The Botanist’s Daughter Read online

  ‘You cannot travel alone, and that is that,’ said Robert.

  Elizabeth wanted to glare at him, but restrained herself. ‘Of course, you are right, dear Robert. Daisy shall accompany me.’ She said this with certainty, not imagining it in the slightest bit necessary to check with Daisy before committing her to the journey.

  Chapter Six

  SYDNEY, AUTUMN 2017

  The room was almost pitch-dark, the only colour coming from scattered irregular fluorescent shapes. A thumping bass reverberated through the space and the instructor had to shout over its thump-thump-thump to get the class’s attention. Sweat beaded on Anna’s forehead. Her legs, like everyone else’s, spun in a blur of movement, trying to keep pace with the relentless beat of the electro-pop. She was consumed by the sound, her heart thudding as she gasped for breath.

  She had come to this spin class every Saturday for nearly six years, only missing a session if she was too ill to get out of bed, and she could count on the fingers of one hand the number of times that had happened.

  She always arrived early, securing her favourite spot – at the back, by the door, carefully selected for a quick getaway. She never stayed to chat, hadn’t got to know any of the other regulars, none of whom had been coming as long as she had in any case. Instructors had also come and gone over the years, some better than others, not that she cared much about who took the class. For Anna, losing herself in the darkness and the sound was enough. If anyone ever noticed that the sweat dripping down her face and onto her towel was mingled with tears, they were tactful enough not to remark upon it. It was cheaper than therapy and it whipped her arse at the same time.

  The gym was near her mother’s house – she’d first started going there when she was living at home – and she hadn’t wanted to change gyms once she’d moved, even though it meant a forty-minute drive there and back from her apartment.

  She’d swapped a message with her mother the day before, arranging to meet later that morning. ‘Of course darling.’ Eleanor’s voice had sounded concerned. ‘I hope everything’s okay.’ Anna didn’t often ring out of the blue and suggest coffee, even if she was in the area every weekend; Eleanor was always at yoga, or Spanish lessons, and more recently art classes, so they tended to catch up over dinner at Vanessa’s house, where the melee of kids precluded anything other than superficial conversation.

  The volume of the music increased and the instructor thrashed the class into a frenzy, whooping at them to give it ten out of ten for effort, that this was where it began if they wanted to see real change. Once again, tears sprang from Anna’s eyes until they were indistinguishable from the sweat trickling saltily on her lips. She wasn’t sure for whom she was crying – Granny Gus … Simon … herself … possibly all three – but her legs, conditioned to respond, obediently complied with the instructor’s demands, and they spun, ever-faster. Going nowhere.

  By the time she reached the cafe Anna had done her best to wipe away the sweat from her workout, but her hair still clung to her forehead in damp sandy-blonde tendrils.

  ‘Oh, hello darling. Gosh you look lovely! You’re glowing!’ Eleanor bustled up to Anna as she sat at an outdoor table, and placed a hand on her shoulder.

  Anna rolled her eyes. Only a mother could think her progeny beautiful despite stringy hair, a beetroot-red face and suspiciously puffy eyes. She secretly resented and was reassured in equal measure to be the recipient of that much unconditional love.

  ‘Nice leggings.’

  Anna looked down at the swirled purple-and-green lycra covering her legs. They were a bit loud, not really her at all, but Vanessa had passed them on – ‘Too small for me anyway’ – and she had to admit they were very comfortable.

  ‘Coffee, ladies?’

  Anna was thankful for the interruption, diverting her mother’s scrutiny away from her face to the menu, which the waitress had thrust in front of their noses. ‘Or are you having breakfast?’

  ‘Just coffee, thank you. Flat white. Anna, have you ordered?’

  ‘Coffee for me too, please. Skinny latte, double shot.’ She summoned a smile for the waitress, who relieved them of their menus and left to fill their order.

  ‘Well, this is a nice surprise,’ said her mother. ‘How are things?’ she asked with careful casualness. ‘You must be busy at work. You know, now it’s autumn. All those leaves to sweep up.’ She trilled a laugh, as if aware of her banal statement.

