by Ruth Axtell
Amidst applause, Mr. Marfleet stepped up to the platform. Even from where she sat, Jessamine could see that his color was high and his gaze lowered as if he were uncomfortable with the praise.
Several plants were arrayed on the stage near him. He began his discourse with a self-deprecating remark in response to all the accolades given him by Sir Banks.
Then his tone grew serious, and he began to talk of his travels in India.
Jessamine became enthralled as he described his introduction to the fauna and flora of the Indian subcontinent from the first stops his ship had made on the western Malabar coast to his longer sojourns in the eastern regions of Madras and Orissa, until his final destination in the province of Bengal.
“From the hot, humid climate of the southern regions to the snow-capped heights of the Himalayas, it is a land of incredible variety in its plant life. I feel I have only glimpsed a mere fraction of this land . . .”
His descriptions conjured up for Jessamine an atlas of exotic and mysterious plants and animals and geographic marvels.
Then he went into more specific detail on the plants he’d seen, from familiar roses and marigolds to wholly unknown specimens. He held up various illustrations of these plants which he explained would be used in a book he was currently working on for publication.
Jessamine had worn her spectacles, yet she strained to make out the detail of the watercolors. How she wished she could see them up close, especially when he had spoken so highly of his sister’s talent.
When the lecture was over, there was resounding applause, to which she and Megan joined in wholeheartedly. Jessamine’s estimation of Mr. Marfleet had risen. She could almost forgive him his red hair and officiousness. Except for the very beginning when he seemed embarrassed by Sir Banks’s praise, he had shown no hesitancy nor diffidence once he’d begun speaking on his subject. He’d appeared knowledgeable and authoritative in a quiet way.
It made Jessamine wonder what he was like delivering a sermon. He seemed to have the same quiet authority her father had in the pulpit. She’d heard more fiery sermons which had moved her, but her father’s quieter delivery never failed to convict or encourage her.
But she was not interested in someone who reminded her of her father, she reminded herself. Or of Rees. Mr. Marfleet’s reserve reminded her too forcibly of Rees. Like him, Mr. Marfleet was a dutiful son, looking for a wife because it was what he was expected to do at that point in his life. What better helpmate for a vicar than a vicar’s daughter?
She got up with a decisive swish of her skirts and followed Megan. When Megan began to turn down toward the platform, Jessamine tugged on the sleeve of her spencer. “Perhaps we should leave. He looks much too busy to attend to us now.”
“But I’d like to see the specimens and watercolors up close.”
Jessamine bit her lip, eyeing the crowds ahead of them. “It may be a long wait.”
“I don’t mind if you don’t.”
“Very well.”
The line of people moved slowly downward since most of the audience seemed inclined to do the same. When they finally reached the bottom, they had to wait still longer before drawing close enough to the watercolors and plants to see them.
Jessamine blinked at the sight of Miss Marfleet in back of the long exhibition table. When she saw them, she smiled. “You came then.”
Jessamine smiled and nodded, becoming accustomed to her abrupt manner.
“Yes, and so glad we did,” Megan answered at once. “How fascinating it all sounds. It makes me want to join the missionary society and take the next boat to India.”
“It does sound like a fabulous adventure until you hear how many of those who have gone out have perished from various illnesses they contract there,” Miss Marfleet said. “The natives seem to survive them, but the Europeans rarely do. Perhaps it has something to do with being accustomed since birth to these sicknesses.”
They both sobered, remembering that her brother had been quite ill. “Mr. Marfleet contracted one of these, did he not?” Jessamine ventured.
“He nearly died but was too stubborn to return home until forced to by the missionary society. When he first arrived, he looked like a wraith.” Miss Marfleet shuddered. “Even if he were inclined to go back on the mission field, it would kill my mother to risk losing him again. For now, Father has forbidden it, though Lancelot hasn’t expressed any desire to go against our father’s wishes.”
Jessamine examined a pretty watercolor of a pink flower labeled as an orchid. “Has he expressed what he wishes to do now that he is back?”
