by Annis Bell
I am writing these lines in a mission station where we have been able to replenish our supplies somewhat. A nun—a raw-boned, pitiable creature—treated Dennis’s arm. The bullet wound had become infected, and we feared that gangrene might set in, but the nun had a decoction of herbs that healed the injury superbly.
Rarely have I experienced so much misfortune on a single leg of a journey. I don’t want to sound superstitious, but a curse seems to have befallen this expedition, ever since I saw Rudbeck in Barranquilla.
Before I finish this letter, I want to mention another strange incident. The mission station consists of three poor huts and a kind of shed, a hovel really, where animals and a few local people are housed.
It happened just before sunset. The jungle animals began their usual nightly concert, and fireflies were shimmering against the impenetrable green of the forest. It is an incomparable spectacle every night. I was sitting on a tree stump beside the shed, and after ruminating there for a short while, I looked more closely at the forest edge and saw a figure there, chewing. It was an old Indian, and he must have been standing there and observing me for some time. He belonged to the forest tribes, for he wore nothing besides a few strings and a loincloth. But what was so surprising was the chain of leaves that hung over his body. One strangely shaped “leaf” caught my attention, but the light was so poor that it was only from the outline that I could see it was an orchid flower. And it was black, I swear on my life! If I was mistaken, then it was on account of my exhaustion and overexcitement, but I swear it was the flower of a black orchid!
All of this took place in little more than a heartbeat, and after a moment the man had disappeared again into the dark green of the forest.
I hope to be able to report more soon.
Ever faithful,
Your humble and obedient servant,
Derek Tomkins
5.
Winton Park, Northumberland, November 1860
From what Jane had been able to see of Winton Park thus far, the drawing room pleased her most of all. As was usually the case in such houses, residents and guests would gather in the drawing room before dinner and chat over an aperitif until the butler asked them to the table. Floral wallpaper, vibrant landscape paintings, and numerous potted plants lent the long room an airy ambience. One could sense the touch of a delicate female hand in the décor, and Jane studied the collection of small porcelain figures on the tables with interest.
“Very pretty!” said Jane, although she didn’t indulge in such decorations herself.
She was rewarded with a smile from Charlotte. The mistress of the house wore a silk dress in muted shades of red and brown, coupled with extravagant pearls. “I brought the little figurines with me from Germany. In my youth, I traveled a great deal with my parents.”
With a melancholy expression, she lightly stroked the coquettish figure of a shepherdess holding a lamb in her arms.
“But not anymore? Your husband must travel a great deal for his orchids, though, mustn’t he?” Jane was standing by a table on which three pots stood, each home to a flamboyantly colored specimen.
“He still travels a lot, that’s true, and at first I traveled with him, but the children take a lot of managing. And he needs his quiet.”
By the fireplace stood three armchairs, while a Chinese folding screen concealed a small sofa on which a book lay. In front of the terrace doors was an intimate seating area that seemed made for chatting over a cup of tea. Jane heard the drawing room door open and the patter of children’s feet over the wooden floor.
“Mama!” the girl called out, crying piteously. She was the spitting image of her mother, with the same petite build and thin, brown locks.
Charlotte crouched, her silk skirts rustling, and scooped her daughter into her arms, cuddling and kissing her. Planting his feet in a victory pose next to one of the tables with the porcelain figurines, Cedric folded his arms over his chest. Suddenly, Jane heard a whimpering sound, and the governess entered the room, a furry, white lapdog in her arms.
“Cedric, you’ve been a very bad boy!” she admonished the youngster, who did not seem particularly cowed.
Charlotte straightened, her face anxious. She kept one protective arm around her daughter, who held on tightly to her skirts. “What is the matter, Miss Molan?” She screwed up her nose. “Something smells burned!”
The governess nodded indignantly and held out her hand. Now Jane saw that the little dog’s tail was singed. “Cedric soaked a piece of cloth in kerosene and tied it to Pebbles’s tail. Then he lit it.”
