The Botanist’s Daughter Page 15

  That was it; Noah was off, describing the history of botanical drawing. ‘Did you know that the earliest surviving illustrated botanical work dates from ad512? The Codex Vindobonensis,’ he said. He continued with a rundown of major botanical treatises up to the present day, and then told her of his own introduction to the subject. ‘There’s been a resurgence of interest in botanical art actually. I think it’s because of our increasing awareness of the role of plants in keeping our ecosystems healthy.’

  Anna nodded in agreement.

  ‘Botanical illustration, because it is so painstakingly accurate, is a way of recording today’s plant life and preserving it for the future. Illustrators are working with scientists and conservationists. There’s even a degree course in it now,’ he finished.

  Anna had listened with interest until their entrees arrived.

  ‘Looks good, huh?’ said Noah with a smile. ‘I love this place.’

  ‘Do you bring all your dates here?’ Anna risked a cheeky question.

  ‘Only the pretty ones.’

  ‘Oh, well of course!’ she smiled back at him as she picked up her fork and speared her gnocchi.

  They ate and drank and talked their way through the meal, Noah even making Anna laugh once or twice. When they were finished and he had settled the bill, they retrieved their coats and headed out into the cold night. ‘I didn’t drive, I’m afraid,’ said Noah. ‘Can I see you home in a taxi?’

  Anna shook her head. ‘I think I’d prefer to walk – I’m not so far away.’

  ‘Then I’ll accompany you home,’ he said gallantly, offering her his arm before she had a chance to put him off.

  They strolled up Queen Street, peering in the windows of antique shops. ‘I’m thinking of taking the sketchbook to your friend, Dr Hammett-Jones, in Kew,’ she blurted out.

  ‘Oh wow. So, you are going to England? I know most people would wonder why you’d go all that way for a sketchbook full of pretty flowers, but for what it’s worth, I think it’s a great idea.’

  ‘Well, I’m not just going for that,’ she said. ‘I’d like to see some of the great gardens while I’m there, maybe even get the Eurostar over to France … Giverny …’ she said.

  ‘Oh, now I’m really jealous,’ he said. ‘I went years ago and have never forgotten it. You’ll love it.’

  ‘Yes, well I was supposed to go a long time ago, but …’ she shrugged. ‘It didn’t happen. I’ve got a passport that’s never been used; in fact, I think it’s only got a year left on it, so I really should go before it runs out and I have to go through all the palaver of getting another one,’ she added.

  He gently took her hand in his as he looked at her. ‘Jane told me …’ he said. ‘About Simon.’

  ‘Oh.’ Anna didn’t know whether to feel annoyed with her friend or thankful for having been spared the need to explain it. ‘Well. It was a long time ago.’

  ‘Yes, but you don’t get over something like that in a hurry.’

  ‘No, I don’t suppose you do.’

  They had reached her apartment and she halted outside the entrance. ‘This is me, just here.’ She pointed up to the lit window on the second floor. ‘Thanks for dinner. I had fun.’ They weren’t empty words. For the first time in a long time, she had spent an evening in the company of an attractive – very attractive, actually – man who was interesting and made her laugh. He might even have restored a tiny bit of her faith in the world.

  ‘Any time, Anna. Really, any time.’ Noah leant towards her. At the last minute she turned her head to the side and his lips brushed her cheek. ‘Just so you know, I had a good time too,’ he said quietly.

  ‘Thanks again, Noah,’ she said, giving him a quick hug and slipping into the foyer of her building. She wasn’t sure if she was ready to answer the question she’d glimpsed in his eyes.

  Chapter Twenty-five

  VALPARAISO, 1887

  Elizabeth had no opportunity to slip away unnoticed for several weeks after her excursion with Tomas. Mrs Gordon and Sibyl made it their business to introduce her to what passed for society in Valparaiso, and so she found herself a guest at an endless parade of luncheons and dinners held in her honour. The food was better than she could have imagined and certainly made up for the privations of being at sea. There was plenty of meat, often cooked over coals – asado – and an array of vegetables, including tender young corn and tomatoes. Fish, too, was plentiful, though not always of a kind Elizabeth recognised. She became particularly fond of sopaipillas, fried flatbreads made from pumpkin and flour, as well as the empanadas that Mrs Campbell’s cook made almost daily.