“No, he is quite reticent of his plans,” Miss Marfleet said with a short laugh. “He has always been so to us. Perhaps he confides more to those clergy friends of his he went to school with.”
He sounded more and more like Rees, Jessamine concluded. She said no more, moving to the next watercolor. “These are very pretty. Did you really paint them all?”
Miss Marfleet only gave a curt nod of her head.
“You are very talented,” Megan put in. “Did I hear correctly that they are to be published in a book?”
Miss Marfleet shrugged. “It is what Lancelot hopes. I think he may be successful. He is very close with Dr. Banks and others of the Royal Society. Do you know of him?”
Megan shook her head, but Jessamine nodded. “My father admires him greatly. We have read of his travels with Captain Cook.”
“You assist your father in his work?”
Jessamine colored. “A little. Mine is much more an amateur love of flowers.”
“That is what botany is in its simplest form—a love for all plants.”
They continued looking at the plants and watercolors. Miss Marfleet became busy answering other people’s questions.
They had waited perhaps a half hour when at last the crowd thinned and Mr. Marfleet was able to join them. He had been unable to approach them sooner, surrounded as he was by a group of men eager to discuss his talk.
“I do apologize for keeping you waiting so long. I’m glad to see you still here.” He smiled at Megan and her, though his gaze lingered on Jessamine. “You exhibit an awful amount of patience.”
“Nonsense,” Megan said. “We wanted to see all these beautiful watercolors and plants, so the time has gone by quickly.”
“We didn’t wish to disturb you, however. We could have seen you on another occasion,” Jessamine hastened to add.
“No, no, you are not disturbing me at all. I wanted to see you . . . as I said, so that we could discuss our . . . outing to Kew Gardens.” His words grew more hesitant as he continued.
Megan clapped her hands. “An outing to Kew. How lovely!”
“Yes, didn’t Miss Barry tell you?”
Jessamine flushed. “It slipped my mind.” She’d been reluctant to mention it to Megan, not wanting her friend to read more into the outing than it merited.
Miss Marfleet spoke up from her position behind the table. “I suggested you make it a picnic.”
“Oh, even better,” Megan said, a sparkle in her eyes. “Would you mind very much if I invited someone along?”
Mr. Marfleet shook his head. “Not at all. And Delawney, you are welcome as well.”
Miss Marfleet waved away the suggestion. “I am too busy, dear brother. This is your outing. Enjoy it with your friends.”
Jessamine turned to Megan. “Did you wish to invite—”
Before she could finish Megan nodded. “Captain Forrester, if no one minds, and if he wishes to come.”
“Not at all, although I am not acquainted with him,” Mr. Marfleet said at once.
“He is a most charming gentleman. My brother and he knew each other aboard ship several years ago, so it is like finding a long-lost brother.”
“Well, not quite a brother,” Jessamine said softly.
Megan blushed and smiled. “No, not quite a brother.”
Mr. Marfleet rubbed his hands together and smiled, making his lean, bony face almost attractive
. “Well, it’s settled then. Is the day after tomorrow too soon, if the weather is nice? That gives me time to ask our cook to prepare a picnic for us.”
“That would be perfect. I can in the meantime ask Captain Forrester.”
Mr. Marfleet’s gaze turned to Jessamine as if awaiting her confirmation. “Perfect,” she echoed.
They arranged to go in Céline’s barouche, which comfortably sat four and was open, allowing them to enjoy the ten-mile drive out toward Richmond. They collected Mr. Marfleet, who brought a large picnic hamper with him, then drove down to Captain Forrester’s lodgings near the Admiralty.
Then they left the congested streets of London and traveled the turnpike road west past Hyde Park and Kensington.
Jessamine breathed in deeply of the fresh air of the cultivated fields and walled nursery grounds edging the road. The only disturbances occurred when they were forced to pull to the side to allow the stagecoach or mail coach to pass at their greater speed.
Captain Forrester and Megan kept up a lively conversation during the first part of the journey. She told the captain about the lecture they had both attended.
