The Botanist’s Daughter Page 3

  ‘Oh, miss,’ Daisy soothed. ‘It is a terrible business. We all feel the loss of Mr Trebithick, but you must do so more than anyone.’

  ‘Oh, I do, Daisy. Oh, how I do,’ she lamented.

  The young maid was skilled at her job and soon had Elizabeth clothed in a new black gown with lace cascading down the bodice. Elizabeth’s untidy ringlets had been brushed out and caught up in a plain bun at the nape of her neck. Daisy had also fastened a simple jet necklace about her mistress’s throat. Once again Elizabeth looked like a respectable young woman from a good family, rather than a sand-encrusted gypsy.

  ‘Thank you, Daisy,’ said Elizabeth when she was done. ‘I don’t know what I would do without you.’

  The dinner bell sounded, its sonorous gong echoing through the hallways of the house. The maid bobbed a curtsey and left the room.

  As Elizabeth entered the drawing room she caught sight of herself in the looking glass that hung over the mantelpiece. Her cheeks were rosy from the afternoon sun and her blue eyes glittered defiantly back at her. She was flushed with the exhilaration of her decision; a decision she had spent weeks turning over and over in her mind, and had finally arrived at down at the cove as she floated in the icy water. It was a decision so bold that she felt as if she might have been stabbed in the stomach.

  After weeks of lassitude, she was possessed with a fierce energy, ready to grasp her destiny with both hands. All she had to do was persuade her sister of her plan. And hold her nerve.

  Chapter Four

  SYDNEY, AUTUMN 2017

  ‘You could always let it on Airbnb,’ Vanessa said, a determinedly helpful expression on her face.

  Anna had happily accepted her sister’s invitation to dinner on Friday night – she wasn’t exactly fending off more compelling social invitations, and she liked Vanessa’s noisy menagerie. Anna was particularly fond of her youngest niece, Fleur, who with her retroussé nose, delightful dimples and a heart-shaped face looked like a throwback to a gentler age but had an attitude that was fiercely modern. Recently though, Anna had noticed that Ivy, the eldest – just turned thirteen – had begun to speak in a bizarre patois, completely inexplicable given that she was a North Shore private schoolgirl. Anna never quite knew what to say to her when greeted with a ‘Wassup, girlfrien’?’ or a ‘Dass cool’ and accompanying fist bump. Vanessa merely shook her head and shrugged her shoulders. Jasmine, the middle child, was the quietest of the trio, generally preferring the company of books to people. They were all growing up too fast; blonde and leggy, like seedlings after summer showers.

  Anna had been astonished that neither her mother nor her sister had begrudged her the house. Their mother had been adamant that the girls should be the beneficiaries, insisting that she already had everything she needed. Vanessa had been left the holiday shack further down the coast, and some of her grandmother’s jewellery including a diamond-and-emerald ring the size of a marble, but it didn’t seem entirely fair that Anna had got the much better part of the estate, for the Paddington house was probably worth twice the one on the coast. She had tried to talk to her sister about it, but Vanessa had shut her down. ‘Anna. If anyone deserves it, it’s you,’ Vanessa had said. ‘Besides, you were the one who was there for her more than any of us, especially at the end.’

  ‘But you had your own family to look after, and Mum … well, I was just closest,’ Anna had insisted.

  ‘Doesn’t matter. Those were Granny’s wishes, and that’s that. The last thing I want is an argument over money to come between us.’

  Harvey, Vanessa’s husband, hadn’t taken the news so well, of that Anna was certain. She could sense it in the little digs he made, pointing out how lucky she was, what good fortune had befallen her. Anna didn’t feel particularly lucky or fortunate; she would far rather have had Granny Gus still with them, alive and kicking out at anyone who dared cross her.

  ‘In the state it’s in?’ Anna scoffed at Vanessa’s Airbnb suggestion. ‘Yeah, right.’

  ‘Well, obviously it’s going to need some work. But nothing that a coat of paint and some newly varnished floorboards can’t fix,’ said Vanessa. ‘It’s got bags of character. And it’s very central.’

  ‘And the rest!’ Harvey spluttered from behind his newspaper. ‘Um, the fifties called – they’d like their bathroom back. Not to mention the place needs a decent kitchen. The stove alone is a liability.’