  She encountered Mr Chegwidden at one luncheon, and was alarmed to find herself seated next to him. By the time she noticed, it was too late to ask her hostess to reseat her. In any case, she didn’t want to draw attention to herself, so she deliberately played the part of an ingénue, but didn’t have to pretend to be impressed by his stories of his travels to India and Ceylon, Singapore and China. She explained that her parents were long dead, and that, with benefit of a small inheritance, she was anxious to advance her botanical studies.

  Mr Chegwidden, for his part, seemed to enjoy the role of patron, and despite knowing of his perfidy in regard to both Daisy and her father, Elizabeth was surprised to find him engaging company. He had the dangerous charm of someone who knew himself to be of great appeal to the fairer sex and was most amusing, disarming her with his outlandish observations of the rest of the party.

  ‘You see Captain Chapman over there?’ he said, whispering in her ear so that only she could hear.

  ‘What of him?’ Elizabeth had been introduced to the British naval captain as she arrived at the luncheon, and had been intimidated by his stern countenance.

  ‘They say that he keeps a monkey in his cabin. As a pet! And what’s more, he croons to it as if it were a baby. Feeds it the choicest sweetmeats from his table and even allows it to sip from his flagon of rum.’

  ‘No!’ Elizabeth was shocked and didn’t know whether to believe him. Fabricated or not, it made for an amusing anecdote.

  Despite his intriguing stories, Elizabeth reminded herself sternly of her father’s warning and Mr Chegwidden’s reprehensible treatment of Daisy. She would not be fooled by this wolf in sheep’s clothing.

  ‘I shall have to introduce you to the gentlemen of Kew upon our eventual return to England,’ he insisted as the meal drew to a close. ‘They will be most interested in your work.’

  ‘Oh, I doubt that, sir, but you are most kind to think of it. I am content to make my little drawings and watercolours,’ she said modestly before turning the subject back to him and risking a question. ‘So, tell me, pray, have you found any plants of interest since your arrival?’

  He gave a brief nod. ‘I might have, Miss Bligh,’ he teased. ‘But I am certain that the mountains have greater glories to offer up.’

  She knew, without having to ask, what he referred to.

  The days Elizabeth thought she might have the chance to escape, the weather turned inclement and she was confined to her lodgings, where she passed the time cataloguing the sketches and paintings she had made thus far, and beginning on a series of watercolours of the plants that surrounded the Campbells’ villa.

  One morning, when the rain finally appeared to have ceased, Mrs Campbell invited Elizabeth to the markets. ‘You might find it of interest – it is quite astonishing the produce that is grown hereabout,’ she said as they took their breakfast in the courtyard.

  ‘Cook usually purchases our provisions,’ said Mrs Campbell. ‘But I like to go when I can and see what’s in season. And check that she isn’t cheating me,’ she added with a good-natured laugh.

  The town square, in which the market was held, was thick with activity when they arrived an hour or so later. Stalls piled high with bright green apples, oranges, limes, pumpkins and melons vied for their attention with those selling cabbages, beans, cauliflower and a kind of thin asparagus. All gleamed with freshness and were
beautifully displayed in plaited leather baskets. The two women moved happily among the native chilenos, the men wearing breeches and waistcoats over linen shirts, coloured kerchiefs and straw hats atop their heads, the women with brightly coloured shawls and long dark skirts; all bargained with the sellers, exchanging a few copper coins or tattered paper notes once a price had been struck.

  Elizabeth gazed in wonder and delight at the scene, almost losing Mrs Campbell as she lingered at a stall selling all manner of green leafy vegetables, the likes of which she had never before seen and wished she had the means to sketch.

