The Orchid Hunter

by Jill Marie Landis

  “Then you had best go now, before Trevor finds out and tries to make some noble, misguided effort to stop you. I will go back and tell him that you’ll be along shortly. By the time he suspects anything, it will be too late. Tell our driver that you have a headache and must return home. We’ll have to find another way back, which will take even more time. I would expect that by then you will be gone.”

  Adelaide did not wait for a reply as she stepped out of the alcove and headed back to the reception room.

  Forgetting about her train, Joya stumbled and nearly fell to her knees, but a kindly stranger grabbed her elbow just in time. She adjusted the loop over her arm and paused once to look back at the door to the reception room. Reminding herself that her father would expect no less, she held her head high and never looked back as she walked down the long corridor toward the door.

  * * *

  Adelaide did not bother to hide a smile as she watched Joya trip over her train. She would bide her time, make certain the chit had left the building and was well on her way before she sought out Trevor.

  He would, no doubt, be very upset when they returned home and he found the girl gone, but in time she would convince him that he was better off without Joya Penn. Once and for all, he would be able to get on with his life. He could begin his search for the queen’s orchid and, once he found it, hopefully make up for his wife’s social blunders. Then he could forget orchid hunting forever and concentrate his efforts on diversifying the business.

  Things would be far, far easier for him without his wife. Eventually he would forget the girl.

  No one need ever know that Joya had left him, either. She was already prepared to spread the word that the girl had been high-strung and nervous, so ill that they had been forced to have her confined at a sanatorium on the continent. After word of her conversation with the queen had spread, no one would doubt it.

  Adelaide reached up, touched the numb right side of her face. Her damn cheek had been tingling off and on since her confrontation with Joya in the kitchen. Ah, well, she thought, shrugging off any concern, she was bound to have a few aches and pains at her age, but she would let nothing diminish her triumph tonight.

  * * *

  Trevor downed his glass of champagne and then the one that he was holding for Joya. The longer he waited, the more incensed he became, not at her, but at those who had openly cut her.

  At least Joya was honest. There were too many rules here, too many silly notions and restrictions, society’s little dance steps that had no bearing on a person’s true worth.

  The hurt he had seen in her eyes was affecting him more with each passing moment. He set the champagne glasses on a passing footman’s tray and was about to go looking for his wife when one of the queen’s ladies-in-waiting walked up to him and requested he join Victoria. He bowed and thanked her, then immediately made his way back through the crowd.

  He was genuinely surprised when Queen Victoria made a great show of greeting him. “Tell Us about your wife, Mr. Mandeville. We are intrigued.”

  He quickly told her—without indicating that Joya had actually been kidnapped—of how she had been raised by Clara and Dustin Penn on Matarenga. He reminded the queen that Penn was famous for the various orchid discoveries he had made over the past twenty years and then added that Mandeville Imports was now the exclusive brokerage for Penn’s orchids. He added that even now, the famed hunter was searching for a unique specimen worthy of her name.

  “Ah, yes,” she sighed. “Dear Albert’s little challenge to all of you orchidologists.”

  “The entire Orchid Society is taking that challenge quite seriously, Your Majesty.”

  She nodded. “Just as the planned exhibition is important to Our husband, so too is finding Our orchid.” Her level stare met Trevor’s. “We would hate for him to be disappointed.”

  “I’m certain a worthy blossom will be found before the exhibition opens.”

  As the queen casually scanned the crowded room, he was inspired by the notion that nothing she did was without purpose. “We found your wife charming, Mr. Mandeville,” she said.

  Bless her heart, he thought. Victoria had raised her voice so that the compliment carried to everyone gathered around them, guests who were trying hard not to appear to be eavesdropping.

  “I think so, too, Your Majesty. Thank you.”

  “Please tell her that We enjoyed speaking to her very, very much. Such honesty is refreshing.” She lowered her voice so that only he could hear. “A bit shocking, mind you, but refreshing.”

  Trevor never knew relief could feel so overwhelmingly wonderful. He bowed and backed away from the queen, then scanned the room for Joya, expecting to find her waiting near the refreshment table. He wanted to share what the queen had said, to put her mind at ease.

  There was no sign of her anywhere, but he saw his grandmother reenter the room. Anxious to locate Joya, he went to ask Adelaide whether she had seen her.

  To all the hypocrites now able to nod and smile at him, even to those who tried to engage him in conversation, he turned a cold shoulder.

  No one would put tears in his wife’s eyes and get away with it.

  * * *

  Joya had quickly changed into her plainest gown and had just left Trevor’s room when Sims walked up to her in the hall. He looked at the casket trunk under her arm but made no comment.

  “Is my sister home, Mr. Sims?”

  “No, madam. She is not. I am concerned, for it is not like her to stay away so long without some word.”

  She touched the old man’s sleeve. “Don’t worry. I would feel it here”—she touched her heart—“if she was in real danger or any harm had come to her.”

  He looked at the trunk again. “Are you moving back into Mr. Mandeville’s room? May I send for the maids to help with your things?”

  She shook her head. There was little time to tarry.