  ‘Hm, I suppose you’re right,’ Vanessa agreed. She folded her arms over her ‘Namaste in bed’ T-shirt so that only the word ‘Namaste’ showed and flicked her blonde ponytail, so similar to Anna’s, over her shoulder. ‘How she ever cooked in there without everything ending up as charcoal I’ve no idea.’

  Anna looked around the snowy expanse of Vanessa’s kitchen, at the marble countertops and butcher’s tiles, the deep drawers and the butler’s pantry. Granted, it was a mess, sticky with the detritus of family life, but underneath the empty chip packets and half-drunk, lidless milk cartons, it was a beautiful room. Her sister had always had a sense of style.

  ‘Mm,’ Anna said noncommittally. Any criticism of her grandmother, however slight, made her uncomfortable.

  ‘Do you know,’ said Harvey looking up from the paper, ‘in China, unmarried women over the age of twenty-seven are called sheng nu – “leftover women”. Humph … how about that?’

  Anna took a sip of wine from the glass that Vanessa had just handed her and did her best to ignore him.

  ‘So, what are you going to do?’ asked Harvey, rubbing the top of his prematurely balding head and looking at her over his reading glasses.

  ‘About being over twenty-seven and unmarried, or about the house?’ she bristled. She’d grown used to Harvey’s lack of tact over the years, but really, he was being even more thoughtless than usual. She had wanted to wait before mentioning the box and the notebook that the builders had uncovered, at least until she’d found out more, and now she decided she’d rather not discuss them while Harvey was around either.

  ‘Oh, don’t be so sensitive. I meant about the house. I know you’re not one to make a snap decision, Anna, but it’s been a while now.’

  ‘Well, I’m not going to sell it, if that’s what you’re thinking.’

  Harvey folded up the newspaper, tossing it untidily onto the kitchen counter. ‘Steady on there, no one’s pressuring you.’

  ‘Anyway, it’s not like I have to make a decision straightaway.’

  ‘Heaven forbid!’ said Vanessa, raising her eyes to the ceiling.

  Anna permitted herself a slight smile. She had always been the cautious one of the pair. It had taken her two months to decide whether or not to go to university – studying Plant Science after much deliberation – and three months to choose her first car. She’d moved out of home two-and-a-half years ago, but only after Vanessa had sat her down and told her that if she wasn’t careful she would end up aged forty still living with their mother and the cats, and that she couldn’t cut herself off from the world forever. She had reluctantly seen her sister’s point, and even her mother had encouraged her to find a place of her own, ‘Not that I don’t love having you here, darling,’ she had reassured her. ‘But perhaps it’s time you found something …’

  Vanessa hoicked up the exercise pants she was wearing (‘I’m lying on the sofa in my activewear,’ she’d guffawed to Anna on the phone the night before when inviting her to dinner. ‘Raising an eight-ounce glass rather than my heart rate.’) and opened the fridge. ‘I suppose I’d better feed the hungry hordes. Pasta all right for you?’

  Thankfully the question of what Anna might do with the house had been superseded by the needs of three growing people with the appetites of locusts, and Vanessa hadn’t quizzed Anna any further. Anna didn’t want to tell her sister exactly what she was planning. She didn’t want her bossing her around, second-guessing her choices and taking over the whole project: something Vanessa was highly likely to do, in the nicest possible way of course. Anna could imagine her saying, ‘Leave i
t to me, I know exactly what needs to be done.’ The truth was, she would, but for a change Anna wanted to do something on her own, even if it meant making mistakes.

  Chapter Five

  CORNWALL, 1886

  One afternoon, about a week before her father died, he had summoned Elizabeth to his bedside. Rushing into the sickroom, she had looked at him, worry creasing her normally smooth forehead. John Trebithick had always been robust, but the man who lay before her was already a ghost. She tried not to let her shock show as she reached over to squeeze his hand in hers. She felt a gentle pressure returned, and her father opened his eyes and fixed his gaze on her.

  ‘Lizzie,’ he whispered.

  ‘Hush, Papa, save your strength. Know that I am here, praying for your recovery.’

