The Botanist’s Daughter Page 13

  ‘What can be so fascinating to both of you?’ Sibyl enquired as she approached. ‘Pray, do include me,’ she said coquettishly, her eyes on Tomas.

  He favoured her with his warm, ready smile. ‘Of course, Miss Gordon. Miss Bligh did not believe me that you can use a plant to get clean, see?’ He showed her his hands, which had been previously bloodstained from gutting the partridges and were now pink-palmed and pristine.

  ‘Oh yes, quillaja,’ trilled Sibyl. ‘Our maid showed me this. But of course you are so new here, Elizabeth, and there is much to learn,’ she said.

  ‘Indeed, and I am very much looking forward to you both teaching me,’ Elizabeth replied sweetly and was rewarded with a look of surprise on Sibyl’s face.

  Elizabeth hoped that Tomas would be able to provide a clue to her quest for the Devil’s Trumpet, but she would have to work up to the question, to gain his trust, to get to know him. That would take time, but if this conversation was an indication, the prospect would not be too great a chore. She did not wish to rush the matter, and she could not allow Mr Chegwidden, or indeed anyone, to suspect her true intent in Valparaiso. It also occurred to her that she could safely assume that Mr Chegwidden had not yet discovered the Devil’s Trumpet, for if he had he would surely have left with it on the first available sailing. That knowledge boosted her resolve and gave her hope that she had time on her side.

  ‘I must go and see to the partridges, if we are to have luncheon soon,’ said Tomas, interrupting her thoughts. ‘Excuse me, ladies.’

  Sibyl glanced at Elizabeth’s sketchbook. ‘Oh, you are so lucky to have such a talent. I swear I feel quite unaccomplished when I look at this.’ There was grudging admiration in her voice.

  Mr Chegwidden joined them and Elizabeth did her best to keep her expression pleasant. ‘I concur with Miss Gordon,’ he said. ‘You are indeed most accomplished, Miss Bligh. I should be fascinated to know where you developed such skill. Who instructed you?’

  Stick to the truth, but only insofar as it does not incriminate you, her father had advised. ‘It was my governess who first encouraged me. But I have had little formal training, save for the study of Curtis’s Botanical Magazine.’ She refrained from adding that it was her father who had introduced her to the publication.

  ‘Ah, yes,’ he said. ‘I know it well, a fine publication indeed.’

  ‘Oh,’ sighed Sibyl again. ‘How I would love to be able to draw.’

  ‘Now then, modesty doesn’t become you, Sibyl,’ said Mrs Gordon who caught the end of the conversation as she joined them. ‘We can’t all be good at everything, and we have only to hear your singing voice to know what a God-given blessing that is.’

  Sibyl coloured at her mother’s boastfulness. ‘Oh mother, please!’

  Elizabeth put down her sketchbook. Her hopes of being left in peace were not to be fulfilled, and in any case, she reasoned, it would be poor manners to ignore the rest of the party for too long. ‘Shall we join the others?’ she asked, looking in the direction of Mrs Campbell and Mr Gordon, who had settled near a boulder as Daisy unpacked the provisions they had brought with them. ‘I am nearly finished here in any case.’

  While they ate, Sibyl and her mother gossiped with Mrs Campbell about an American family who had settled in Valparaiso earlier the previous year. Elizabeth paid little attention to the chatter, not knowing the family in question.

  As she sucked on a grilled partridge leg, which was surprisingly succulent and a hundred times better than anything she’d had aboard ship, Elizabeth turned her thoughts to the matter of exactly how she would discover the whereabouts of the mysterious Devil’s Trumpet.

  Would Tomas be the right person to confide in? Or was he close to Mr Chegwidden? She had yet to determine the exact nature of their relationship. Elizabeth sat and mused on her dilemma, her fingers curled in the lush green grass, as if to anchor herself to the ground. She looked up and caught Tomas’s eye. He was gazing at her as if she were a fascinating artefact, one worthy of intense study, and his regard brought warmth to her cheeks. She glanced around at the rest of the party, but they were all, including Mr Chegwidden, caught up in the continuing saga being related by Mrs Campbell. Elizabeth stood, stretching out her legs, which had become stiff from sitting on the ground. ‘It is rather hot,’ she said quietly to Daisy. ‘I think I will go down to the lake awhile.’

