The Last Camellia: A Novel

by Sarah Jio

  I tugged at my gloves nervously. I should have worn my black hat instead of this blue one that clashed with my handbag. What did it matter? Whom did I expect to run into in town? I leaned back in the seat, but sat up again when I saw Mr. Humphrey straighten his stance.

  “Miss Lewis is here, my lord,” he said. “She’ll be joining us today in town.”

  “Very good,” Lord Livingston said, poking his head into the car. “Hello, Miss Lewis.”

  “Hello,” I replied.

  He sat beside me in his freshly pressed gray pin-striped suit, the one I’d seen Mrs. Dilloway ironing late last night. I’d watched her for a moment, noticing how she had ironed the pleats on the breast of the suit with such care, going over them again and again until she’d made a perfect crease.

  Lord Livingston didn’t keep a personal valet, so the extra duties fell to Mrs. Dilloway, but she didn’t mind. I folded my hands three different ways, then turned to look out the window.

  “I trust the children are minding you, Miss Lewis?”

  “Yes, thank you,” I said, shifting my attention to the view through the windshield.

  “And your room, is it satisfactory?”

  “It’s very nice.”

  He paused a long while, then turned to me. “Miss Lewis,” he continued. “What I want to say . . . what I mean to tell you . . .” His gaze pierced my cheek. “I’m quite satisfied with your work with the children. I want you to know that I’m glad you’re here.”

  “Oh,” I said, a little taken aback by his words. “Thank you.”

  “If you don’t mind my asking, Miss Lewis,” he continued, “how did you end up as a nanny? I suppose what I mean is that it seems that you ought to be married to some nice young chap in America by now.”

  My cheeks burned red. “I suppose it’s a rather long story,” I said.

  He nodded as if he understood. “Well, I’m glad you could come into town today. Did you have any special plans?”

  I shook my head. “No, not anything special,” I said. “I just thought I’d poke around the shops, sir—I mean, Lord Livingston, sir . . . I mean . . .” Why does he make me so tongue-tied? I was perfectly capable of talking to any of the well-to-do who came into the bakery at home. One time the governor stopped in, and I waited on him myself.

  From my pocket I pulled out a letter I’d written my parents. “And I’ll drop by the post office to mail this letter home.”

  He plucked the letter from my hand. “No need to waste your precious day off standing in line at the post office,” he said. “Have Humphrey take it in for you.”

  He leaned over the seat. “Humphrey, you’ll see to it that Miss Lewis’s letter is delivered, won’t you?”

  The chauffeur eyed his master through the rearview mirror. “Yes, my Lord,” he replied.

  “Thank you,” I said.

  He pointed out the window at the rolling hills tinged with purple heather. “I’ve traveled the world, Miss Lewis, but nothing is as beautiful as these moors.”

  I nodded. “I’d love to paint that scene,” I said, pointing out to the windswept meadow.

  “Oh, you’re interested in art?”

  “Well, yes,” I replied. “Botanical art.”

  “Would you really paint that scene, just as it is?”

  “Well, I suppose,” I said. “I’d need the right supplies. A proper easel, a canvas, some paints. I brought only my sketchbook to England.”

  “Ah, simplicity,” he said. “Your sketches must be lovely.”

  A few minutes later, Mr. Humphrey pulled the car into town. He stopped at the train station first.

  “Well,” Lord Livingston said, “I’m off to London for a few days.”

  “Have a good trip,” I said.

  Before he stepped out of the car, a pretty woman, about my age, waved from the sidewalk. Her cream-colored dress clung to her body, accentuating her figure. She approached the car, smiling as though she and Lord Livingston might be old friends. He rolled down the window, regarding her somewhat coldly.

  “Hello, Theresa,” he said. Mr. Humphrey watched the exchange in the rearview mirror.

  “Will you be coming in today, Lord Livingston?” she asked, grinning, until she noticed me. “Oh, I’m so sorry,” she continued. “I didn’t know you had a guest with you.”