  After more than an hour, and having watched Mrs Campbell make her purchases, they were readying to leave when Elizabeth spotted him. Her breath caught as she recognised Tomas’s tall figure in the distance. She had not spoken to him since their outing several weeks before and she was taken aback once again by his handsomeness. How could she have forgotten the broad shoulders, eyes the blue of the water on a summer’s afternoon at Lady Luck Cove? She had an inexplicable longing to run her fingers through his hair, dark and shining in the sunlight, to test its softness, its strength. She sensed the vital energy that surrounded him, separating him from other men around him, most of whom he stood head and shoulders above. She went to call out, but the words died in her throat when she saw the beautiful dark-skinned young woman beside him; her hair hung down her back in two thick plaits and there were spots of colour on her high cheekbones. Elizabeth watched as he leant down to whisper in her ear, his arm protectively around the woman’s shoulders. It was an intimate gesture, of that she had no doubt. The woman was wearing the traditional dress, as so many of the patrons of the market were, but she seemed to lend a special elegance to the shirred white blouse and cerise shawl wrapped about her slim figure. Elizabeth found she could not look away from either of them.

  As they moved off, not noticing Elizabeth, she felt suddenly downcast and foolish for not having known that Tomas had a sweetheart – perhaps even a wife, though he had made no mention of either. Unaccountably irritated that Mrs Campbell had not brought it up, Elizabeth took a deep breath and sternly reminded herself that it really was of no consequence. She had not come all this way on a wretched ship and endured weeks of seasickness to fall for the first handsome man she stumbled across. She had been charged with a task, one that was far more important and far-reaching than mere matters of the heart. If she could find the plant she sought and return to England with it, to deliver it safely to the men of science at Kew, then not only would she have fulfilled her father’s promise, but she would also have made a difference to the lives of many. The scientists would be able to propagate it, study it and make it available to those who needed it. That, surely, was a noble endeavour and one from which she would not waver. It was far more important than the favour of a young man, no matter how handsome and agreeable.

  ‘Look at these,’ said Mrs Campbell, who had bustled towards her brandishing several jute bags filled to the brim with leafy vegetables and bright oranges. ‘Cook shall make us a feast tonight!’

  Elizabeth nodded, trying to share her enthusiasm, but she could not get the image of Tomas and the beautiful young chilena out of her mind.

  If Mrs Campbell noticed that she was quiet on their journey back to the house, she did not remark upon it. As soon as they had returned, Elizabeth went in search of Daisy, seeking to refresh herself after the dusty trek and then continue with her sketching. She was growing frustrated at the lack of opportunity to retrace her steps to the Valley of the Palms, and at the knowledge that Damien Chegwidden might get there before her. But, she argued with herself, could she really have stumbled over the Devil’s Trumpet within mere weeks of her arrival? When she had consulted the sketches given to her by her father and compared them to her memory, she found many similarities – the size and shape of the leaves were identical, but in Papa’s drawing the flowers were open, not closed tight like a purse, so it was impossible to be certain.

  ‘Miss Elizabeth,’ said Daisy, interrupting her ponderings. ‘There was a message delivered for you. The Campbells’ manservant brought it up earlier.’

  ‘Thank you, Daisy. Where is it?’

  ‘He left it in the morning room. Shall I bring you some matté? You look rather tired. Were the markets enjoyable?’

  ‘Quite fascinating, actually. It is surprising the variety and freshness of the vegetables. They put our Cornish potatoes and carrots quite to shame! I’m perfectly fine, but yes, thank you Daisy, some matté would be nice.’ She had grown used to the bitter green drink; indeed, she had become rather fond of it.

  Daisy returned with the drink and handed her the message, which turned out to be a letter. From Tomas.

  She turned it over in her hands, noticing the red seal that depicted a tree, its branches spreading out towards the edge of the wax.

  ‘Señorita Elizabeth …’ the flowing script began. ‘I should be honoured if you would be a guest at a fiesta to be held a week on Saturday.’

  Elizabeth read on. Both she and Daisy were invited to a party at Tomas’s family’s home, the Estancia Copihue, nearly a day’s ride from Valparaiso. According to the letter, the festivities would carry on until late into the night and they were invited to lodge there.

  Elizabeth didn’t know what to think. On the one hand she wanted to stay as far away from Tomas’s disturbing presence as possible, especially now that she had discovered he was most likely promised, if not married, to another; but on the other hand, it would be poor manners to refuse without a reasonable excuse for doing so – and one did not immediately spring to mind. She couldn’t help but wonder why Tomas was taking such an interest in her, why he had bothered to take her to the Valley of the Palms and had now invited her to meet his family. Was it simply that she was a new arrival to the city and he felt obliged to take her under his wing?

