The Botanist’s Daughter Page 24

  ‘Do you wish she had been a boy?’ she asked. ‘I know how much you desired a son.’

  Tomas snorted. ‘A beauty such as this? How could I not think she is the most exquisite baby ever born?’

  ‘Are you sure?’

  He smiled up at her. ‘There is plenty of time for sons.’

  After the ordeal of birth, Elizabeth couldn’t begin to imagine having more children. The baby’s head had got stuck like a cork in a bottle, and it was only Sofia’s strong fingers and sure touch that had helped both mother and child to separate and survive. She wasn’t sure she ever wanted to repeat the experience, even though she had fallen irrevocably in love with her daughter the moment she had seen her, bloodied and screaming at the top of her lungs at the indignity of her birth.

  The baby girl began to mewl again and Tomas reluctantly returned her to Elizabeth’s arms. ‘The wet nurse I engaged is in Valparaiso. I shall have to suckle her myself,’ she said. ‘Sofia will show me, for she says she has seen many women feed their babies, that it is the most natural thing in the world.’ Elizabeth paused, noticing Tomas’s look of discomfort at the subject matter. ‘Perhaps you might leave us for a while and come back later?’ she said gently.

  Elizabeth proved to be a natural mother, and with Sofia’s guidance was soon expertly feeding and burping. The baby, in turn, grew round and bonny with every passing day, quickly catching up in size what she had lacked from her premature arrival. They stayed on at the estancia, as Tomas did not want them to make the journey back to Valparaiso until both mother and baby were strong and well.

  She had her father’s easy-going personality, delighting her parents with even the slightest yawn or splay of her tiny fingers. Elizabeth noticed that Daisy loved having a baby to look after – she had told Elizabeth that she had helped her mother with her youngest sister and so she had plenty of experience with newborns. She soon became her de facto nanny, and Elizabeth, seeing how well Daisy cared for her daughter, refused to consider employing anyone else. The wet nurse also proved unnecessary.

  When she was feeling stronger, Elizabeth wrote to Georgiana to tell her that she now had a fair-haired niece who looked for all the world exactly like their mother, Augusta; a cousin for George. She longed for a letter in return, for news from home; it had been months since their last communication.

  Tomas’s father came as soon as news of the birth reached him, and he was as besotted with his first grandchild as her parents were. It was he who insisted on a christening, and did not want to wait until the family returned to the town. He arranged for the priest to make the journey out to the estancia, and invited many of his business associates, wanting to share and celebrate his family’s good fortune. As she had with her wedding, Elizabeth bowed to the wishes of her husband’s family, and the baby girl was baptised a Catholic.

  On the day of the christening, Elizabeth, with Tomas by her side, carried her daughter, who was swathed in a lace robe, towards the priest who stood in the main hall. As she looked around the assembled guests, smiling, one in particular caught her eye and she stumbled, staggering with the baby in her arms.

  Damien Chegwidden. She couldn’t help but be reminded of the tale of the bad fairy at the christening of Sleeping Beauty, a story that had fascinated her as a child. She had often wondered what it must be like to sleep for a hundred years and then wake to find a world utterly changed. Was his presence to be a bad omen for her daughter?

  Tomas steadied her, supporting her elbow. ‘Cariño. Are you all right? Do you need to sit down?’

  She swallowed. ‘No, no, I am fine. Please. Let us continue.’

  After the ceremony, Elizabeth handed the baby to Tomas. She was now officially named: Violeta Tomasina Augustina; Violeta as a tribute to her old governess, Mam’zelle Violette. He proudly showed her off, revelling in the clucking from the older ladies in the party, while Señor Flores and the other gentlemen retired to smoke their pipes. ‘To talk about politics and trade, no doubt,’ said Sofia as she passed Elizabeth.

  Elizabeth was thirsty, and was making her way towards a table laden with food and drinks when Mr Chegwidden accosted her.

  ‘My dear. You are looking well.’

  ‘Thank you, sir, but I cannot say the same for you.’ Elizabeth couldn’t hide her shock. Chegwidden was thin to the point of emaciation and his eyes burned like coals in the hollows of their sockets. He looked like a ghost of the man she had first met.

