Mrs. Billingsley cleansed the second cut and smiled. Her cheeks were bright pink and ruddy, the rest of her complexion soft and doughy white. When she smiled, her brown eyes crinkled at the corners.
In the kindly woman’s presence, Joya could not help but think of her mother. Clara, too, once served in a grand English house, just like Mrs. Billingsley. Knowing that gave Joya a sense of connection with the housekeeper, much more so than with Adelaide.
“I would be honored. What is it, dear?” A warm glow lit the housekeeper’s eyes. Her mouth pursed into a neat little bow as she stood there so attentively.
“What does a woman feel like when she wants to mate with a man? Do strange things happen to her body? How does she know when it is time to marry? Is it when she desires a man and finds herself wishing that he will take her to his bed and do all the things that husbands do to their wives?”
Slowly, Mrs. Billingsley’s eyes grew very round. The neat little bow of her lips unraveled into a gaping O. Her ruddy cheeks darkened to crimson, then went deep purple.
“Mrs. Billingsley? Are you all right?”
Joya was afraid that the housekeeper was going to die. She had seen it happen to an elderly woman in the village. One minute the crone had been dancing around the sacred ceremonial hut where the young maidens were taken to be initiated into womanhood. That woman had had just the same sort of strange, surprised expression before she sat down on the ground; and then she crumpled to her side and her spirit left her.
“Mrs. Billingsley? You are not dying, are you?” Joya was relieved when the housekeeper gasped and began to gulp air. At the same time, Janelle breezed into the room. “What’s wrong with Mrs. Billingsley?”
The housekeeper began to sputter. “I…she said… She… You talk…to her, miss.”
With that, Mrs. Billingsley quickly gathered up the bandages, swept the room with her gaze and made certain nothing else was out of place, then left them alone.
As soon as the door clicked shut, Janelle sat down on the bed beside Joya. “Do you have everything you need?”
“Yes, thank you. The room is beautiful. Trevor said to tell you to have a dress made for me out of the draperies, but that is really not necessary. I’m happy with the one you have already given me.”
Janelle frowned and chewed on her lip for a moment, watching her closely. “He wants me to have a gown made for you out of the draperies?”
“Yes, but I don’t want one. Could we talk about Mrs. Billingsley instead? I am afraid I’ve upset her somehow.”
As Janelle leaned back on her elbows, Joya wondered whether her own eyes ever twinkled the way Janelle’s did right now. It gave her a good feeling to see her twin so happy. “Go right ahead, dear sister. I cannot wait to hear this.”
“You see, on Matarenga, whenever one has a question or a problem, one seeks out an elder. They have lived long lives and therefore are very knowing.”
“Why don’t we just concentrate on what you actually said to Mrs. Billingsley for now?” Janelle suggested.
“I asked her to tell me what it feels like when a woman desires a man enough to want to lie with him. Does a strange sort of feeling come over her?”
Janelle quickly sat back up. “You asked Mrs. Billingsley about desire?”
Joya nodded. “Was that wrong?”
“I’m certain that you took her by surprise.”
“In what way?”
“People usually don’t speak of such things openly here. Especially to the servants.”
“But why not? If people don’t speak of desire, or ask questions when they are curious, how will they ever learn anything?”
Janelle appeared very thoughtful. She also looked as if she were trying hard not to laugh. “A good point. Whatever made you ask?”
Joya stood up to pace in front of the bank of windows, hoping to find a way to express her curious feelings. “You see, I had never really spoken to a white man until Trevor walked into our camp,” she began.
Then she walked toward Janelle and noticed that her sister’s smooth brow was furrowed into deep thought lines.
“Trevor is not the cause of these questions you put to Mrs. Billingsley, is he?” Janelle asked.
Joya sat down on the bed again. “That is the troubling part. Lately, whenever I have been alone with Trevor, I have felt very, very strange.”
“How do you mean, strange?”
“Light-headed and dizzy. My heart pounds. My face grows hot. My hands turn cold. My knees go weak. I find I’m only afflicted whenever Trevor is near.”
“You only feel this way when you are with Trevor?”
“Only with Trevor…and there is one thing more.”
“I’m almost afraid to ask. What is that?”
“Just now I found myself wishing that Trevor would kiss me.”
* * *
Janelle stared back at her sister, an experience not unlike looking into a mirror, but a somewhat distorted mirror. In Joya she saw herself, but not herself. Any discerning eye could see the many subtle differences: the fact that Joya had perfect vision, the way she walked and talked, the lighter color of her hair, her sun-darkened skin— characteristics that were all her own.
Different, too, was the expression of wonder and awe in Joya’s eyes. Each and every new experience captivated her. Her unbridled enthusiasm and her innocence made Janelle feel much older and wiser. Her sister’s mind was a tabula rasa, a clean or pristine state that had oft been the topic for discussion at her friend Cecily Martin’s salon gatherings.
Joya could very well be likened to an open book, ready to receive the impressions of London civilization.
But now it appeared that what her sister was most impressed with so far was Trevor.
“Janelle? You are so quiet. Have I upset you, too?”