  “Good-bye, Mr. Sims.”

  “Good-bye? I thought you had just returned, Mrs. Mandeville.”

  “I am going back home, to my island. I have left a note for Trevor in his dressing room. My marriage is over, Mr. Sims, and I am banishing myself. He can take a second wife now, a suitable Englishman’s wife. I will miss you, and would enjoy nothing more than a long’ good-bye, but I must hurry. By the way, how do I reach the docks?”

  “It’s too late to take a train. You can’t think of going alone.”

  “I am and I will.”

  “It is far too dangerous.”

  What could be any worse than what she was already going through?

  “Mr. Sims, don’t look so anxious. I will be fine. I have my amulet pouch and my charms.”

  “Although I don’t want you to leave, I am considering ways to help you escape, madam. After all, it was you who cured my affliction. I am forever in your debt.”

  “You may keep the monkey’s paw.”

  “Nothing I say will persuade you to stay, will it?” He looked old and tired and sighed heavily, shaking his head at her.

  “No, it will not. Will you please tell Mrs. Billingsley good-bye for me? I’m afraid I might cry.”

  “Of course, madam.” He reached for her trunk, took it from her, and started down the hall. “Come with me. I’ll order Joshua to take you to Bristol.”

  * * *

  It was pouring rain again by the time Trevor had finally secured a carriage for himself and his grandmother. As they pulled up before Mandeville House, the hired conveyance creaked and swayed unmercifully. He was coming out of his skin.

  He had wasted precious time waiting for Joya after Adelaide told him she had seen his wife in the hallway and that Joya had assured her that she was fine and would join them shortly.

  But she had never returned to the reception room. By the time Trevor went in search of her and concluded that she had left the palace alone, he was frantic. When he finally learned that she had commandeered his own driver and carriage, the information did nothing to lessen his anxiety. He was further
detained until he located a cab for hire.

  “I don’t know why you are so upset.” His grandmother spoke over the sound of the pouring rain as they negotiated the front steps. “I am sure Joya is safe in her room. It was certainly insensitive of her to leave without telling you.”

  Trevor stopped listening the moment Sims opened the door.

  “Did my wife arrive safely?” He handed the butler his hat and cape, then helped his grandmother with her things.

  “Yes, sir, she did,” Sims said.

  “I told you.” Adelaide frowned down at the water spots on her skirt.

  Trevor was headed toward the staircase when Sims added, “She put a note in your dressing room, sir, before she left again.”

  Halting in midstride, Trevor turned around. “Before she left again?”

  “Yes, sir.” Sims cleared his throat, hovering on the brink of some uncertainty.

  “Where did she go?” Trevor felt a sense of deep foreboding when he noticed that Sims looked entirely too pale.

  “Banished herself, sir. So that you can take a second wife.”

  “A what?”

  “A second wife, sir.”

  “I suppose it is probably for the best, Trevor, dear,” Adelaide said, brushing off her shoulders and shaking rainwater droplets off her skirt.

  Trevor’s panic mounted. He could not breathe. He reached for the neck of his shirt, unfastened his collar, ripped it off.

  “For the best?” He stared at his grandmother, then turned to Sims. “Did she say where she was going?” He was afraid he already knew the answer.

  “Home, sir. To her island.”

  Trevor’s long-pent-up emotions, like the evils released from Pandora’s box, spiraled out of control. He splintered in two, as if watching himself and yet still inside himself, and there was nothing he could do to rein that other self in.

  “When did she leave? Was she alone? Tell Joshua to bring the carriage around. I won’t fire him until morning.”

  The sound of his own voice echoed around the foyer, but for the life of him, he could not stop shouting. Standing beside the massive round table in the center of the entry, his grandmother pressed her fingertips to her temples.

  “Calm down, Trevor, please. You are making my head pound.”

  “Joshua drove her to Bristol in the carriage, sir. I insisted upon it only because she was determined to leave. I did not think you would want her out alone and on foot. I hope I did the right thing.”

  “Of course you did not! You should have stopped her. You should have tied her up and locked her in her room.”

  “I did send her by carriage, sir, instead of train, hoping to delay her.”

  Trevor flung his collar to the floor and ran his hands through his hair, certain he had become a stark raving madman. “What about Janelle? Couldn’t she persuade Joya to stay?”

  “Miss Mandeville is not at home, sir.”

  “I suppose she never returned?”

  “That’s right, sir.”

  “Damn it! Damn it all to hell.”

  Helplessness stoked his panic and rage, at himself, at Sims, at Janelle, at the world at large.

  His wife had left him. He had to get her back.

  * * *

  Joya’s note lay on his dresser beneath his mother’s silver comb. He picked up the filigreed hair ornament, circled his thumb over the letter C and tried to recall having left it out of the drawer. The piece was precious to him, so much so that he always put it away.

  Laying the comb aside, he lifted the ragged-edged piece of drawing paper torn from a larger sheet and stared down at Joya’s writing. The letters were smudged, uneven, and cramped. He imagined her toiling over every word. Her good-bye to him was pitifully brief.