  He grimaced. ‘We were caught in the Andes. Terrible storm. Then robbed by a band of montoneros. They stole all of our food and most of our equipment. We didn’t eat for weeks. Lucky to survive.’

  Elizabeth wished for a moment that he had not survived – it would have made the task of getting samples of the Devil’s Trumpet to Kew less of an urgent one. ‘Oh goodness,’ she said, feigning politeness, ‘I had not heard of your troubles.’ She had, however, heard of montoneros, lawless bandits who roamed the region.

  ‘It was surely worth it, though.’ He leant in to whisper to her. ‘For I have finally found what we both have been searching for … Miss Trebithick.’

  Elizabeth felt a roar fill her ears as her mind scrambled to take in the meaning of his words. She swallowed hard, unable to think of a reply. She hadn’t been called that name for months. How did he know?

  Chegwidden gave her a sly wink. ‘I beg your pardon. Of course it is Señora Flores now, isn’t it?’

  He pulled her to one side, away from the chatter of the women, and spoke to her in a low voice. ‘I think you know very well what it is I am referring to, now don’t you?’

  She felt like a rabbit caught in the sights of a hunter’s gun, and her heart began to thud in her chest so loudly that she wondered if he could hear it.

  ‘I knew I recognised you from somewhere almost as soon as we met, but I couldn’t place you. I wondered to myself why a young woman would journey halfway around the world to fiddle about sketching plants. And there was also the fact of your maidservant, who has as broad a Cornish accent as I ever did hear. I knew your father you know. We were friends for a while. But then I came across him in the Himalaya. I had found a rare magnolia and he challenged me for it. I was forced to defend myself.’ Chegwidden sucked on his teeth as if reliving the confrontation.

  That wasn’t the story her father had recounted, thought Elizabeth angrily, remembering the scar on his arm.

  ‘He told me once of his two daughters; his flowers, he called you. I guessed your true identity on the night of the fiesta, when you mentioned your maid wore your sister’s gown, but I have kept it to myself until now. Knowledge is power my dear, as you well know.’

  ‘What do you want from me?’ Elizabeth hissed, finally finding her voice.

  ‘Don’t worry. I came merely to gloat, for I have found that which you sought and I shall be on a ship back to England within the fortnight. The glory of the Devil’s Trumpet shall be mine.’ His black eyes blazed. ‘I shall be rich beyond measure, for I will sell the seeds to the highest bidder, and believe me, there will be plenty of men interested in my find. Your father could never have succeeded where I have done; he had neither the stamina nor the skill and he was doubly a fool to send his daughter on such a mission. A mere slip of a girl cannot outwit a man with my experience.’ He gave a victorious smile, the skin so tight on his scalp she could see a vein throbbing at his temple. There was no trace of the urbane gentleman now. ‘But of course you surely must care less for such endeavours, now that you have all this …’ He spread his arm wide to indicate the enormous hall.

  ‘How dare you patronise me, you infuriating man,’ Elizabeth retorted. ‘And you lie about my dear papa. He was a most honourable gentleman and there are plenty who can attest to that. What makes you so sure you have the right plant anyway?’ she spat at him.

  ‘Of course I have the right plant,’ he scoffed. ‘It is exactly as I have heard it described: large, white turning to orange trumpet flowers with deep rust-coloured stamens, and a sweet scent.’


  Elizabeth found herself able to breathe more easily. She was certain that he had not found the Devil’s Trumpet. She knew this plant of which Chegwidden spoke – her father had described it as the ‘fiery trumpet’, a glorious tree that featured bushels of pendulous trumpet-shaped flowers, hanging downwards, ‘as if musical instruments left behind by a fairy orchestra’ he had said. It was nothing like the real Devil’s Trumpet. However, she failed to hide the glint of relief in her eyes.

  It was her undoing.

  Chapter Forty

  VALPARAISO, 1887

  ‘You doubt me, señora?’ Smart as a whip, Damien Chegwidden had caught the expression that flashed across her face.

  ‘Oh no, not at all,’ Elizabeth said, wishing she could take back her words. ‘But you must admit, there are many such lilies that grow wild in these parts. It is hard to tell one from the other.’

  ‘Indeed, but none that has the particular scent I have smelled with my own nose,’ he said, watching her closely.

  ‘What scent would that be?’ Elizabeth enquired, her innocent expression belying the pounding of her heart.