  Lord Livingston turned to me reluctantly. “Miss Lewis, this is Theresa Mueller,” he said. “Theresa works at the restaurant down the street.”

  “I’ll be going now,” she said, turning to the sidewalk before casting a final glance his way.

  “I’m sorry about that,” he said.

  Mr. Humphrey cleared his throat. “His Lordship is a bit of a celebrity in town,” he added.

  “Well, it’s getting late,” Lord Livingston said. “I’ll miss my train.” He reached for his bag, then paused to look at me again. “Miss Lewis,” he said before he stepped out onto the sidewalk, “I meant to say . . .” He searched my eyes. “You see”—he rubbed his forehead—“I’m quite sorry I was so hard on you about that matter of the coin.”

  “It’s all right,” I said.

  His face relaxed. “Well, I hope you can forgive me.”

  I nodded.

  He stepped out of the car, and Mr. Humphrey, who had already run around to open his door, bid him farewell. “Have a good trip, my Lord.”

  “Thank you, Humphrey,” he said, casting a glance back toward the sidewalk where Miss Mueller had stood. “See to it that Miss Lewis is taken care of today.”

  “Yes, sir,” he said.

  Mrs. Dilloway knocked at my door later that evening. “How was your time?”

  “Fine, thank you,” I said, recalling my day in the village. I’d wandered down to the square and bought a bag of peanuts before planting myself on a bench and watching children play in the fountain. Then I ordered a cup of tea at the café, slipped into an upholstered chair, and finally finished The Years. “I’d go say good night to the children, but I take it they’re already asleep.”

  “They are,” she said, walking into my room and shutting the door behind her. “Do you mind if we talk privately for a moment?”

  “Of course not,” I said. “What is it?” My eyes narrowed. “Is everything all right? Janie hasn’t caught a cold, has she? She had a bit of the sniffles yesterday and I worried—”

  “Janie’s fine,” she said. “You’re so good with them. Too good, perhaps. That’s what I want to talk to you about.”

  “I don’t understand.”

  “Miss Lewis,” she said, “nannies like you don’t stay forever. You can’t. You have a whole life ahead of you. Marriage. Children of your own, even.”

  “Well, someday, but—”

  “But you’re not staying forever, are you?”

  “No,” I said.

  “Exactly my point. I’m just thinking of the children, that’s all. I’m thinking of how they’ll take the news if it turns out that your intentions are . . .” She paused as if to search for the right word. “Different than intended.”

  The hair on my arm stood on end. Was she hinting at something? “I’m sorry, I’m not sure what you mean.”

  “All I’m saying is if you decide to leave, for whatever reason, give them time to get used to the idea,” she explained. “Their mother left just like that, and then a stream of nannies came in and out of this house. I can’t bear to see them lose you so suddenly after what they’ve been through.”

  I nodded. “You love them, don’t you, Mrs. Dilloway?”

  “I suppose I do,” she said, glancing at the clock on the wall. “Well, it’s getting late, nearly half past nine. I promised Mrs. Marden that I’d put the steaks in the marinade before bed. She likes them to baste a full twelve hours before lunch.” She smiled briefly before turning to the hallway. “Good night, Miss Lewis.”


  “Good night,” I said.

  After she left, I thought about the lonely life Mrs. Dilloway had chosen. I rested my head on my pillow and sighed. She was right, though. Someone had to look after those poor children. Abbott was on the verge of manhood, and yet he was so fragile and sensitive. I wished his father would pay him more attention. And Nicholas, sweet Nicholas, with his handsome face, that raven-colored hair and cheeky smile—the only thing he ever wanted was to be noticed. Katherine’s troubles seemed deeper than I could understand, and I wished I knew how to help her. Janie was too young to remember her mother, and that fact alone may have spelled her from the heartache the older children carried—burdens so great you could see their grief sometimes hovering in their eyes and their distant expressions. And Desmond. Desmond. Would he return? When?