  Anna nodded. ‘Lots to catch up on, that’s for sure.’ She took a deep breath. No more small talk. ‘Actually Mum, I’ve been meaning to tell you. I’ve started some renovations on Granny’s house.’

  ‘You mean your new house,’ her mother corrected her.

  ‘Oh, I don’t know if I’ll think of it as my house for a long time. If ever. Doesn’t it feel more like yours? After all, you grew up there.’

  ‘A little, I suppose,’ her mother admitted. ‘But that was years ago, and I’ve had several homes since then, darling.’

  ‘Well, anyway I contacted some builders – the ones who did the work on Vanessa’s place a few years ago.’

  ‘Oh, yes?’

  ‘I should at least put in a decent kitchen and sort out the plumbing.’

  Her mother laughed. ‘I’m surprised that old hot-water system kept going for as long as it did. Well, good for you, Anna.’

  Anna noticed a fleeting look that she could have sworn was relief mingled with concern in her mother’s eyes.

  ‘Do you need any help? It can’t be cheap.’

  ‘I’m perfectly capable of this,’ she replied. ‘Besides, I’ve got some money saved up.’ It was true. Anna wasn’t the type for designer handbags and new shoes; she couldn’t see the point. She spent most of her days in shorts and work boots, and never really went anywhere that required fancier footwear.

  ‘Of course, darling, but is there anything I can do?’

  Anna shook her head, a stubborn set to her chin. ‘No it’s fine, really. I’m perfectly able to handle it on my own.’

  ‘I wasn’t suggesting you weren’t,’ her mother said gently.

  Their drinks were delivered to their table and they chatted idly about a cruise that Eleanor was thinking of taking. ‘Imagine, darling. The Rhine in summer …’ Her mother paused, the memory lingering unspoken between them of the European trip Anna had once planned. A trip she had never taken.

  ‘Sounds lovely, Mum,’ said Anna brightly in the face of her mother’s hesitation. ‘You should go.’

  ‘Hm, well, we’ll see. Vanessa needs me. With the girls. God knows Harvey’s hopeless.’

  Anna snorted. ‘Honestly, Mum. Why on earth shouldn’t you go away, if that’s what you want to do? It’s your life, you know. You did enough for us when we were growing up; it should be your time now. Let Vanessa cope without you. She’ll be fine. They’re her kids, after all.’

  ‘Yes, but they’re my grandkids.’

  ‘Mu-um.’ Anna’s tone was testy.

  ‘Oh, I know, I know. It’s just that they have so many activities now. She can’t get them all everywhere they need to be, especially with Fleur’s ballet.’

  Anna only just stopped herself from rolling her eyes. ‘She’s seven. I can’t see why she needs to dance for eight hours a week.’

  Her mother shrugged. ‘Vanessa thinks she might be the next Darcey Bussell.’

  Anna spluttered into the remains of her coffee. ‘Really?’ She loved her niece and admired her nascent talent, but she couldn’t help but wonder when her sister had become so horrifyingly ambitious for her offspring. Why couldn’t they be normal kids? Why set them up with grand expectations?

  ‘Anyway, I didn’t arrange to meet just to talk about Vanessa and the girls. There’s something you might be able to help me with.’ She took a sip of her coffee. ‘The builders found something when they were pulling out the bookshelves in the living room. A box.’

  ‘A box?’ her mother echoed, a puzzled look on her face.

  ‘Yes. A big, heavy metal
box with engravings on it of flowers and bees and clover. And the letter E engraved in the centre. It was pretty filthy and it’s absolutely ancient by the look of it.’

  ‘Ooh, a mystery,’ said her mother. ‘How thrilling!’

  ‘Perhaps someone hid it there for safekeeping and then forgot about it?’ Anna was pragmatic. ‘Anyway, I wondered if you remembered a box like that, from when you were little. Do you remember Granny Gus, or Granddad for that matter having such a thing?’

  Her mother looked blank. ‘No darling, I can’t say I do. Did you open it? What was inside?’

  ‘It’s padlocked. I don’t want to damage it, so I thought I’d take it to a locksmith later today.’

  ‘Oh, good idea. Have you got it with you now – the box, I mean? Can I see it?’