  He had waved away her concerns. ‘Sit,’ he whispered hoarsely. ‘Sit. I must speak to you about a matter of the greatest importance.’

  Elizabeth did as she was bid, and pulled a chair towards the head of his bed.

  ‘Lizzie, my darling girl, I have to face the fact that I may not recover.’

  Elizabeth looked away, willing her tears to remain unshed.

  ‘I need you to be strong.’

  She nodded, pressing a handkerchief to her reddened eyes.

  ‘There is a man. Mr Chegwidden. As big a scoundrel and a cad as has ever walked this earth. I can scarce believe that he is a Cornishman; he doesn’t deserve the honour. He has dogged me for some time now, always nipping at my heels, trying to out-do my finds. In fact …’ Her father gestured to the sleeve of his nightshirt. ‘I have come off the worse from him on a previous occasion. We encountered each other in the Himalayan mountains, both in search of a particular magnolia. He stabbed me, here.’ Her father twisted his arm and showed her the thin red line of a scar. ‘A glancing blow, and I was lucky to get away before he inflicted greater damage, but proof of his ruthlessness indeed. He has let it be known that he wants to be revered as the greatest plant-hunter in all of England.

  ‘Now I have heard from friends of mine that he has been searching for one of the deadliest plants ever seen. They say he believes it will make his fortune, and he will stop at nothing to get what he wants.’ Her father closed his eyes, worn out with the effort of speaking. Elizabeth waited in wonder as he gathered his strength; he had never before mentioned the dangers he had faced when he had entertained his daughters with the fantastical stories of his adventures.

  ‘My next expedition,’ he said, opening his eyes again. ‘It is not merely to bring back samples for Messrs Greaves & Sons, and for our own splendid gardens. There is another purpose: to track down that plant. It is feared and revered as the world’s most poisonous – ingest it in its raw form and death is certain, a long and excruciating demise, one that you would not wish upon the worst of your enemies …’

  Elizabeth’s eyes grew round with horror at the thought of such a plant. ‘If it is so destructive, why would you want to bring something like that to England?’ she cried.

  ‘Because I have it on good authority that it also harbours one of the most powerful healing substances known to man; in the right hands it can cure almost any ill you could imagine.’

  He paused, exhausted, and Elizabeth dipped a cloth in a basin of cold water that sat on the nightstand next to him, gently mopping his waxen skin. After a few moments he continued to speak. ‘Mr Chegwidden intends to find it and bring it back to England, to sell it to the highest bidder – and there will be plenty of those who wish to get their hands on it with the hope of making their own fortunes. I cannot let him have this prize. My desire was to get there ahead of him, to bring it back for our finest scientists to study. They say it can even raise the dead. Imagine what that might mean—’ He broke off, coughing into his handkerchief.

  ‘Oh my goodness,’ said Elizabeth, unsettled both by her father’s words and the clear effort it took for him to speak them.

  ‘My dear, I have come to the decision that you are the only one who can continue my work,’ he gasped, the effort of speaking making him breathless. ‘Although you are but a woman, I have seen a strength and determination within you in these past few weeks that has convinced me. You have more courage than most men I have encountered. I wish I did not have to ask this of you Lizzie, but there is no one else I can trust. But, I must warn you that it will likely be dangerous.’

  Again he sank back on his pillow, and then, in a voice barely above a whisper, he told her all he knew about this rare and mysterious plant. ‘Even the local people hardly speak of it, it is so fearsome. They have tried to destroy it, by fire mostly, so I am told. It is rumoured to grow in the alpine valleys somewhere between Valparaiso and Santiago. You will know it by its smell, for it is as sweet as a siren’s call; and its flowers, which bloom only rarely, are the most exquisite in the world to behold.’

  Elizabeth kept her expression neutral as her mind raced. Was he really entrusting her with such a perilous mission, when only weeks before he had been utterly opposed to the idea of her accompanying him on such a journey?

  ‘Does it have a name?’ she asked, caught up in the fantastical story.

  ‘The native chilenos call it Trompeta del Diablo … Devil’s Trumpet.’

  ‘Devil’s Trumpet,’ Elizabeth repeated, feeling the name on her tongue like a curse. Despite the warmth of the room, gooseflesh rose on her arms at the sound of it.

