapidated carpetbag, containing Pa’s sketchbook and the mallangong specimen, which she hadn’t let out of her sight for the entire voyage.

  And now she was to meet her brother.

  What did you say to a brother you’d never met? A brother who’d always known who his father was while she’d believed Pa was hers. He was. Nothing would change that. No matter what science might say, on that she was firm. Pa said she was the daughter of his heart. Well, he was the father of hers.

  With a brief wave to Mrs Metcalf and Amelia she followed the starchy back of the lieutenant along the deck until he came to a sudden halt and saluted the captain.

  ‘Miss Winton. I have received word from a Lord Julian.
You are to be escorted to his carriage and will be taken to Grosvenor Square.’

  Her excitement curled a little. Lord Julian? Did that make her Lady Rose? She sniggered. Highly unlikely. Didn’t want it. Mam hadn’t said anything about Richard Barrington to indicate he had a title. Simply that he was a naval surgeon.

  ‘Lieutenant Goulding, see to the lady’s baggage and escort her to the carriage.’ The captain waved a hand somewhere in the direction of the wharf. ‘Good day to you.’

  So now she was a lady. Whether it was with a capital or just an improvement on girl, which was the way he’d referred to her throughout the trip, she had no idea.

  Although the ship no longer rolled, the moment her feet hit dry land her head swum and her legs turned to rubber. A surge of nausea swamped her. She hadn’t suffered one minute of seasickness on the voyage and now she’d left the ship the world as good as tilted making her stagger. Her carpetbag fell to the cobblestones with a thud.

  A hand clasped her arm and steadied her. ‘Miss Barrington.’

  She blinked and looked up into a pair of nut-brown eyes so close to the colour of a platypus pelt she might have been dreaming. ‘Winton, not Barrington. Rose Winton.’ The shadow of a beard stubbled the smooth skin stretched taut over his high cheekbones.

  ‘I beg your pardon, Miss Winton. Finneas Methenwyck at your service.’ He sketched a bow still holding tightly onto her arm. ‘Allow me to help you to the carriage. You’ll get your land legs soon enough. After all that time aboard ship the liquid in the inner ear tends to be disrupted and causes the dizziness you are feeling. It will pass fairly quickly.’

  She pulled herself upright and turned to thank the lieutenant but he had vanished. ‘I’m looking for my brother, Julian. Lord Julian.’ Goodness, that sounded pompous.

  ‘Fear not, I am not intending to abduct you. Julian is my brother. He’s somewhat tied up at the moment. The hour is early.’

  Her head swirled, nothing to do with her inner ear. ‘Your brother? But he is my brother.’ She shook her head. ‘I’m sorry, I don’t understand. Perhaps we have the wrong …’

  He let out a rumble of laughter. ‘I should have said adopted brother. We share no blood.’ Rich brown hair flopped over one eye, his gaze so piercing it made her heart hitch and tightened her dress around her ribs.

  ‘Let me take your bag.’ He handed her up into the carriage and she sank down onto the plush seats with a sigh. Something made her think she should be more careful climbing into a carriage with a man she’d never heard of. ‘Where is my brother?’

  ‘As I said he is at home, Grosvenor Square. Rest here a moment and I will go and make sure we have your baggage. How many pieces?’

  Now she was sitting down and the earth had stopped tilting his words were beginning to make sense.

  ‘I have just one trunk, and my carpetbag.’ She pulled it closer to her feet. Goodness, how paltry that sounded. ‘My trunk was taken ashore with the Metcalfs’s luggage. You must think I am your country cousin and a dreadful nuisance.’

  ‘On the contrary I am more than happy to meet you. I’ve always wanted a sister.’

  She’d never wanted a brother, never needed one, and now it appeared she had two.

  Finneas disappeared into the crowd and she sat staring at the rushing flood of people and the conglomeration of streets cutting a swath through the cramped buildings like a blazing fire. The chaos of the carriages with liveried men balanced atop and the constant cries of street vendors made her blood race and her heart pound. Nothing she’d seen before had prepared her for this.

  Through the throng Finneas returned with a portly man carrying her trunk on his muscled shoulder. When it was strapped firmly to the back of the carriage Finneas sprang inside bringing with him a sharp blast of freezing air that she hadn’t noticed earlier. She pulled up the collar of her pelisse against the biting wind. Pa said the seasons were upside down but she hadn’t imagined it would be this cold; aboard ship she’d always managed to find a spot out of the wind. The other side of the world … it made perfect sense yet she hadn’t been quite prepared for it. She clung onto this little piece of knowledge enjoying the security of an inescapable scientific fact.

  ‘How was your trip? Not tedious I hope.’

  ‘No, not at all—I enjoyed every moment of it.’

  They veered down another cobbled street, a far cry from the dusty tracks winding through Parramatta. ‘So many different sights and sounds, such an explosion of colour.’

  ‘And now you’ve landed in London Town in the middle of spring.’

