Like a Flower in Bloom (25 page)

“But we haven’t even picked anything yet!”

“And we won’t at this late hour. Besides, no one wants to anymore.”

“Then what is the purpose of a field club?”

“Just say it! Trust me.”

The cheers had died off, and now everyone was looking at me. Miss Templeton jabbed her elbow into my side, and I found myself speaking. “I was thinking, perhaps, in light of all that has happened, maybe we should repair to one of those pubs down by the train station in order to plan the next outing.”

Cheers went up again, and then someone broke out into song as we all marched toward the station. Though my head had begun to protest my movements quite painfully, I contemplated the possibilities for a true field excursion, perhaps to Tiverton or even out to Bidston.

Miss Templeton took up my arm as we walked along. “Mr. Stansbury and I were talking, and I think it would be quite agreeable if he were to lead a tour for the field club through his glasshouse, with a small reception to follow.”

“That wouldn’t really be a field outing though.”

“But it would be so convivial! And it’s turned too cold to spend time out of doors.”

“It’s just the time to find all sorts of berries in the wood.”

“I really think the tour would be better. Just imagine: walking through the glasshouse to the accompaniment of music and the promise of tea and warm chocolate. Doesn’t that sound divine?”

It sounded nothing like any field trip I had ever undertaken.

At the pub, Mr. Stansbury secured a table. Miss Templeton and I joined him, along with the rector. During the course of the conversation, Miss Templeton transformed the outing to
Mr. Stansbury’s glasshouse into a town-wide field club sponsored charity event for the refurbishment of the church’s chancel. There was to be a raffle for a prize, which remained to be determined. A subscription to
Curtis’s
Botanical Magazine,
perhaps. Or one of Mr. Stansbury’s prized orchids.

The rector’s eyes kept growing wider with each new detail. “That’s extraordinarily generous of you, Miss Templeton.”

“Don’t thank me. It was Miss Withersby who first noticed the deplorable condition of the chancel.”

I did?
“It was?”

She smiled at me. “You must remember how you said the church could use some attention?”

I had?

“As the new president of the field club, she’ll have to consult with both of you on the details.” She looked at Mr. Stansbury and the rector in turn.

“I will?”

She nodded vigorously. “To ensure that the event is properly planned and that the money gets transferred to the rector once the tour is over. I’m sure it will occupy you for days.”

I felt my spirits sink.

As we left the pub for the train, Miss Templeton leaned close to whisper in my ear. “You’ll have to have tête-à-têtes with both of them! How the town will start to talk. You can thank me later.”

I told Father and Mr. Trimble all about the outing that evening over dinner. “Someone even bloodied the rector’s nose.”

They were looking at me with horror. “This was . . . Did you say it was on a field outing?” Father’s voice registered surprise.

“It was.”

Mr. Trimble shook his head. “And I thought I had it tough in New Zealand.”

“The other club really had no right to poach our field like that.”

Mr. Trimble was regarding me with grave reprobation. “I hadn’t thought you a ruffian, Miss Withersby. And you say you brought Mr. Stansbury and the rector into your scuffle?”

“It wasn’t my scuffle.”

“You really are a bad influence.”

“What would you have had me do? Just let them pick all the plants they wanted and leave the field barren?”

“Of course I would not have wanted that.”

Somewhat mollified, I continued to eat. At least my appetite was well recovered. “Oh, and they elected me president of the club.”

A corner of Mr. Trimble’s mouth curled up. “So now you’ve gone and staged a coup.”

“And Miss Templeton got Mr. Stansbury to agree to host a benefit for the repair of the chancel . . . centered on a tour of Overwich Hall’s glasshouse.” I was still rather unclear as to how she had worked that all out. “And I’m to help him plan it. So we’ll be having quite a few”—what was it she’d called them?—“tête-à-têtes. Which is saying quite a bit about my prospects, I should think.”

Mr. Trimble’s brow had a skeptical tilt to it. “Perhaps. But is it what you wish to say?”

My father had been listening with what appeared to be great interest. “We’d all hoped you’d find a husband, Charlotte. It looks as if your efforts are working.”

Mr. Trimble had continued speaking. “Of course you must help. If that’s what you want to do. But . . . is it, I wonder?”

“Is
it
what? Is what it?” I was thoroughly confused.