  Their father was such a complicated man. He’d seemed so stern and calculating when I first arrived, but today he warmed to me in a way I hadn’t expected. How could I get him to show that warmth to his children? How could I make him see how much they needed him? I yawned, reaching for the extra wool blanket at the foot of the bed. Nights were chilly in this big house.

  Mrs. Dilloway was right. I wouldn’t be here forever, but I’d make the most of the time I had. I thought of the letter from Mr. Price. There wasn’t much time now. I’d need to find the camellia, or else.

  During the month that Lord Livingston was in London, the entire house seemed to let out a sigh of relief. Even the grandfather clock in the foyer seemed less solemn in its movement, as if time had gone on holiday. I didn’t worry when the children’s game of hopscotch spilled into the rose garden or when Janie knocked a bowl of pea soup on the rug. We all had more breathing room.

  Every night before bed, I visited the conservatory on the third floor. It was nice not to worry about tripping over a flowerpot and disturbing Lord Livingston on the floor below. I still had to be inconspicuous, though, so I worked by lamplight.

  I had come to love the space, and I could see why Lady Anna had too. The orchids were positively glorious. She’d tagged each flower with its proper botanical name, but I favored the pet names she’d given each bloom. For instance, a stunning pink Cattleya was named “Lady Catalina.” And a yellow Oncidium, which to me looked like a flock of ladies in fluffy party dresses, was called “Lady Aralia of the Bayou.”

  The night before Lord Livingston was to return from London, I went up to the conservatory to water the flowers, knowing it might be a few days before I could get back again. After the children were in bed, I tiptoed up the stairs the way I always did, slipping inside using the key under the flap of carpet. I gave the orchids a good drink, then refilled the watering can at the spigot and walked over to the plants by the east window. A bit of water soaked the hem of my nightgown as I emptied the can over the trunk of the lemon tree. I looked out at the night sky, remembering how I’d seen Lord Livingston on the terrace in his robe. I blushed at the thought. He’d been looking out at the camellia orchard that night. Was he thinking about the children? About Anna? Was he thinking about his regrets?

  I poured the last few drops of water onto a palm in a terra-cotta urn, and reached for the lantern, when something outside caught my eye. I looked carefully into the night, and then I saw what looked like a faint glow in the orchard. A lantern? It moved right a few paces, then went out.

  I hurried to the door, looking both ways before venturing into the hallway, then locked it behind me. I heard a sniffling sound.

  I looked down to see a figure huddled in a ball. I recognized the pink nightgown immediately. “Katherine?”

  She sat against the wall, knees tucked against her chest, and looked up at me with tear-streaked cheeks.

  I knelt down beside her. “Katherine, what’s the matter, dear?”

  “I followed you,” she said. “I wanted to know why you came up here every night.”

  “Oh,” I said, setting down the lantern.

  “Mother never let me go in there,” she said, pointing to the door. “She’d spend hours inside. All I wanted was to see her flowers. I just wanted to see them.”

  “Oh, Katherine,” I said, stroking her dark hair.

  “Never mind,” she said, standing up and composing herself. “It’s silly of me to go on like this.”

  “It’s not,” I said, standing next to her. “We may never understand why your mother didn’t let you join her in the conservatory, and I’m sure she had her reasons.” I sighed, remembering Mrs. Dilloway’s warnings. What good does this place do all locked up when it could bring joy to this little girl who misses her mother so desperately? “You know, Katherine,” I continued, “I think you should see it now.”

  Her eyes widened. “You do?”

  “Yes,” I said. “But you mustn’t tell your brothers or Janie.”

  She nodded eagerly. “I won’t tell.”

  “Good,” I said. “It will be our secret.” I inserted the key in the door again. “Come on.”

  Katherine followed me inside, mouth gaping as she took in the sight. “It’s, it’s . . . so beautiful,” she marveled as we passed the citrus trees. “Mummy used to bring us kumquats.” She paused, then looked at me with an embarrassed smile. “I’m sorry, Miss Lewis. I’ve been terrible to you.”