  Spring! ‘It is a little colder than I imagined. Somehow I thought once we docked it would be warmer.’

  ‘And you had company on the trip?’

  ‘Oh yes. Before I left my mother arranged for me to travel with the Metcalf family. Free settlers returning to England to see their sons established in school. I acted as governess for their daughter Amelia on the trip. She became quite proficient in Latin.’

  ‘Latin?’

  ‘Well, yes. Because I worked with my father …’ It was so difficult to remember Pa wasn’t her father. ‘… Charles Winton, it became almost a second language to me, third maybe if you count the blackfellas’.’

  ‘You speak the native tongue?’

  ‘I only know a few of the words the local blackfellas use. They have many different languages. We live at a place called Agnes Banks. A long narrow freshwater billabong runs parallel with the Deerubbin River. Pa first sighted a mallangong there when Yellow-Mundee speared it.’ She snapped her mouth closed, swallowing her babble of words. She couldn’t believe how easy it was to talk to this man. He didn’t feel like a stranger. His eyes didn’t stray from her face. She ought to have felt embarrassed but instead she was comfortable, at ease. There was a light woody scent about him too, an aroma she couldn’t quite place. It tweaked some distant memory, something that reminded her of the lemon-scented ti-trees Mam cultivated. ‘I’m sorry I’m talking too much.’

  ‘Not at all, I am fascinated. This mallangong is …’

  Dear, oh dear. If she was going to speak to Sir Joseph Banks she must sound more knowledgeable, more informed and scientific. ‘Platypus, water mole, duckbill, Ornithorhynchus anatinus or paradoxus. Mallangong is one of the native words. I used it as a child because it was easier to get my tongue around.’

  ‘Three languages all in one sentence. I’m very impressed.’

  That didn’t sound quite right. What had Mrs Metcalf said? She mustn’t put herself forward; be reserved and quiet. She turned to stare out at the passing streets.

  ‘We are almost there now. I expect you are looking forward to meeting Julian.’

  ‘To be honest I am finding it a little bit difficult to understand I have a brother. I thought myself an only child.’

  ‘Were you not lonely?’ he asked with a crooked self-effacing smile, as though he had suffered from a similar complaint though she couldn’t imagine how such a friendly man could ever feel lonely.

  She’d rather expected him to question why she didn’t know of her brother; perhaps Julian had explained when the letter had arrived. She tossed the thought away. It was just one more thing she would deal with when the time came. ‘Not at all. I look upon Bunji and Yindi as my siblings.’ She smiled into his eyes. The irises were the most unexpected colour; gold flecks appeared depending on the light. He raised one eyebrow, caught her studying him. A frantic heat rose to her cheeks as the blood surged beneath her skin, sending her heart into the most unusual rhythm.

  ‘Bunji and Yindi? Blackfellas? Natives? I was under the impression they could be dangerous. You mentioned spears.’

  ‘We’ve never had any trouble with them. My mother has a long friendship with one particular group. They exchange knowledge, work together and without the blackfellas Pa’s research would never have progressed this far.’

  ‘And Charles Winton is a naturalist.’

  Before she had a chance to answer the carriage slowed and turned right in
to a square, a large grassed area set out with geometric precision. It looked like nothing she’d ever seen before. Paths intersecting and in the centre low trees and a neat gated fence encompassing the area, the entire carriageway illuminated by oil lamps with watchmen walking up and down the perimeter of the garden as though they were on guard.

  ‘Almost there.’

  ‘Is this where the king lives? Are these government buildings? The king’s residence?’

  ‘No. This is Grosvenor Square.’

  ‘And you live here?’ There must be some mistake. Towering buildings surrounded the square—not two storeys like Government House in Parramatta which Governor Macquarie had only just extended, but three, in some cases four. She craned out of the window trying to see through the heavy twilight. Some had rooms buried partially underground. Four storeys. And entirely made of brick; not a scrap of daub and wattle in sight.

  Finneas let out a bark of laughter, making the colour flood back into her cheeks. What had she said?

  ‘No, private houses. There are about fifty surrounding the square; a very pleasant place to take the air though the garden behind the house might be more to your liking. A little more private, perhaps.’

  ‘Private houses!’ Who on earth would live in buildings that size? She and Mam and Pa managed quite well in their three-roomed cottage, though as she’d grown she’d longed for a little more privacy than the threadbare curtain around her bed provided. One of these buildings would house half the population of Agnes Banks.

  ‘Townhouses mostly. The occupants tend to use them when they are in London from their country estates, usually for the Season, the period when parliament sits. It begins around January and runs into July.’

  ‘And you live here then? Julian lives here? You must be very wealthy.’ She clamped her hand over her mouth. Every single thing Mrs Metcalf had instructed her not to discuss—already she was making herself sound like a ninny.

  ‘More by good fortune than our own endeavours. Here we are, 44 Grosvenor Square. Commit that to memory and there will be no chance of you getting lost if you wander too far from home.’