“Is becoming more involved with that man what you wish to do? It would encourage him in his hopes. You do understand that, don’t you?”

“Of course I understand it. I’m not simple, Mr. Trimble.”

“I never thought you were.”

My father’s brows were folded and he was worrying his mustache. “Then we’re backing the industrialist? Is that what we’re saying?”

“I suppose it is.” Mr. Trimble didn’t appear happy to be saying it, which had the effect of making me extremely happy. Now was the time to underscore the consequences of their putting me out into society to marry. “I suppose if I married him I would have to go and live at Overwich Hall.”

Father was nodding. “That’s generally what happens. The bride goes to live with the groom.”

“And I wouldn’t be able to be here.”

“No. Not any longer. But you’d have that nice glasshouse of his. And that project he’s always talking about. With the trees? It was trees, wasn’t it?”

“His stumpery.” Bless me, I’d forgotten all about it.

Father smiled and reached over to pat my hand. “Have no worries about me, Charlotte. Mr. Trimble has me all put together and organized. In any case, I should think you’d be quite happy with the man.”

But the point wasn’t whether I’d be happy or not. The point was for him to understand just how miserable
he
would be if I were to marry. But this, too, Mr. Trimble had ruined. Now Father didn’t have to worry about letters or bills or articles. He might not have a partner in research so much as he had a secretary, but he seemed to miss me not at all.

Mr. Trimble had been watching me all the while. “Are you then?”

“Am I what?”

“Happy with the industrialist?”

“Why wouldn’t I be?”

“So this is what you want?”

“I suppose that’s what I’m saying, isn’t it?” I speared a morsel of roast to emphasize my conviction. And then I chewed it quite forcibly so he wouldn’t be tempted to ask me anything else.

T
he field club excursion had tired me more than I wished to admit, and I was hoping for a sleep-in the next morning, but I wasn’t to be allowed a moment’s peace. Planning for the benefit started that very day. The Admiral came in his carriage, and whisked me away to Overwich Hall, his only advice being to avoid too much fuss.

Though I considered myself quite immune to it under normal circumstances, Miss Templeton seemed to create fuss wherever she went, so I was not overly optimistic. It had been her idea, after all.

Mr. Stansbury welcomed me, once more, to his glasshouse. “I have to think this is becoming a habit, Miss Withersby.”

“It seems to be.”

“And more than that, I like to think that we work well together. We ought to keep it up.”

“We do. We should.” His glasshouse was always quite pleasant.

His cheeks grew even more ruddy than normal, and he crooked his arm for mine. A secretary dogged our steps as we walked, scribbling down everything we said.

“So you do think placing the band right here would be good?” He indicated a gap in his shelves, between the orchids and the smaller potted palms.

“I think that would be fine.”

We walked several steps before he paused. “And then serving the refreshments from here? I could clear this shelf beneath the
Dieffenbachia
.”

“They drip poison from their leaves, you know.”

“I didn’t. Perhaps we should move them then.”

“Or maybe you could place the food over there.” I gestured toward the other side of the aisle.

“By the fountain? Would we not risk the food being ruined by the mist?”

“I suppose we would.” I sighed. “I’m not very good at this sort of thing.”

“I think you’re doing splendidly.”

“And I think you’re being too kind. It’s your suggestions you seem to be following. Not mine.”

“How ungallant of me.”

“I think it’s entirely practical of you. Now, if we were speaking of hosting plants, it would be another thing entirely. I could tell you just how to arrange them and feed them and make them happy.”

He glanced about as if surprised. “They could be happier than they are now?”

“Oh, much! Your palms haven’t enough light and your orchids have too much shade.”

“If it were up to Miss Templeton, she would have all my plants moved toward the waterfall so they could be aesthetically arranged in a semicircle around it.”

“She means well.”

A small smile softened his mouth. “She’s rather extraordinary, isn’t she?”

I quite agreed. And on the whole it seemed we spent a good deal more time discussing Miss Templeton than we did the reception.

Eventually, he nodded toward the windows that looked out onto a garden that sloped toward the river. “There goes the Admiral again.” My uncle was pacing back and forth outside, hands clasped behind his back, pausing now and then to survey the river that glistened in the distance.

It struck me as a lonely stance. And rather forlorn. “He always seems to be gazing off at the horizon.”