Captain Forrester grinned ruefully. “I should know more about exotic plants since I have seen so many on my travels and tasted of many wonderful fruits, particularly in the West Indies, but I confess I learned very little about them.”
“It’s thanks to Sir Banks, the president of the Royal Institute, that our knowledge has increased so much in recent decades,” Mr. Marfleet said. “It’s he who has commissioned so many of the samples brought back from ocean voyages.”
“Indeed?”
“During your time in the West Indies, you doubtless tasted of some of the fruit that originated in the Pacific, which Sir Banks had taken there to cultivate for food—the breadfruit, the mango, and spices such as cloves and nutmeg.”
“Yes, though I didn’t realize they originated in the Pacific.” Captain Forrester shook his head. “They are quite prolific in Jamaica—at least the breadfruit and mango. I shall endeavor to improve my education at the botanical gardens of Kew.” He turned to Megan, who sat beside him, with a smile. “I hope you remember all that our learned friend here had to say to you the other day.”
She laughed. “This is not to be a learning excursion today. It is to be a day of walking and breathing the fresh country air.”
“Nothing could be better. The air of London makes me miss the bracing air aboard ship.”
“You are retiring from the navy?” Mr. Marfleet asked.
Captain Forrester was not in uniform but looked very handsome nonetheless in a dark blue cutaway coat and buckskin breeches with top boots. “Yes. I have collected enough prize money from the privateers we’ve captured to be able to buy some property and become a gentleman of leisure the rest of my days.”
“Perhaps you should learn a bit about botany if you plan to farm your estate,” Jessamine said.
Captain Forrester chuckled. “Yes, perhaps you are right, especially considering I have never lived in the country. I must be attentive and follow you about, Mr. Marfleet, like an obedient pupil.”
“How is it that you met Miss Phillips’s brother?” Mr. Marfleet asked.
The captain settled himself comfortably against the velvet squabs to recount the story. It was a well-sprung coach and the day was very pleasant, so they waited eagerly.
“I ran away to sea when I was twelve. I was an orphan in Portsmouth and escaped one day when I couldn’t bear life in an orphanage anymore. It was that or be sent to the workhouse anyway.
“I met Rees Phillips on my first ship, a frigate patrolling the coast of France to enforce the blockade. Rees was an ensign by then and I but a ship’s boy. He took me under his wing, you could say, and I quickly took to the life aboard ship.” His demeanor sobered slightly. “Our ship was sunk just off the coast of Brittany by a French privateer. I would have drowned if not for Rees. But we both ended up in a French prison.”
They listened spellbound as he narrated this adventure. “I wouldn’t have survived the French prison if it hadn’t been for Rees. He always encouraged me to hope. His faith in God was unshakable. When there was virtually no hope left, his faith sustained him—and me. He taught me to pray not based on my feelings but based on God’s Scriptures.” Captain Forrester grinned. “Thankfully, he had spent a lot of time reading the Scriptures when the rest of the crew would spend their free hours on board and in port drinking, gaming—and”—he reddened with an apologetic look at the ladies—“seeking other diversions. When we were imprisoned in our cell, with no Bible, much less the diversions we’d sought, he knew so many Scriptures from memory he was able to call them to mind. Every time he prayed, I came away feeling fortified because it was as if I’d heard directly from God.”
Jessamine swallowed a lump in her throat. All he said about Rees brought him so forcefully to mind—and the reasons she’d loved him so and had dreamed of a life with him. Would she ever meet such a man again? She shook away the yearning, reminding herself she would not risk her heart again.
Captain Forrester continued. “The strangest thing was that his prayers were answered. I’d grown up in the orphanage and come to hate the hypocrisy of so-called Christians. We were force-fed the gospel and treated so cruelly by those who had oversight over us that I wanted nothing to do with the church when I escaped the orphanage.
“But in Rees Phillips I met a truly godly man. He never preached to me when he knew me aboard ship. But once we were in a tight spot, in the French jail, his faith shone through. It was no more than a year and a half later that we were released and repatriated during the Peace of Amiens in ’02.