“No. You have not upset me.” Janelle shook her head, trying to assure Joya that she was fine—while in actuality she was not quite sure.
Trevor was her brother, not by blood, but in all other ways. Joya, her twin. Even though her sister had not grown up as a Mandeville, Janelle had assumed— falsely, she realized now—that Joya might eventually come to look up to Trevor as a guardian of sorts, if not a brother.
But now Joya was beginning to harbor deeper feelings for Trevor and, because Joya was almost an exact image of herself, the whole idea of her twin’s attraction to Trevor and perhaps of his to Joya—if indeed he nurtured one—was more than a bit unsettling. It was greatly disturbing.
“Your forehead is all scrunched up, the way it was when you were seasick,” Joya told her.
“You have given me much to consider, is all.”
“Have you ever desired a man, Janelle?”
There it was again. Desire. And the image Janelle conjured was of Joya and Trevor locked in a fervent embrace.
“Can we talk about this tomorrow? I think I am coming down with a headache.”
“Put my silly questions out of your mind.” Joya hurried over to her trunk.
“I’ll send Betty in with some more clothes for you,” her sister said. “Perhaps you need help unpacking your things?”
“Oh, no. There is not all that much here, just a few things that are precious to me. My beaded bracelets and an anklet. A pudong, a native wrap. I have a ceremonial goat-hoof rattle, too, because it is necessary for every important ceremony. Some medicines. I can do this on my own.” Joya was bent over her things, intently searching for something.
Janelle thought about how she liked to fancy herself open-minded and progressive—one who could debate politics as well as any man. A well-read, forward-thinking woman. Yet her sister’s innocent inquiries had brought on a pounding headache.
She quickly decided retreat was her only option for now. Tomorrow was Tuesday, and Cecily always held a salon on Tuesdays. It would be the perfect opportunity to present her own dilemma as a topic for discussion. It would certainly prove a far more titillating subject than the usual debate upon the terrible conditions of women or
the poor.
Joya was waiting by the door, holding something.
“Tomorrow morning, I have a meeting to attend,” Janelle told her, hoping Joya would not mind staying home alone. “But I should be back by midday. In the afternoon, we will go to the dressmaker’s and order your wardrobe. With Grandmama’s dinner party set for two weeks from now, we’ll have much to do to prepare.”
She stood up and smoothed out her skirt. “Why don’t you rest? We’ll talk at dinner.” Then as an afterthought she added, “Oh, and Joya, I think it would be best if we kept this conversation to ourselves. Do not bring up the topic of desire at dinner, especially in front of Grandmama.”
Joya assured her that she would not and thanked her for the advice. Then she said, “I have found something for your headache. Go to your room and lie down and then place this over your forehead, between your eyebrows.” Joya opened her hand. Lying across her injured palm was a small pouch made of some sort of reptile skin.
“What is that?”
“It is a lizard-skin amulet stuffed with pulverized shark liver.”
“I think,” Janelle began, forcing a smile as her stomach turned over, “a short nap is all I need.” She quickly walked toward the door.
“Are you sure? This works very fast.”
“I’m quite sure. You are sweet to be concerned.” Janelle eyed the lizard-skin amulet in alarm.
“I may use it myself, then. As I said, I’ve not been quite right lately.”
“You do that. I’ll see you in a little while.” Janelle closed the door behind her and leaned against the solid mahogany. She shut her eyes, afraid to admit that Trevor might have been right in his concerns about bringing Joya to London.
Chapter Fourteen
Lady Cecily Martin had been in what she called her Chinese phase for two years. The cloying scent of incense lingered in every room of her London town house. The place had been done over with teakwood furnishings, dragons, lacquered ebony screens, and scarlet satin upholstery.
When Janelle was admitted to the familiar surroundings, she expected to find the rest of their group gathered there. Ushered into the drawing room, she found Cecily alone and dressed, as usual, in a heavily embroidered Chinese robe and wearing bangles up both arms. She was reclining upon her favorite divan, anxiously waiting to hear every detail of Janelle’s excursion to Africa.
“I thought there was a discussion scheduled for this morning, Cecily. You should have sent word that it was canceled.” Concerned, Janelle asked, “Are you ill?”
“No. I canceled the meeting because I wanted to talk to you alone. You have been gone for weeks and we have much to catch up on. And…” Cecily paused dramatically, “I have some very good news.”
Janelle stripped off her gloves and laid them aside, happy to be in the comfortable presence of her dearest friend again.
“To tell the truth, I’m glad to have this time alone with you, for I too have some astounding news and I need your advice.” Janelle, thinking of Joya, sat down amid a pile of huge, soft pillows gathered on the Oriental carpet.
Cecily’s expression immediately became one of concern. “Is everything all right?”
“Something unbelievable has happened, but first, tell me your good news.”
“Actually, it is good news for you. I have met someone who wants to become your patron. Not only is he interested in commissioning some paintings for himself, but he has many friends who consider themselves art collectors and he feels he can sell your work.”
Janelle had always painted to fill the long hours of the night, when the horrors of her nightmares kept her awake. By bringing to life the haunting jungle scenes, she had hoped to face her fears and let them go. She had never thought of selling one of her works.