“I suppose it comes from a life spent at sea. I’ve half a mind to offer him a spyglass.”

“Do you have one?”

“I have two. One carved from ivory and its match, from ebony.”

“You ought to show them to him.”

“I’ll have the butler bring them out.” He spoke to his secretary, who hurried off toward the house.

We went back to speaking of food and music and other things of which I had no firm opinion, and I soon saw the butler present Mr. Stansbury’s spyglasses to the Admiral. He spent no little time fiddling with them and trying them out.

“Then it’s all decided?”

“What’s that?” I’d been feeling a bit sorry for my uncle. It seemed as if he was somehow shipwrecked here on the plains of Cheshire. It didn’t seem he was truly unhappy, but I couldn’t resolutely vouch for his happiness either.

After we were done with our discussion, I excused myself from Mr. Stansbury, gathered my mantle about me, and went outside to join my uncle.

“Is it difficult, not to be at sea?”

“Hmph?”

“Do you wish you were sailing?”

“Hmph.”

“You can’t even see the ocean from here.”

“No. Probably best. Then I’d just want to be out in it. You forget the terrible parts. The fighting. The stench. Death. But there’s something about standing on the deck of a ship and seeing nothing but the sea . . . Of course I miss it. But there comes a time when even the thing you love betrays you.” He cast me a glance. “Some botanical society refuses a perfectly well-written article. A queen commands you to fight for the enslavement of an entire people.” He shrugged. “You have to know when it’s time to give it up, I suppose. Doesn’t mean you love it any less, of course. Just means it’s time to move on. When you can’t agree with the decisions that bind you, then you have to take your talents elsewhere.”

“What happened, exactly? In the war?”

He took so long in answering that I had quite decided he wasn’t going to.

“It’s complicated, my dear, in the way wars always are. I was ordered to fight for the opening of China’s ports. What happened, as a result, was the debasement of her people. It’s difficult to be proud of something like that. The Opium War was the best thing and the worst thing that ever happened to me.”

He put a glass to his eye and stared through it for a moment, then he collapsed it with a tap from his palm and put it back down on the tray a servant was holding for him.

“In any case, I don’t want you to have to go through what I did, never quite feeling a part of the family, but then never quite wanting to leave it either. I just want to see you settled. Accepted.” He threw me a glance. “Loved.”

“I never knew you—”

“My sister, your mother, had the mind for botany, you know. She was brilliant. And you’re just like her.”

“For all the good it does me. I can’t get anything published.”

“Your mother worked it out . . . all those books she wrote for children. Charming.”

I didn’t want to be
charming
. I wanted to be incisive and provocative. I wanted to be admired. I wanted my work to count for something other than lining the bookshelves of a child’s nursery.

“The pursuit of science isn’t an easy way to make a living. So I brought her a surgeon. I brought her a lieutenant. Even brought her a captain or two. But she wouldn’t have any of them. She could have lived in luxury . . . or at least in less dire straits, but she chose your father instead.”

He made it sound as if she had made a poor choice.

“I know how it is not to fit in, my dear. What it’s like to have people going on about their hunting dogs when all you want to do is go sailing. But when you’re pushed out, what else can you do but go? And when you do, you’ve got to look out for yourself. I’m in a position to help you now, so let me. Why not use my resources while you can?”

Mr. Stansbury joined us then, but only to excuse himself to meet with the mayor, and we left soon after.

Miss Templeton had insisted the rector would have much to say about raising funds for his chancel, and so she had told us to meet that afternoon as well. The Admiral took one look at the children, who were having a good romp outside the rectory, and escorted me into the house with great alacrity.

We spoke of the tour and the raffle for quite a while, until the rector finally looked me in the eye. “I wonder . . . is the chancel really so bad? Because if money is going to be raised for something, I was thinking that it ought to go to Widow Greenley, who needs a new roof, or even to old Mr. Gadstow, who could really do with a new chimney. Not, of course, that I’m dismissive of your attention to the chancel, but if the fading paint could be
tolerated for another year, then perhaps we might do some real good and put the money in the benevolence fund.”

“I think that’s a splendid idea.” I knew from experience how very necessary it was to have a sound roof over one’s head.

“You do? You don’t think Miss Templeton will be much aggrieved?”

“Why would she mind if our efforts are diverted toward those who are truly in need?”