“Rees left the navy then because his family needed him at home,” he said with a glance at Megan, “but I signed on again, having little prospects on land but plenty of opportunities at sea as long as we were once more at war.” He heaved a sigh. “The Lord has kept me whole of limb and prospered me during the last decade, though I have seen plenty of action.” His brow clouded. “And have watched many perish beside me.”
He was silent a moment, then he roused himself. “But I would prefer to hear some tales of your journey to India. Miss Phillips has been telling me you were there as a missionary.” He smiled. “I was not even aware our nation sent missionaries to so far and foreign a land. I’m as ignorant as I am on our shipments of exotic fruits and plants.”
Even though it was clear Mr. Marfleet didn’t want to make himself the center of the conversation, Captain Forrester’s questions soon brought out many an interesting adventure he had experienced. The time passed quickly, and before they knew it they had arrived at the bridge at the village of Brentford.
“Look!” Megan pointed. “That must be the new palace the king started to build at Kew.”
A white stone castle’s crenellated towers and turrets peeked above the trees on the opposite riverbank.
After paying the toll, their coach went over the arched bridge into the village of Kew until it reached the main entrance to the vast parkland.
There they descended from the barouche and Mr. Marfleet gave the coachman some instructions. “I told him to go around to the southern end of the park and wait for us there with the picnic. That will give us time to explore the park.”
They walked past the gatehouse and entered the park. Jessamine drew in a breath at the acres of sloping lawns and stands of trees. She could just make out a lake in the distance. Beautiful buildings and classical Greek temples were visible through thick foliage.
“It’s beautiful,” Megan exclaimed, turning to Mr. Marfleet. “Do you know it well?”
“I have visited several times, before I went out to India, with Dr. Banks. Most of my time has been spent in the botanical gardens and arboretum over there by Kew Palace,” he said, pointing off to his right. “If you have comfortable walking shoes, we can walk around the pleasure gardens first. There have been several landscape architects over the years, and I can point out some of the interesting
features and trees. Later, if you are up to it, I can give you a tour of the botanical gardens I mentioned. You must be accompanied by a gardener to enter them, but as I am known there, I will be able to act as your guide.”
“I am sure you know as much if not more than any of their official gardeners,” Megan told him with a smile.
He gave a self-conscious shrug so Jessamine quickly said, “We have worn good walking boots, besides which we are both used to walking in the country, so your plan sounds like a fine one.”
“Show us the way, sir,” Captain Forrester said, “and we’ll follow you without complaint.”
“Very well. Shall we?” Mr. Marfleet offered her his arm. She took it, and Captain Forrester did the same for Megan. They made their way toward the lake.
Along the way Mr. Marfleet pointed out many trees of note. Jessamine was impressed that he always knew the Latin name under the Linnaean system.
“This is Robinia pseudoacacia or false acacia,” he told them, pointing to a tall tree. “It was introduced to Britain over a hundred years ago from the American colonies.”
The tree was covered with white hanging clusters of flowers. “It smells like orange blossoms,” Captain Forrester commented, “but much larger than the orange trees I’ve seen in Gibraltar.”
“Then it is apt that it should be beside the orangery.” Mr. Marfleet indicated the white-framed glass building beside it.
“How are all these plants watered?” the captain asked.
“With an Archimedes screw which is pulled by a horse. It pumps water to the lake and all the ponds as well. It’s not far from here and quite a marvel.”
“It sounds like an amazing piece of engineering,” Captain Forrester murmured.
Farther on, they admired a folly by the edge of the lake built by the former Princess of Wales, Augusta, mother of the present king. “It is a temple to Confucius,” Mr. Marfleet explained and pointed to a small Greek temple half hidden by the trees on a mound above the lake. “That’s the Temple of Aeolus, also commissioned by Princess Augusta. Sir William Chambers designed it. He was the chief landscaper and architect of the gardens at the time. A good portion of the lake was filled in by our present king for agricultural land. These fields you see are oat and buckwheat.”