  Tomas leapt to his feet. ‘I shall escort you, Miss Elizabeth. I should hate for you to lose your way.’ He said this with a knowing grin and Elizabeth bit back the ready retort that she could hardly lose her way on a walk to the lake that was at most three hundred yards away.

  ‘Why, thank you Señor Flores, that would be most gracious of you,’ she replied, taking the crook of his elbow as he came to stand beside her. She held her breath, hoping that none of the others would decide to join them, but they all seemed content to stay where they were, so she collected her skirts with her other hand and they stepped out in the direction of the water.

  As they came to a halt, she had decided to plunge right in. ‘Forgive me for any impertinence, but Mrs Campbell spoke to me of your upbringing,’ she said.

  ‘Oh yes? What of it?’ he looked confused.

  ‘Oh, I don’t mean any disrespect. Rather, that it must have been a fascinating life. I understand your mother was a highly regarded healer.’

  His expression cleared. ‘Yes, yes she was. Many people came to her for remedies and her skills. She was an extremely learned woman. Not in the conventional way perhaps, but there was little she did not know about the power of plants. Plants that grow all around us, those that most pay no heed to. She knew exactly how to prepare them, to blend them, and how to cure ills that other doctors had no answer for. She also knew where to find the rarest and most sacred of them all.’

  ‘And she obviously passed on this knowledge to you,’ said Elizabeth.

  ‘Well, some of it, yes, but only the simplest. I was still quite young when she died. In any case, she believed that only women should be party to the most sacred knowledge. Rather different from the ways of your country, so I am told.’

  ‘I see,’ said Elizabeth, doing her best to hide her disappointment. Perhaps he wouldn’t be the best person to ask about the Devil’s Trumpet after all. She regarded the lakeshore, which was clogged with reeds, but noticed a clearing a little further along where a small, pebbled shoal afforded easy access to the water and she could be sure of keeping her boots dry. ‘Still, perhaps I might beg your indulgence to help me identify some of the plants native to Valparaiso? I do, of course, recognise the acacia, and the anemone, the geranium and the fuchsia, and we rode through laurel I am certain, but there are so many others that are completely foreign to me. I would welcome your assistance, and I can of course recompense you for your time.’

  Tomas lit a small clay pipe and drew on it heavily. ‘Let us not talk of money on such a beautiful day, Señorita Elizabeth. I should be glad to be at your service.’ He gave a mock bow. ‘Not for nothing is it called the “Valley of Paradise”,’ he said, his low tone almost caressing her ears.

  Elizabeth thrilled to the rich sound of his voice so close to her face, but heard a note of caution from her conscience. She hoped she had made a judicious call in enlisting his help, but she worried that he might be too close to Mr Chegwidden. She had much to find out and she must tread carefully.

  Later that evening, as Daisy helped Elizabeth dress for dinner, Elizabeth noticed that her maid looked troubled. ‘Daisy, are you quite all right?’ she asked.

  ‘Yes, miss,’ the maid said, but her tone did not reassure Elizabeth. She turned to face Daisy and looked carefully at her face. ‘What is it? Have you been crying?’

  The maid gave a sniff but shook her head.

  ‘Are you missing your family? I know we are such a long way from home … but I thought you had been enjoying the adventure so far.’

  ‘No, miss, it’s not that.’

  ‘Well, come on then, do tell me. I am not happy to fi
nd you so upset.’

  Daisy’s voice shook. ‘It was Mr Chegwidden …’

  ‘What about him?’ Elizabeth asked, her mouth set in a grim line.

  ‘T’weren’t much really. While you were walking by the lake with Señor Flores, he came over to me and started to ask questions.’

  ‘What kind of questions?’ A shiver ran through her.

  ‘Where I was from, how I came to find myself so far from home. He hails from Cornwall too, did you know?’

  ‘As a matter of fact I did,’ said Elizabeth. ‘But that is a story for another time. What exactly did you tell him?’

  ‘Only that I was from Trevone, and that I had been your maid for quite some years.’

  ‘Anything else? You remember that we are here in a disguise of sorts.’

  ‘No, nothing else, I promise you.’

  ‘Good. And what did he do to upset you so?’