“Who is he?”
“An older gentleman, a friend of a friend. He attended last month’s meeting—a resounding session on magnetism, by the way. Anyway, he saw the painting you gave me in the entry hall and demanded to know the artist’s name. He said that if you have others, he could be instrumental in placing them.”
“I’ve never sold a painting. I don’t need the money.”
“You could use it for charitable works,” Cecily suggested.
“You told him the artist is a woman?”
“Yes, of course. He suggested you continue to sign them J. Mandeville.” Cecily tucked her legs beneath her on the low reclining divan. The bangles on her arms tinkled. “He’s a very personable, older gentleman, who by the way has a very, very handsome nephew with quite a reputation with the ladies in his district. The trouble is, the nephew is penniless. He is very anxious to meet you.”
“My new patron or the nephew?”
“Your patron, Viscount Arthur, Lord David Langley. His nephew’s name is Garr. Garr Remington.”
“A title will certainly make things easier where Grandmama is concerned. If she ever finds out that Viscount Arthur is encouraging my work, her protest will be short-lived.” Janelle thought for a moment, then said, “You don’t think the viscount is only interested because of his nephew, do you? Perhaps he is only pretending to be interested so that he can bring this penniless but handsome rake and I together.”
“I did not even hint that you were a woman until he was very committed. Now, I won’t say another word until you tell me what stupendous thing happened in Africa. How are your nightmares? The insomnia?”
Janelle shook her head. “Gone—because of the most profound thing that happened on a small island called Matarenga.”
She went on to tell Cecily about the great coincidence of Trevor’s seeking out Dustin Penn on Matarenga, how she followed him to the island, and of the discoveries of both Joya and Osmond Oates’s final resting place. Then she briefly outlined Joya’s background.
“You must be delighted!” Cecily cried. “Why didn’t you bring her along? I cannot wait to meet this tabula rasa, this twin of yours.”
“And you shall meet her. Soon, I hope. I left her at home today only because something has come up, something that I would have never expected.”
“You look very baffled, my dear. What is it?” Cecily poured Janelle more tea. The bangles tinkled again—a sound that Cecily said always reminded her of fairies singing.
“I believe my twin sister is falling in love with Trevor.”
“Why should that pose a problem? Your sister is no more related to Trevor than you are. Unless, perhaps, you are in love with Trevor yourself. Is that what’s bothering you? Have you been harboring hidden feelings for him all along? There would be nothing wrong with that, you know.”
“Please. Do not turn this into a Greek drama, Cecily. Of course I’m not in love with Trevor.” Janelle stared at a huge statue of a laughing Buddha in the corner. “I suppose that I assumed Joya would come to think of Trevor as her brother, too.”
Cecily leaned closer and lowered her voice to a hush. “Does the fact that she’s attracted to him disturb you in an erotic way?”
“Heavens, no!” After last night’s discussion on desire with Joya, Janelle was definitely convinced she was not as much of a free thinker as she professed to be.
“Then what is the problem, exactly?”
“Seeing them together will be a bit odd for me, don’t you think?”
“If your sister were not your twin, would this bother you at all?”
“No. Yes. I’m not certain.” Janelle propped her chin on her fist.
“You have to begin to think of her as an individual, not an extension of yourself.”
“We are different in every way, except for our features.”
“Does Trevor return her affection?”
“Trevor? Trevor is like his father. Instead of just his plants, he’s in love with both the family business and his orchids.”
“I think you might be forgetting that your brother is also a man.”
“I have no idea if he is attracted to Joya,” Janelle admitted.
“Do you have any objection to a union between
them, aside from the fact that it might make you uncomfortable to see them together?”
Her friend’s question brought her up short Joya and Trevor actually together? What if her organized, structured, no-nonsense brother did begin to see Joya as more than an obligation or a nuisance?
The idea of Trevor falling in love, especially with someone like Joya, his opposite in so many ways, was intriguing. Indeed, the more she thought about such a match, the more she realized there was no reason why the two of them should not be together.
Trevor was the person for whom she cared most in the entire world, and Joya was her twin. Already there was a bond between all of them, one that became stronger every day.
If anyone needed a lighter heart and outlook on life, it was Trevor. And Joya, so spontaneous, so unpredictable, might be exactly the kind of woman he needed. The longer Janelle thought about it, the more she became convinced a match between them would be right.
“What are you smiling about?” Cecily leaned back, stretched her arm across the back of the divan, and plumped up a tasseled satin pillow.
“I believe that perhaps the greatest challenge of my life will be getting Trevor and Joya together.”
* * *
“Joya, please don’t hang out the carriage window. You might fall out on your head, or at the very least, you will be spattered with mud.”
Joya felt Janelle tugging on her skirt and ducked back inside. This was only her second time in a carriage, and she had come to love the thrill of moving along above the ground. Beside her on the seat lay drawings of some of the places she had seen, drawings she intended to send home to her father.
“There is just so very much to see,” she told Janelle. “It is hard for me to take in everything at once.” On impulse, she reached over and squeezed Janelle in a ferocious hug. “Thank you so much for showing me London.”
The Orchid Hunter Page 11