  Her father sighed. ‘Would that I had a son whom I might have charged with this mission. But promise me you will search for it in my place? It is a daring and dangerous undertaking, especially for a young woman, and it is not something I ask of you lightly. My notebooks have all the information I have managed to gather. No one must know of this. If the chilenos were to find out, they would most likely hound you out of the country, or worse. They pretend that this plant does not exist, especially to foreigners. They guard its power like a jealous lover. But if you travel in the guise of an artist, you will be unlikely to rouse suspicion. In all probability,’ he said, almost as if it had only just occurred to him, ‘the very fact of you being a woman may be an advantage. No one will suspect a woman of daring to undertake such a task. You must, above all else, keep this a secret – no one can know, not even your sister.’

  ‘Oh Papa,’ cried Elizabeth, overwhelmed by his request.

  Her father held up a hand, silencing her protests. ‘I must also warn you to be very careful if you encounter Mr Chegwidden – and you almost certainly will, for society there is limited. He can charm the skin off a snake, but he has the scruples of the devil himself. Don’t give him a single reason to suspect you, or you will be in fear for your life.’

  ‘But surely you will be well enough in time to make this journey?’ she asked, knowing the answer even as she uttered the question.

  He looked at her with deep sadness in his eyes, and Elizabeth saw something more, something that broke her heart. ‘No!’ she cried. ‘You must not give up! You will get better. You will. You must!’

  ‘Elizabeth, my dear,’ he replied. ‘I know that I am not long for this world. Now, swear that you will do this.’

  She took a deep breath to steady herself. ‘Of course, Papa. You have my solemn vow.’ She had no choice but to make the promise, though in that moment she scarcely believed she would have the courage to keep it. Travelling abroad with her father to protect her was one thing; going halfway across the world on her own was another altogether, especially on so hazardous a journey.

  Thus it was no surprise that in the weeks that followed her father’s death she had been able to think of little else but the perilous mission with which he had entrusted her.

  ‘I will not be a caged bird!’ Elizabeth protested over dinner as she, her sister and her brother-in-law sat at one end of the vast mahogany table. It was set with three different types of crystal glasses and an array of silverware, as it always had been when her father was alive. Three slim wax candles burned in an elaborate candelabra, casting a flickering light on their faces.


  Elizabeth put down her spoon and glared at Robert, her chin set once again in stubborn defiance. The dessert course had been served, a confection of raspberries, sherry and cream, but it might as well have been ashes in her mouth. ‘The passages are booked and we cannot cancel. And you know how much dear Papa abhorred waste of any kind. I must continue his work. I shall be going in his place.’ It was essential that Georgiana and Robert did not oppose her plan.

  ‘I don’t think you have thought this through, dear sister,’ said Georgiana, a gentle and slightly puzzled smile on her face. ‘A lady, venturing in a foreign country all on her own? It’s not seemly, nor is it safe. I have heard tell of female travellers being shot, or worse,’ she shuddered dramatically. ‘Papa would never have agreed to it, God rest his soul.’

  It troubled Elizabeth that she could not tell her sister that it was their father who had made this journey his dying wish, but she had to put such concerns aside. She had sworn to tell no one, not even her family; not a word of her true mission must get out until she was safely returned. ‘Oh don’t be ridiculous!’ she scoffed, bravado in her voice. ‘The ship will be perfectly fine, and then I will be met once it docks. I have the letters of introduction. All will be well.’

  ‘But, but …’ Georgiana spluttered. ‘Must you be so singular?’

  ‘So headstrong!’ Robert chimed in. ‘It’ll come to no good, mark my words.’

  ‘It is obvious to me that I am unlikely to marry, and indeed I have no wish to be the chattel of any man,’ Elizabeth said.

  Her sister looked startled by Elizabeth’s statement. It was the first time the delicate subject of Elizabeth’s spinsterhood – for at the age of twenty-five she could rightly be considered one – had been openly referred to.

  ‘And surely you can see that I must find something to do in this world aside from inflicting my poor needlework on the local parish and painting every flower in the gardens?’ Elizabeth added, tempering her tone. She desired her sister’s support in this matter and tact, however difficult it was for her to summon, was necessary.