  ‘An unholy scent, if ever there was one. One that would tempt even the purest heart.’

  Elizabeth arched an eyebrow at his hyperbole, but said nothing.

  ‘I can see you do not believe me,’ he said.

  ‘Oh, I do believe you, sir. A scent like that can never be forgotten. But,’ she couldn’t help but add, ‘there is more to the true Devil’s Trumpet than its scent. Though I am sure a plant-hunter as clever as you would know that.’ There was an edge to her words – she wanted nothing more than to wipe the supercilious expression from his face. Ignoring the warning her father had given her more than a year ago, she continued. ‘I hear tell that it bears a black vein, like the blood of Beelzebub himself.’

  Mr Chegwidden grasped her by the elbow, pulling her further away from the other guests. ‘I see you are rather well informed,’ he said quietly but with urgency. ‘Though as John Trebithick’s daughter, I suppose I should not be surprised. Do, pray, tell me more,’ he demanded.

  Elizabeth’s temper had been stoked by the look of arrogant triumph in Mr Chegwidden’s eyes when he spoke and she was unable to stop herself from goading him further. Shaking off his hand, she said, ‘If indeed you have seen the Devil’s Trumpet for yourself, then you would surely know of that.’

  He stroked his wispy moustache slowly. ‘Do you not think that your husband would be surprised to hear of your deceit? Your real purpose for being in South America?’ His eyes glittered, and Elizabeth wondered if he was quite unhinged; there was a look of a madman about him.

  ‘What is it you want from me?’

  ‘You have it. The Devil’s Trumpet. You must have, to describe it so precisely.’

  Elizabeth noticed Daisy out of the corner of her eye. ‘I most certainly do not!’ she cried. ‘I have merely heard it talked of by those who are well informed on such matters.’

  He gripped Elizabeth by the wrist, leaning in close to her face. ‘Know that I will stop at nothing to get that plant for myself. You can bet your husband’s and your child’s life on it.’

  She shuddered at the chilling thread of fanaticism in his voice but replied lightly, ‘Really, sir, those are serious words indeed.’

  ‘I am always serious.’

  His eyes bored into her but she held his gaze before wresting her arm free and turned, about to leave, when she remembered Daisy hovering nearby.

  ‘Daisy!’ she said, trying to calm the thudding of her heart and gather her wits. ‘Would you please take Violeta for her nap? I’m sure it is past time. Tomas has her.’

  The maid gave her mistress a worried look and then glanced in Mr Chegwidden’s direction. ‘Are you feeling quite well? Can I get you something? Can I call someone?’

  Elizabeth waved her off. ‘No, no, really I am fine. If you could find her for me?’ she pleaded.

  ‘Of course, miss,’ the maid bobbed obediently.

  Elizabeth turned back to Mr Chegwidden, but he had vanished like the morning mist. ‘Damn and hellfire!’ she cursed, though there was no one to hear her. She should have let him think he had been successful in his quest and then he would be gone, away on the first ship to leave port and returned to England believing he would be covered in glory. She had to confess her secret to Tomas before Mr Chegwidden had the chance to tell him. She had to ensure her family was safe.

  What had she done? A few ill-chosen words and her whole future was in jeopardy. Would Tomas understand why she had lied to him, lied to his family about who she was and her true purpose in Valparaiso? At that moment she wasn’t sure.

  One thing was certain: she must find a safer place to hide the box containing the cuttings and seeds. Somewhere no one would ever think to look.

  Taking her leave from the christening party with the excuse of seeing to Violeta, she crept into the baby’s bedroom, where Daisy was laying her in a sheepskin hammock suspended from the roof poles. Sofia claimed it helped babies to sleep better and so far Elizabeth had no reason to doubt her. Violeta generally only woke once at night and Daisy brought her into Elizabeth’s chamber to feed, before returning with her to their rooms.

  ‘Daisy,’ she whispered once her daughter was asleep. ‘Come with me.’

  She led the maid to the other wing of the house, which housed the family’s bedchambers.

  ‘I have something I must entrust to you, for I fear that the secret is now too big to be mine alone.’ Elizabeth grasped Daisy’s hand. ‘I made a promise to my dying father to search for a plant. A plant of great power, but one that in the wrong hands could wreak terrible havoc.’