  ‘Well, everyone else was far away by then. I think they had gone further along the lake from where you were. He … he tried to … Well, he tried to kiss me, and more. I did not invite it I swear!’ Elizabeth could see that Daisy had flushed beet red with embarrassment. ‘He tore my apron and a … a button from my dress. I didn’t want to scream and make a fuss but I struggled against him as best I could.’

  ‘Oh Daisy!’ cried Elizabeth, roused to fury on her maid’s behalf. ‘What a foul, despicable man. How dare he! I’ve a good mind to tell Mrs Campbell straightaway.’

  ‘Oh no, please don’t,’ said Daisy. ‘I shall be mortified.’

  ‘Did he do anything else?’ Elizabeth asked.

  ‘No, no, that was all. Miss Gordon came back before he could take advantage of me further.’

  ‘Oh, thank goodness for that. Now listen to me, Daisy,’ she said, holding her maid by the shoulders. ‘I will make it my business to ensure that you are never left alone with that frightful man ever again, do you understand?’

  ‘Yes, Miss Elizabeth.’

  Chapter Twenty-two

  SYDNEY, AUTUMN 2017

  When she wasn’t working, Anna had been busy transcribing Marguerite’s diary, though her progress was still painfully slow. Marguerite had found lodgings in Surry Hills – ‘They are tolerable,’ she had written. ‘Though the cold ’tis terrible and the wind does whistle through the doors and windows.’ – with Alice, her friend from the quarantine station, and a job cleaning at a big house in Potts Point. ‘There is a lady in our street who minds the child. She seems kind enough, but I do worry.’ Lily, it seemed, had developed a terrible cough and Marguerite feared for her health. Marguerite also wrote often of a mysterious past, though she never mentioned from where she had come before arriving in Sydney. ‘I must never go back. He must never find me,’ she had written. Who had she run away from, Anna wondered. Her husband, perhaps?

  ‘He’s a good guy, you know. You should give him a chance.’ Jane’s voice interrupted her thoughts.

  ‘Hm?’ Anna looked up, startled.

  ‘Honestly. You need to get back in the real world again, Anna. I know you’ve had it tough, but you can’t hide away from life forever, you know. Noah’s all right. Solid.’

  They were standing in her grandmother’s house, where Anna had spent the whole day cleaning up the builders’ mess and scrubbing the place from top to bottom. After careful deliberation she had decided to have the façade painted a cool green, the colour of a new leaf. The mulberry paint had begun to flake in any case, and although it had been Gussie’s taste, it wasn’t really Anna’s. Thanks to several days’ effort on Anna’s part, Gus’s gorgeous garden had been restored to its former self, and now the house looked as good on the inside as it did on the outside. The builders had installed a kitchen, white cabinets and a pale granite benchtop, and the floorboards had been sanded back and stained a dark mahogany. The walls were now a bright white, and Anna had padded through the house in socks, sniffing the aroma of paint appreciatively. It smelled clean, and fresh. Comfortingly, Gussie’s clock still ticked away on the mantel. Even though there was only the occasional piece of old furniture to soften it, the bigger living area looked welcoming. Ready for a new start.

  A bit like you, a small voice in her head insisted.

  As the house had taken shape and Anna began to wonder more seriously what to do with it, she’d had an idea. She wanted someone with a green thumb who would look after the garden, and she would far rather have someone she knew live there.

  ‘Actually …’ Anna began, a tiny smile playing about her face.

  ‘You’ve said yes, haven’t you?’ cried Jane excitedly. ‘Ooh, where are you going and when?’

  ‘We might be going somewhere tonight,’ said Anna coyly. ‘But come on,’ she said changing the subject, ‘let’s have a look outside.’

  ‘Oh, how divine!’ said Jane as Anna opened the back door. They walked along the path to the bench at the end of the garden. ‘I’ve been looking for a new place. My flat is being sold, and everything I’ve seen is a soulless concrete box,’ she said.

  Anna nodded. ‘I know. You mentioned it at lunch a few weeks ago. Have you had any luck?’

  She shook her head. ‘It’s impossible. There’s nothing. Well, nothing that I can afford, anyway. What I wouldn’t give for somewhere with a bit of a garden. But they’re as rare as hen’s teeth in this part of town. Or if they do have any green space at all, they cost an absolute fortune. You don’t know how lucky you are …’ She stopped, aware that Anna hadn’t, in fact, been particularly lucky in past years. ‘Well, you know what I mean …’

  Anna motioned her to sit down, taking a seat at the other end of the bench and turning to face her friend. ‘Oh, I’m not moving in,’ she said.