Charlotte looked horrified and turned to her son, who seemed oblivious to any wrongdoing.
“I just wanted to see if it would make him run faster. He didn’t want to play,” he grumbled.
Jane was speechless, and her thoughts returned to the time her own dog had been hurt, when she had feared for his recovery. But these were not her children, and she would not stick her nose into Charlotte’s business.
“A dog feels pain just as we do, Cedric, and if he does not want to play, then you have to accept that. You don’t always want to play, either,” said Charlotte earnestly.
“But I’m not a dog, and Pebbles is so useless—he can’t even hunt. He’s just a good-for-nothing little glutton. That’s what Father says,” the boy replied without so much as a second look at the whimpering dog.
“Go to your room. You’re not getting any dinner. We’ll talk about this tomorrow,” Charlotte ordered, earning a hateful glare from her son.
Charlotte addressed the governess. “Take Pebbles to O’Connor. He’ll know how to help him. And it would be best if he held on to him for a few days. The poor thing has suffered enough.”
“Yes, my lady. And Elly? Should I take her along, too?” The governess held the dog away from her so that it didn’t touch her dress.
“No, she can eat with us. I will put her to bed later myself. Thank you,” said Charlotte, dismissing the governess, whose expression betrayed nothing of what she thought of the little episode.
An exemplary employee, thought Jane, but could not stop wondering what was really going through the woman’s mind. Melissa Molan’s eyes were too intelligent, her movements too calculated and confident. Obedience and humility must have demanded a lot of her.
When Miss Molan had left the drawing room with Cedric and the dog, Charlotte turned to Jane. “I must apologize, Lady Jane. I never wanted you to witness such private affairs. I will have to employ a tutor for Cedric, someone with a firmer hand who can hold him to some limits.” She smiled weakly. “My own words, I’m sad to say, seem wasted.”
Charlotte then led Jane to the library, its walls covered by floor-to-ceiling bookshelves. The ceiling itself was wood-paneled and the overall impression accordingly dark. In the center of the library stood a large desk on which several books lay open, all of them clearly on the subject of botany. “Plants, and particularly orchids, are my husband’s obsession, as you can see. If he isn’t in his study poring over the latest discoveries, then he is out in his greenhouse. He’s invested a lot of money in it, especially in the irrigation system. I will show you tomorrow. It is really very lovely in there.”
Jane listened as Charlotte spoke, mentally filing away interesting details and scraps of information about the residents of the house. She realized that she would find out nothing from Charlotte about any strange happenings, because the woman appeared apprehensive and seemingly afraid of her own husband. From society gatherings, Jane had a vague memory of Sir Frederick as an eccentric, introverted man. Well, she would soon have the opportunity to get to know the fellow better. There was a knock at the door, and the butler bade them enter the dining room.
As in the library, the dining room ceiling was clad in dark wood. Heavy carvings, pointed, arched doorframes, and imposing columns surrounded a table set in the center of the room, large enough to easily seat twelve. Carafes, glasses, and covered bowls stood at the ready on a sideboard, and the room smelled of roast me
at and spices. The master of the house was already seated at the head of the table, reading a letter.
He merely glanced up when Charlotte said, “Please, Lady Jane, sit here.”
Slowly, Sir Frederick lowered the pages of the letter and stood. He was a tall, lean man with dense blond hair, cut short and streaked with silver. A slightly crooked nose dominated his narrow face, from which gray eyes unabashedly looked Jane over. As if sizing up a rival, thought Jane instinctively, pasting on her most polite smile.
“Lady Jane. It is my pleasure to welcome you under our roof! What a happenstance that two of my wife’s friends should find their way to our remote hilltop, to what some call a wilderness.” Sir Frederick took her hand and kissed it gingerly. “Please sit on my left. You can tell us all about London’s vitality and shine a little city light into our modest halls.”
When they had all sat down, he frowned at his wife and daughter. “Where is Cedric?”