  Daisy blinked in silent astonishment.

  ‘It is called the Devil’s Trumpet,’ Elizabeth continued, ‘and is extremely rare. I promised that if I found it, I would return with it to England. It is said to have the power to cure all manner of disease. Daisy,’ she implored, ‘can you imagine what that might mean? For the sick? To end suffering? I myself experienced its power when I was giving birth, truly I did. I fear I should not have survived if it wasn’t for Sofia’s knowledge of it.’

  Daisy looked even more astounded.

  ‘Mr Chegwidden also seeks it, but unlike my dear papa, his motives are far from pure. He believes it will make his fortune. He thinks he has found it, but I foolishly let it slip that he is mistaken. Damn my stubborn pride. I have the true Devil’s Trumpet. Here.’ She reached into the trunk and brought out the sketchbook. ‘I have the very greatest favour to ask of you. Mr Chegwidden has discovered who I am, and now we are all in danger.’

  Daisy caught her breath.

  ‘You never questioned why I insisted on travelling under my mother’s name, but now you know. I fear he will do anything to prevent me from getting it back to England. I need you to keep it safe for me. But you must not touch it, I beg you, for it is also deadly poisonous. No one will suspect a maid of having it.’

  ‘Are you not terrified of what he might do?’ asked Daisy. ‘That he will stop at nothing?’

  She nodded. ‘I fear he has descended into madness,’ said Elizabeth. ‘He threatened my life, and Violeta’s and Tomas’s too. That is even more reason why he must not find this flower and especially not the seeds. You must promise me that if anything happens—’ Elizabeth broke off in a sob. ‘If anything happens to me or Tomas, you will make sure that Violeta is safe.’

  ‘Of course,’ Daisy assured her. ‘But it will not come to that.’

  ‘Do not be too sure. He is capable of anything.’

  ‘There is something else.’ Daisy hesitated, biting her lip. ‘Earlier today I came across Mr Chegwidden and Señor Flores at the stables. I had gone out to see if there was any milk and was on my way back when I heard their voices. They …’ She paused, swallowing. ‘They were arguing. Mr Chegwidden was asking Señor Flores about a plant.’

  ‘What plant, Daisy?’

  ‘The Devil’s Trumpet. I am not mistaken. Those were the words I he
ard. Today is the first time I’ve heard of such a plant, and to hear of it twice in one day; well, that is most uncommon, do you not think?’

  Elizabeth was confused. ‘What could this mean?’ she wondered aloud. Had Damien Chegwidden involved Tomas in his search for it? Was Tomas keeping a secret from her? Had she married in a romantic rush, not truly knowing the man who was now her husband? As this thought occurred to her, she saw the irony in it, for she had kept a secret hidden from her husband all this time.

  But had Chegwidden told Tomas the truth about Elizabeth, revealed who she really was? No. He could not have. Tomas would have confronted her about it if he had, she was sure of it.

  ‘They did not see me,’ Daisy reassured her. ‘I am certain.’

  ‘Well, that is something, I suppose,’ said Elizabeth, still lost in thought.

  ‘Come now, I know where to conceal it,’ said Daisy, urging Elizabeth on. ‘There is a cupboard. We can hide it away at the back; there is plenty of space. One would not think to look there, not in a nursery, among a baby’s things.’

  Chapter Forty-one

  CHILE, 1887

  As Elizabeth returned to the party to farewell the guests returning to Valparaiso or Santiago, she noticed Tomas and Damien Chegwidden in conversation and fear coursed through her like a lightning bolt. Would Tomas forgive her once he found out the truth? She had to tell him first, before the malevolent Chegwidden had the chance to poison her husband against her.

  She bade a distracted farewell to Mr and Mrs Campbell, promising that she would be back in Valparaiso before long, and then she watched, clenching her trembling hands in her skirts, as Mr Chegwidden mounted his horse. He locked eyes with Elizabeth, but she stood her ground, staring defiantly back at him.

  The group left in a flurry of hooves, and Elizabeth retreated indoors to avoid being covered in the dust they had kicked up.

  ‘Mi corazon, you look exhausted,’ said Tomas as he saw Elizabeth reclining on a chair. ‘It has been too much for you, too soon perhaps.’ He went to her side and took her hand.