“I’m so glad you agree. These things can get so contentious when the clergy feel one way about something and the parishioners another.”

“You’re the rector. I should think you have the right to say what ought to be done with the money.”

“One would think so, wouldn’t one?”

From the armchair near the fire rose a snore.

We turned to see the Admiral dozing.

The rector and I smiled at each other, and he inclined his head toward the coal hod. “About my collections . . .”

I discovered then that the spirit of generosity that had lately expanded within my breast in regard to him did not extend to his specimens.

“I was thinking about my speedwell and wondered if there might be any significance in the fact that, upon reflection, I remember I found some in a meadow as well as by a marsh.”

“There might be, depending upon the variety. I have always been much more interested in the
why
of things than the
what
, and it’s quite curious that it should have grown in two places so wholly unlike each other. It’s too bad you don’t have comparison specimens of each. Then I might have been able to learn something from them.”

“I’ve always simply thought that God puts plants where He wants them.”

“I shouldn’t say He doesn’t, but is it any sin to wonder why? And how?”

“
How?
Some would say that borders on blasphemy, Miss Withersby. Or at the very least on cheekiness.” His eyes were twinkling.

“So I’ve been told. But I can’t see why. There must be reason in nature, must there not? Some purpose for a flower being where it is? The question doesn’t seem so contradictory to faith if your only argument is believing that God placed it where you found it. Why should the
how
of it matter?”

He looked at me as he seemed to ponder that thought. “Are you wondering perhaps how God could use circumstance to His benefit?”

“Perhaps I am.”

“An interesting question. Quite interesting. And worth some further thought. Do you mind if I write it—”

“Not at all. Please write it down.” If I couldn’t be a regular contributor to a journal, at least I was a regular contributor to the rector’s sermons.

“I find . . . I hope you don’t think me too forward, Miss Withersby, but I find such pleasure in conversing with a like-minded soul.”

He seemed to expect some sort of answer. “As do I.”

His face flushed. “That’s very . . . heartening. Thank you.”

The following Saturday, the day of the benefit for the parish’s benevolent fund, arrived, and I found myself wondering if perhaps I had been too hasty in pronouncing myself recovered from my injury. The stuffiness of the glasshouse and the unrelenting noise of music and conversation soon conspired to make my head ache with nearly constant pain. I spent most of my time
hiding behind a cluster of ferns. They were arranged in a pyramid in an especially dark corner, well clear of the curiosity of a fishtail palm about which everyone seemed to have to exclaim.

Mr. Stansbury waved at me from afar, and then he must have asked one of his staff to keep me supplied with refreshments, for a steady stream of tea and biscuits was sent my way.

The Admiral paced, as before, just outside the windows, a wintery breeze ruffling the hem of his cloak.

Father and Mr. Trimble stood beside an orange tree, lost in conversation. Every so often, Mr. Trimble’s gaze wandered my way, and I would redouble my efforts to look blissfully unaware of them and perfectly healthy. I could only imagine what they were discussing. Most probably something much more important than the fern about which Miss Templeton was exclaiming.

I was much surprised when she congratulated me on the event. “Well done, Miss Withersby.”

“I have to say that, in spite of my involvement, the whole thing did go off rather admirably.”

“I will admit that I had a few doubts, but I resisted the urge to guide you, since I decided you must learn from doing. In order to marry either man, you must put it around that you could be an effective hostess. Now everyone recognizes that fact. I daresay you may start to attract the attention of even more men.”

“You mean this is what I would do, should I marry?”

She nodded.

“For a living? As a matter of course?” Horror swirled in my stomach.

“What else did you think you’d be doing?”

“Thank heaven I’m not in this for a marriage. I can’t marry. I can never marry. I won’t. It’s much too exhausting!”

“Come now, don’t tell me you’ve become fainthearted.”

“I would never get any work done if I had to read up on
giving balls and creating guest lists and come up with ideas for benefits and raffles.”

“And you won’t have to. Surely after this, your father will understand what peril awaits if he insists upon pushing you to matrimony. You hosted the extravaganza of the season.”

“Come now, Miss Templeton, it was in fact you who came up with the plans and you who told me what to do.”

“But he doesn’t know that. Perhaps I can persuade the newspaper to write it up on the front page. Your father
does
read it, doesn’t he?”