  ‘It’s in the car.’

  Her mother drained her cup, a look of anticipation on her face. ‘Well, let’s go and have a look, then.’

  When they reached Anna’s car, she opened the passenger door. She had folded an old towel around the box and now she carefully unwrapped it, standing back so her mother could see.

  The night before, she had cleaned the worst of the grime from the box, making a paste with bicarb and water and using an old toothbrush to get into the crannies between the engraver’s marks. It had come up surprisingly well. ‘Oh gosh, darling,’ Eleanor breathed. ‘It’s a bit special, isn’t it?’

  Anna nodded, feeling surprisingly protective and proud of the engraved box, as if by cleaning and polishing it back to life she had staked a small claim of ownership to it.

  ‘Here, let me look at the lock.’ Her mother bent down, holding it between two slender fingers. ‘Hm,’ she mused. ‘I’ve got something here that might do the trick.’ She scrabbled in her handbag, giving Anna a triumphant look as she found what she was looking for and raised it up for Anna to see.

  ‘A hairpin? Really, Mum? You’ve been reading too many bad detective novels. I mean, the lock’s probably rusted solid.’

  ‘Well, there’s no harm in trying, is there? Come on, don’t give up so easily.’

  Anna frowned and Eleanor scrambled to take back the comment. ‘Oh sweetheart, you know I didn’t mean it.’

  Anna sighed. ‘I think it might be easier to take it to the locksmith.’

  ‘Nonsense. I’m sure this will work. Look, why don’t you let me have a go?’

  Anna held up her hands. ‘Okay, be my guest.’

  Eleanor leant in, a look of concentration on her face, and lifted the box to get at the lock. She slid the hairpin into the tiny keyhole and wiggled it a few times, twisting it one way and then another. ‘It’s not as easy as it looks,’ she admitted, dropping the box with a thump and straightening up. She glanced at her watch. ‘Heavens, is that the time? I’ve got to get on. I’ve got my book club coming over tonight and I’ve still got to pick up the wine. You know how they love a drink. I don’t suppose you’d care to join us? We’re discussing the new Liane Moriarty. Should be good.’

  Anna didn’t want to admit that she had no plans on a Saturday night, nor that her mum, a widow for more than twenty years, had a better social life than she did. She shook her head. ‘Thanks, but I’m off to the movies later with, er, a friend.’ She was hopeless at lying but her mother seemed to believe her, though her eyes widened as she read more into Anna’s remark than Anna had intended. ‘Not that kind of a friend,’ she said, her tone warding off further questions.

  ‘All right, but call me when you get home and tell me how you get on, won’t you? I’m dying to know what’s inside it.’

  Anna scoffed. ‘It might be nothing, you know. Just a pretty, empty box.’

  ‘Don’t be silly darling. It feels heavy enough to contain several gold ingots, I’m sure.’

  ‘As if,’ said Anna with a grimace as she closed the door. It wasn’t until her mother had gone that she realised she had forgotten to mention the notebook, which Anna had left lying on a windowsill in Gus’s house.

  Chapter Seven

  CORNWALL, 1886

  The smell of fried kippers assaulted Elizabeth as she came down to breakfast. The question of her travels remained unresolved and she had gone to bed simmering with the injustice of it all. Oh, the misfortune to have been born a girl. There would have been no doubt about her undertaking such a journey had she been a man, her father’s son. Indeed, she would have been encouraged in the endeavour. Why should it be otherwise simply because of the accident of her sex?

  She was, however, perspicacious enough to judge that her brother-in-law might want her out of the way so that he could have Trebithick Hall all to himself; a fact that might help her case. At dinner, he had asserted his intention to settle there with Georgiana ‘and our future children, if it please God’ and take on the management of the estate. ‘I am willing to give up my practice in Plymouth,’ he said with a magnanimous air, as if all three family members seated around the dining table were unaware that the Trebithick estate would prove more lucrative than a living as a country solicitor – if he were able to continue to supply the demand for their plants and pay careful attention to the business, that was. That she did not know him well enough to ascertain if he might be a prudent businessman was of concern, but she had other, more pressing worries on her mind. ‘It has fallen to me to ensure the continued upkeep and future prosperity of Trebithick and I intend to take my charge with due seriousness and diligence,’ he continued, oblivious to his own pomposity.