Charlotte’s shoulders immediately sank. In a low voice, she said, “He behaved very badly and has been punished. You must speak to him tomorrow. Things can’t go on like this.”
“Ceddy burned off Pebbles’s tail!” Elly crowed. In her flowery dress, she had to perch on a pillow to be able to reach her plate.
“Speak only when you are spoken to, Eleanor! I am talking to your mother.” Elly’s eyes instantly filled with tears. Sir Frederick turned back to his wife, who was stroking Elly’s hair soothingly. “Is that true?” he asked.
Watching this scene, Jane realized with a pang how much she missed David with his calm manner, always willing to listen to the concerns and needs of his staff, always willing to listen to her, and attentive and loving when he sensed that something was troubling her. The time they had spent together so far had been as intense as it was brief. Oh, of course they argued, and she only knew the side of him he let her see, and he drove her mad when he didn’t trust her to look after herself. Though admittedly, there were events in her recent past that had gotten out of hand . . . She sighed. There were so many things that remained unspoken between them, but Jane was absolutely convinced that David would never rebuff his daughter so coldheartedly, should they ever have children.
“My lady?” A young maid was standing beside her, tightly holding the lid of a tureen. “Soup?”
“Yes, thank you.” She breathed in the scent of cooked rabbit.
“Bon appetít!” said Sir Frederick.
They ate in silence. The only sounds were the clinking of spoons and the occasional slurp. Jane found the silence oppressive, especially as she was used to talking with David as they ate. Little Eleanor poked at her plate and cast conspiratorial glances at Jane from beneath the hair falling over her face, and Jane could not stop herself from winking at the little girl.
When the soup had been cleared, Sir Frederick turned to her. His fingers drummed impatiently on the table. “Even though you are our guest, I must warn you not to encourage the child to unnecessary silliness. She has to learn to behave appropriately.”
Jane smiled. “Of course. It’s only that Elly is a child, and children are sometimes just silly. That is what makes them so delightful.”
“You can think what you like about that, but in my house, you will abide by my rules. If that does not appeal to you, then you are free to leave at any time.” He set his mouth in a hard line, and the sharp contours of his jaw became even more pronounced. He was clearly not used to a woman opposing him, and Jane had to allow that it had not been clever to provoke the man like that.
“Please, Frederick, Jane didn’t mean anything by it. And our little Elly is so sweet she can wrap anyone around her little finger, isn’t that true, my angel?”
The girl wriggled around on her chair and tugged at the large napkin that Charlotte had tied around her neck. Her father looked at her and cleared his throat. “Well, all right. But discipline is the foundation of raising children well, as you perhaps know from your own experience, my lady.”
“No, Sir Frederick. I have not yet been granted that particular joy.” Jane sipped her wine. “An outstanding claret.”
The doors opened, and two maids entered carrying platters of smoked fish and mussels. Eleanor bravely ate a piece of smoked fish, and Jane praised the mussels, which were tossed in butter and spiced with parsley.
“The orchids in the drawing room are exceptionally beautiful,” said Jane, dipping her fingers in a water bowl in which a sliver of lemon floated.
Sir Frederick’s eyes lit up, assuming an almost fanatical gleam, and Jane leaned back with satisfaction. If you talked to him about his plants, it seemed, all else was forgotten.
“They certainly are, and you have yet to see my newest and rarest specimens. You know, a man has to dedicate all his love and attention to these wonderful creations of nature just to keep them alive in our harsh climate. Oh, and actually growing them yourself is an art! An art to which I have devoted myself for several years now, and may I say, not without success.” Sir Frederick placed a hand on the letter that lay beside his glass. “These pages arrived today from South America.”
“Where is Mr. Tomkins now? Is he all right?” asked Charlotte. “You know, Lady Jane, Derek Tomkins is a professional orchid hunter who searches for plants exclusively on my husband’s behalf.”
“Really? How extraordinary! I have no doubt that is an expensive undertaking. When I think of a man sailing across the Atlantic with the sole purpose of picking flowers in the jungle that he then . . . well, that he then packs up how, exactly?” Jane wondered.