  Dear Trevor,

  I am going back to Matarenga. Your grandmother is right. I am an embarrassment to all of you. I have shamed you too many times. In London, I have lost myself somewhere. I love you, but I cannot be a good wife here. You need someone who keeps all of the rules.

  I have left you the one thing I cherish most in the world—aside from you and Janelle and Papa. My mother wore this silver comb in her hair until the day she died. It has been my good-luck charm. Now I hope that it will become yours.

  Be careful always, Trevor.

  Your loving wife,

  Joya

  Another violent surge of emotion threatened logic. As he stared down at the note, the wavering script blurred. He sighed, rubbed his eyes, then reread the line about her mother’s silver comb.

  Frowning, he set aside the note and picked up the hair piece, turned it over in his hand, and stared at the bold letter C entwined with grape leaves. The comb seemed a bit more tarnished than he recalled. When he looked closely, he could see that here and there it was pitted with black spots.

  His hand actually trembled as he pulled open his dresser drawer. Inside, all of his things were still in place and neatly folded. Immediately his hand went to the pile of handkerchiefs. Even before he lifted them, he knew what he would find.

  Beneath them lay his mother’s silver comb, monogrammed with a C entwined with grape leaves; a comb identical to the one in the palm of his hand.

  * * *

  Trevor found Adelaide in the drawing room. She was slumped against the armrest of the settee. He had recovered his composure somewhat before he presented both combs.

  “You do not seem shocked or surprised over my finding a second comb, or over Joya’s leaving. Why is that, Grandmother?”

  “Because I am sure there is some simple explanation for the comb. As for Joya, obviously she was very unhappy here.”

  Her words sounded a bit slurred, but he was not about to let her persuade him to postpone the discussion because she had taken too many sips of champagne.

  “These combs are identical. One belonged to my mother, one to Clara Penn, the woman who raised Joya on Matarenga. How can that be?”

  She shrugged, staring at a point across the room. “How should I know, dear? There were probably many, many of those old combs fashioned years ago.”

  He shook his head. “Father told me that he had a set of combs made especially for my mother, but that she had lost one. Before she died, she made him promise to give me the one remaining. Now Joya has given me a second and it is identical to my mother’s, down to the letter.”

  “Your father walked around with his head in the clouds and you know it. Perhaps he embellished the story for you. I greatly doubt he had that comb especially made for your mother.”

  “Look at me, Grandmother.”

  She put her hand to her forehead. “I am tired, Trevor. Please, help me up to my room.”

  There was a knock at the door. Beyond frustrated, Trevor shouted, “Come in.”

  It was Sims. “Your horse is ready, sir.”

  Trevor focused on Adelaide again. “I’m going after my wife. When I come back, I want the truth. About the combs and about why you told Joya that she was an embarrassment to this family.”

  “I’ve nothing further to say about either,” Adelaide grumbled.

  “We’ll see. For now, just pray that I find her.”

  With that, he swept past Sims and left his grandmother sitting alone.

  * * *

  She would pray all right. Adelaide waited until Trevor had left the room before she closed her eyes and prayed that he would not find his wife and that the chit was gone for good.

  Seeing those two silver combs in his hand had left her terrified. The dark secret still hovered in the room. All she could do was pray that if she held fast, the truth would stay buried and that Clara Hayworth would not reach out of the grave to ruin everything.

  She hoped to God that he never learned the truth.

  * **

  Janelle awoke with a start and looked around the interior of the carriage. It all came back to her in an instant, where she was and how she had gotten there.

  How many hours had passed since she had fallen asleep on the cold, cracked leath
er of the upholstered seat? It was still dark outside and it was still raining.

  On the seat across from her, Garr slumped with his arms folded, his chin resting on his chest, snoring softly.

  She kicked him in the shin. He jumped to his feet, hit his head on the roof of the carriage, and sat back down.

  “That wasn’t fair,” he complained, rubbing the crown of his head.

  “None of this is fair. I have let my sister down. Not only that, but my brother is no doubt scouring the countryside looking for me by now. If I ever find out that you planned this…”

  “You are thoroughly compromised. We must marry.”

  “We will do nothing of the sort. If and when we get back to London, you will take me directly home. Cecily will vouch for me. I’ll tell my family that I spent the night with her. If I have to, I will claim I drank too much wine and passed out. Better a lie than the truth.”

  “Is the thought of marrying me really that horrible?”

  He actually sounded very pitiful. He was an actor worthy of Drury Lane. In truth, the experience had not been bad at all. She had dozed off wondering what it would be like to have a man like Garr truly fall in love with her, to have him make love to her.

  Impossible. Ridiculous.

  “Well?” He was still waiting for an answer. “Do you really find me so disgusting?”

  “I should,” she mumbled.

  “But you don’t, do you?”

  “I doubt any woman could find you disgusting. But I am still not about to ruin my life by marrying you. All you want is my money.”

  “Damn your money, Janelle.” He moved over to the seat beside her again.

  “Get back on your side,” she warned.

  “Doesn’t the fact that I did not seduce you when I very well could have prove that I care for you?”