  Elizabeth traced the inked letters with her finger, pondering her decision.

  Chapter Twenty-six

  SYDNEY, WINTER 2017

  Anna gripped the armrests of her seat as the plane took off, her knuckles white against the dark leather. She looked down at the backpack that she had stowed underneath the seat in front of her. It contained the sketchbook, the diary and the photograph; she hadn’t trusted any of them to her checked suitcase. She had never travelled in such a big plane or for such a long way, and so she wasn’t sure if the queasiness was from nerves or the lift of the plane as it left the ground. Either way, she was astonished at how quickly everything had come about, and that she now found herself on her way to the other side of the world.

  ‘Well, that’s a bold decision, sis,’ had been Vanessa’s response. ‘But why not? Make it a bit of a holiday, see some sights.’

  ‘Oh yes,’ her mum encouraged. ‘I think it’s an excellent idea.’

  They had both looked at her like they’d swallowed something delicious and wanted her to try it too.

  ‘Now,’ said Eleanor. ‘I’ve got some news of my own, as it happens. I thought I’d do a bit of digging. Try to find out something of our family tree, see if I couldn’t connect the dots. I’ve been online. There’s a family-history site, and—’

  ‘Oh,’ interrupted Anna. ‘I was going to do that. Noah mentioned it.’

  Vanessa gave her sister a questioning look, which Anna determinedly ignored.

  ‘Well, I’m one step ahead of you,’ her mother countered, pulling a folded sheet of paper from her handbag. Eleanor had drawn up a chart showing her side of the family’s previous generations, starting with Anna and Vanessa, back to herself, to Granny Gus, then to Lily (who died in 1960), then with a dotted line to Marguerite and the word ‘mother’ queried. ‘Lily’s surname was Bailey.’

  ‘Well, they came here by sea,’ said Vanessa. ‘I don’t suppose the diary mentions which ship they were on?’

  Anna shook her head. ‘But there has to be a way to find out. And there may be more clues at Trebithick Hall or with Florence Deverell – I’m sure there’s a connection between t
he diary and the things in the box.’

  ‘Ooh, you have to go!’ Vanessa said. ‘I wish I could come too, but Harvey would have a pink fit if I left him to cope on his own.’

  ‘What about your business?’ her mum asked.

  ‘It’s actually a pretty good time of year to be away. Things get quieter in winter anyway, and Sally can manage without me for a few weeks.’

  ‘Okaaay,’ said Vanessa, a new look of respect on her face. ‘You really have got it all sorted out.’

  ‘It seems like there’s nothing holding you back,’ her mother added.

  ‘I guess not,’ said Anna, feeling nevertheless as if the ground had given way beneath her.

  So, a week later and there she was, suspended in mid-air and caught between two worlds, excited for the adventure to begin.

  She was feeling considerably less enthusiastic when, five movies, half a novel and a scant couple of hours’ sleep later, she stumbled through customs, collected her bags and joined the line for taxis. She brightened a bit when she saw the reassuring trail of black cabs – so British, she thought with a grin. They looked just like they did in the movies. As her turn in the queue arrived, she climbed aboard, greedily taking in her surroundings as they flashed before her. It was early in the morning, but traffic was quicker than she’d expected and before she knew it the driver was pulling up at the address she’d given him. ‘This is it, love,’ he said.

  ‘Richmond?’ she asked.

  The driver nodded. ‘Larkfield Road, as requested.’

  She looked out of the cab’s window at the neat brick terraces with their gleaming white paintwork and black iron railings that failed to contain exuberantly blooming front gardens. So far, so good.

  Her Airbnb host answered the bell almost immediately. ‘Hello, there. You must be Anna,’ she smiled a welcome. ‘Come on in. You must be exhausted, flying all that way. I’ve only made the trip once, to see my son when he was out there. Not sure I’d ever do it again, though I did love Australia. Did you say it was Sydney you were from?’ The woman talked at ninety miles an hour, not giving Anna a chance to answer, as she ushered her up a narrow staircase to the top of the house. The attic room was small but neat and the window looked out towards the river. Anna couldn’t wait to collapse on the bed, which, given her jet-lagged state, looked like possibly the most inviting thing she’d ever seen.