Sir Frederick raised an eyebrow in amusement. “You have a sense of humor, my esteemed Lady Jane. But believe me when I say that ‘picking flowers,’ as you call it, is a serious and perilous undertaking. Men kill for special orchids.”
His last words caught Jane’s attention. “Who would kill for flowers?” she asked.
“Men like Derek Tomkins, Jane,” Charlotte explained. “They receive a great deal of money for special plants. What is going on right now can only be called an orchid hunt.” She glanced with some distress at her husband.
“You worry far too much, my dear,” Sir Frederick replied. “It is simply like all good things in life. The rarer they are, the more they are worth.”
“But it is true that Sir Robert’s home was broken into, that a servant was shot at, and that someone stole orchids from his hothouse. All that is going too far!” said Charlotte with disgust.
“What does ‘shot’ mean?” Eleanor asked.
“Pushed, angel. Someone was pushed and fell over,” said Charlotte.
“What nonsense you tell the child! She must know what ‘shoot’ means, don’t you, Eleanor?” Sir Frederick said, frowning at his daughter.
The girl nodded rapidly. “O’Connor told me that sometimes you have to shoot animals because they get sick or because we eat them.”
“Are you letting her speak to the gamekeeper alone now?” Clearly annoyed, Sir Frederick refilled his wineglass.
Luckily, just then the butler entered with a maid and set tureens of mashed potatoes and gravy on the table. Filets of venison were served on silver platters with preserved cherries. As expensive as the hunt for orchids might be, the household did not seem to be suffering because of it.
After dessert and cheese with a sweet wine rounded off the excellent dinner, Sir Frederick stood up from the table. “I wish you a good night’s sleep, my lady, and please also convey my best wishes to Lady Alison. It is truly a tragedy that she is stranded here in her condition, at a time when any woman would naturally prefer to be in her own home.”
“She could not be in better hands, I’m sure. Thank you.” Jane bowed her head politely, then watched as the tall, lean figure hurried away.
“Now he will go back to his study and bury his nose in a book. Then before he goes to bed, he’ll check on his precious plants! Every evening it is the same!” Charlotte complained quietly as she and Jane returned to the drawing room. She pulled on a bell cord, and it wasn’t long bef
ore the governess appeared.
“Get Elly ready for bed. How are Cedric and Pebbles?” Charlotte asked curtly.
“Cedric is drawing and has not complained. The dog is being treated by Mr. O’Connor, and he will keep him for at least a week. Will that be all, my lady?” Melissa Molan stood rigidly before Charlotte with her chin raised. “If I may be permitted to ask, have you reached a decision about employing a tutor?”
“Not yet. Why? Do you have a recommendation?” Charlotte looked at the governess doubtfully.
“There is someone I remember from my last place of employment. I know that those children are now attending boarding school and that as a result the tutor is seeking a new post.” Nonchalantly, Miss Molan turned and regarded the porcelain figurines. “He has experience with . . . willful boys.”
“Well, then he should certainly apply. We will review his credentials. Thank you.” Charlotte waited until Miss Molan had left them, then turned to Jane. “I really don’t like such recommendations. One never knows what relations the staff has with one another, and love affairs among the servants always lead to problems. But to be perfectly frank, Jane, Cedric pushes me to my absolute limits. If the tutor she recommends can rein him in, then he can have whatever little dalliance he wants with Miss Molan, with my blessing.”
Seeing a mischievous smile appear in Charlotte’s eyes, Jane laughed, but her laughter immediately died as the young mother suddenly pitched forward, only just catching herself on a table edge. The porcelain figurines crashed together and two broke.
Jane quickly put her arm around Charlotte’s slim waist and led her to an armchair. “Are you sure you don’t want to call for a doctor?”
Charlotte’s eyelids fluttered fearfully. “No! It’s already passing. My husband sees illness as a weakness that one can master by strength of will.”