  Elizabeth couldn’t help but think sourly of the way he must be congratulating himself on having married so wisely and well – but then she chided herself for being ungenerous, for he and Georgiana were clearly besotted with each other. To Robert’s face, she pretended to be pleased, and indeed part of her was. It meant that she need not worry about her sister or what would happen to the house while she was gone. And though she loved Trebithick Hall with all her heart, she couldn’t deny her hunger to see the world, a hunger that had been burning in her since she was a little girl captivated by her father’s wild and outlandish stories. Trebithick Hall would always be there when she returned.

  Eschewing the kippers, she helped herself to eggs and devilled kidneys from the warming dish on the sideboard before ringing for Bingley to bring some tea. Of Georgiana and Robert there was no sign, though she was not overly surprised. Since their arrival they often slept in late, not appearing for breakfast much before eleven. Elizabeth, on the other hand, was generally early to rise, waking almost as soon as the sun began to show its face. She was much like her father in that regard, she reflected, feeling the pain of his loss as sharp as the scent of the box hedge that floated in through the open window.

  Today she planned to make an excursion to Truro. The combination of the illicit swim and the confrontation with Georgiana and Robert had helped her shake off the ennui that had beset her since her father’s funeral. She had no time to waste if she was to set her plans in motion, and she wanted to make an early start to the journey, for it would take the best part of the day.

  After dinner the previous night, she had excused herself and retired to her father’s study, where she opened her writing case and dipped her pen in the inkwell. She now had a letter to post, informing the Pacific Steam Navigation Company of the change of passengers (she had yet to broach the subject with Daisy), an appointment with her milliner and pharmacy supplies to order. Before coming down to breakfast, she had methodically surveyed her father’s travelling medicine chest, finding a lancet, pestle and mortar, leech tubes and laudanum, but she needed to supplement it with, at the very least, fever powder, blistering plasters, sal volatile and ipecac. The lands to which she intended to travel harboured unknown sickness and precious little local medicine. And that was without considering the journey alone, the privations of which, she had heard, could fell even the strongest of men.

  The Corcovado was scheduled to leave Liverpool docks in three weeks and Elizabeth’s mind was in a whirl considering everything that had to be arranged beforeh
and, not least of which was her wardrobe – there were stockings, gloves, bonnets, stout boots and serviceable brown Holland gowns (for those times it would be unwise to draw attention to herself) as well as ones of silk, poplin and merino to order, not forgetting new chemises and bloomers. A new cloak too, to ward against cold weather, was a necessity. Her father had advised her to take supplies of tobacco and sugar, as gifts for those who might assist her with lodging and act as guides.

  Most important of all, however, were her drawing materials to be ordered from Winsor & Newton – lead pencils, hard and soft; new watercolours, both cakes and in tubes; and an array of fine, perfectly flexible Russian sable brushes. She had a handsome mahogany-and-brass artist’s case that contained porcelain pans for mixing colours, wash bowls and tins for chalks and charcoal, but several of the tubes of colour – notably her favourites burnt sienna, cadmium yellow, scarlet lake and Prussian blue – were in need of replacement. She must also place an order with Whatmans. Her father had been insistent that she take large sheets of their Griffin Antiquarian paper for her sketches and watercolours. ‘It is the strongest you will find, and it will stand up to the voyage better than anything else.’ She would need a plentiful supply of both paper and paints, because she could not be certain of getting anything of such quality on her travels. She also needed to arrange for a passport from the embassy for herself and Daisy, neither of them having been further than St Austell, some fifteen miles away, in their young lives.

  In one of their last meetings, her father had pressed a bag of sovereigns and a sheaf of bank notes upon her, instructing her to sew them into the lining of her cloak. She would ask Daisy to help her, for her own skills as a seamstress were sadly lacking and she knew she could trust her maid’s discretion in the matter. She only hoped her cloak would not crackle or clink too dreadfully when she wore it.