  ‘Why not? This,’ she said, spreading her arms wide, ‘is gorgeous. Are you mad?’

  ‘No. I’m perfectly happy in my little place in Queens Park.’

  ‘So, you’re going to let it out?’ Jane said, interest plain on her face. ‘Though I don’t suppose I could afford it.’

  ‘Would you like it?’ offered Anna.

  Jane looked at her. ‘Anna! Are you serious?’

  Anna nodded, a broad grin now on her face. ‘I’d really like someone to look after it; someone who would care for the garden.’

  Jane stood up and flung her arms exuberantly around Anna. ‘Oh, I’d love it! It’s the perfect little house, and the most gorgeous garden. Oh, thank you, Anna, thank you. But how much do you want a week?’ she asked doubtfully. ‘My budget isn’t that big.’

  ‘Mates’ rates,’ Anna reassured her. ‘Whatever you’re paying at the moment. I just want the place taken care of.’

  ‘Oh, I’ll cherish it. Truly I will. But are you sure about this? You could get much more if you let it through an agent.’ Jane looked worried and excited at the same time.

  ‘Of course I am. I’ve got the plumber coming to do a few final checks next week, but apart from that it’s good to go.’

  ‘Are you for real?’

  ‘I think so,’ laughed Anna, enjoying the feeling of being able to make someone else happy for a change.

  Before she left, Jane extracted a promise from Anna to ring her and tell her how the date with Noah went. ‘I’m so pleased we’re in touch again,’ she said. ‘I missed you, you know.’

  Because Anna had skipped her usual Saturday cycle class (the third week in a row – she didn’t know whether to be annoyed or pleased with herself) to meet Jane at the house, she needed to get out and let off some steam. By offering the house to Jane she had put the first part of her plan into place, but the result of actually doing something to steer the course of her life for the first time in years had left her feeling off-balance.

  Anna strolled through the winding streets of Paddington, down to New South Head Road and then across to the grassy park that fringed the water’s edge at Rushcutters Bay. The calm blue harbour came into view, its glassy surface crowded with boats, their masts like needles piercing the clear autumn sky. As she kicked through drifts of fallen
leaves, Anna heard the familiar hollow jangle of halyards coming from the marina overlaid by the yapping of several small dogs being walked by their heavily muscled owners. She’d brought a bag with her, and as she reached the water’s edge, she found a bench to sit on and took out the notebook she’d found in the shed at the bottom of Granny Gus’s garden. Anna wriggled on the bench to get comfortable and began to read, but the words swam before her as she recognised the familiar handwriting on the pages. Handwriting that she’d seen on numerous birthday cards, always with a ten-dollar note slipped inside, no matter what number she was turning. She blinked and turned the page. There were headings with the month and year, followed by cryptic notes: ‘January. Stinking. Basil infested with thrips. New stakes.’

  Anna sat and read, her surroundings fading as she became absorbed by her grandmother’s jottings. It was almost as if Gussie was sitting next to her, bellyaching about a lack of rain and damned buggeration that she couldn’t manage the weeding on her own any more. The book was a thread that connected them, and Anna would cherish it always.

  The hard seat beneath her made sitting for too long uncomfortable, so she stood up, stretched and placed the notebook back in her bag. Without thinking about where she was headed she began to walk along the foreshore and up into the winding streets of Darling Point, through to Double Bay, with its coiffed old ladies and lycra-clad mothers drinking coffee in the afternoon sun, and then on to the wide stretch of Rose Bay, and up the steep part of New South Head Road – Heartbreak Hill as it was known to the runners who pounded up there in their tens of thousands every August on a run from the city to the surf of Bondi. Her footsteps took her to Nielsen Park. It had been one of Simon’s favourite beaches and on summer days they had bunked off lectures to come and cool off in its balmy waters, gazing back at the far-off city.

  It was where his ashes had been scattered, in a borrowed launch a few hundred metres off the shore. Anna had felt like a fraud being part of it, but she couldn’t bear to hurt his parents by refusing to be there. Months later, she’d gone back with a small seedling, its roots wrapped in damp kitchen paper, tucked away in her bag.