  “It’s all right,” I said, kneeling down to look into her eyes. “You didn’t know me then.” I plucked a kumquat from the tree and popped it in her mouth. “And now you do.”

  I touched her arm tenderly. “Honey, may I ask you about these marks? What happened?”

  She pulled back her arm instinctively, then took a deep breath, relaxing. “Do you promise not to tell?”

  I nodded.

  She pulled her sleeve up slowly, turning over her small forearm to reveal skin littered with wounds—some scarred, some fresh, others scabbed. I winced.

  “Oh, Katherine!” I cried. “Please tell me who did this to you.”

  She looked down at her feet. “I did.”

  I placed my hand over my mouth. “I don’t understand.”

  “I should have made Mummy happier,” she said, beginning to cry. “If I had been a better daughter, she wouldn’t have been so unhappy.”

  “No, no, Katherine,” I said, wrapping my arms around her. “That’s not true at all. Her unhappiness didn’t have anything to do with you. I promise you that.”

  She buried her face against my shoulder.

  “You must stop hurting yourself,” I said. “Please tell me that you will.”

  “I’m so ashamed,” she cried.

  “You have nothing to be ashamed of, dear,” I said, taking her hands in mine. “Your mother wouldn’t want you to feel this way.” I looked into her eyes. “I bet she’s looking down on you now, wanting to see you smile again.”

  “Do you really think so?”

  I nodded.

  “And you don’t think she’d be cross about me being here with you?” Her dark hair fell all around her face, and I tucked a lock behind her ear.

  I didn’t know the answer, of course. Not really. The more I learned about Lady Anna, the more mysterious she seemed. I wanted to believe that she had loved her children and wanted the best for them. But it didn’t matter what the truth was, not anymore. All that mattered then was what Katherine needed to believe.

  “Of course she wouldn’t be cross, dear,” I said. “In fact, I think she was waiting until you turned ten to show you this place. Ten’s a very important age, you know.”

  “It is?”

  “Indeed.”

  She held her head up a little higher and skipped over to the window to get a closer look at the palm. “Is this the one from the King of Thailand?”

  “The King of Thailand?”

  “Yes,” she said. “I remember Papa talking about it.”

  “Perhaps,” I said. The conservatory was full of treasures. But I wanted Kathe
rine to have one of her very own. She deserved that. While she admired the kumquat tree, I walked over to the orchids and found one with a blank tag. Its bright purple blossoms appeared almost blue in the moonlight streaming through the glass roof. I picked up a pencil on the table, scrawled out “Lady Katherine of the Moors,” and wedged the tag into the flowerpot.

  “Katherine,” I said. “You must see this.”

  She ran over beside me. “What is it?”

  “It’s one of your mother’s orchids. Its botanical name is Dendrobium, but look, she’s written something else on it.”

  She leaned in to read the tag, and then looked up at me with astonishment. “She named it Katherine,” she said. “After me.”

  “See?” I said, grinning. “She named the most beautiful orchid after you. I bet she couldn’t wait to show you that.”

  Katherine tucked her arm around my waist and gave me a squeeze. “Thank you, Miss Lewis. Thank you ever so much for letting me come in here with you.”

  “You’re welcome,” I said.

  I glanced out the window and saw the light flicker in the orchard again.

  “Come on,” I whispered to Katherine. “Let’s get you back to bed.”

  CHAPTER 19

  Addison

  Rex appeared in the foyer, holding the mail in one hand and a vase of flowers in the other. He’d spent the early part of the morning at the café, working on his research. “Look what was waiting for you on the doorstep.”

  He set the mail down on the entryway table and handed me the orange roses. “You must have a secret admirer,” he said, grinning.

  I opened the little envelope with trembling hands. On the card was one word: “Remember?”

  “Who sent those?” he asked.

  “Ah . . . my friend Kelly,” I said, thinking fast.

  Rex scratched his head. “Kelly? From college?”