by Tim Hehir
‘Will you be seeing her again?’ asked his grandfather, with the same disinterested tone, as if he was asking whether Julius would be combing his hair tomorrow.
‘No,’ he replied.
Another page turned. Julius waited for his grandfather to speak again, but he did not. He climbed the stairs and felt his way in the dark to his room. A little moonlight showed the black shapes of his bed and writing desk. Usually he would warm the bed with the warming pan and then undress and leap into it in a matter of seconds.
But now he stood, wrapped in the dark silence, wondering if it would tell him why his life was suddenly so confusing and sad.
He stood there for a long time, but no answer came.
The next morning Julius sat at the top of the stairs, listening to his grandfather pottering about below. When hunger finally drove him down to the parlour he found his grandfather setting the breakfast table. His jacket was crumpled. Julius suspected he had spent the night in his fireside chair.
‘Porridge is pickling, young Caesar,’ said Mr Higgins. It was the same joke every morning when porridge was on the menu. ‘Sit down, sit down. You’ll be needing a good breakfast if you’re to be out with Mr Flynn.’
Mr Higgins disappeared into the kitchen. Julius heard sounds of porridge plopping into bowls and the grinding open of the range door as the bread rolls were taken out. Although Sunday breakfast was always more elaborate than other days, his grandfather had outdone himself this morning. Three preserve pots and a jar of honey stood next to the teapot and there was a plate of sliced ham next to the butter dish.
Julius sat down, and his grandfather placed a bowl containing more porridge than he could eat in front of him.
‘Sleep well?’ asked Mr Higgins.
‘Yes, thank you. And you?’ said Julius.
‘Yes, very well.’
The stiff politeness made Julius cringe.
Mr Higgins poured tea for them both and sat down to his own bowl of porridge. Julius passed the honey, catching his grandfather’s eye for a moment. His grandfather stirred his tea and clinked the spoon twice on the side making it ring like a bell.
‘Put it behind you, that’s my advice,’ said Mr Higgins. He spooned more honey onto his porridge, avoiding Julius’s eyes.
Julius put a spoonful of porridge in his mouth. It felt like sawdust. His grandfather’s guilty expression told him what he wanted to know. He knew what the secret was. He knew what his mother tried to hide from him.
‘You told her to go, didn’t you?’ said Julius. ‘You threw her out.’ Julius felt rage welling up. He watched is grandfather’s face, watched him weighing up his response—would it be contrition or righteous indignation.
His grandfather sipped his tea. ‘What if I did?’ he said. The cup clinked back into its saucer. ‘Just you and me, young Caesar,’ he said, without looking up. That’s the best way. Just you and me.’
Julius stared at his porridge. He felt ashamed of the contempt he felt for his grandfather at that moment. After all, he had raised him—just as Clara had said.
A knock on the bookshop door interrupted his thoughts.
‘I’m feeling a rather unwell,’ said Mr Higgins. ‘I might lie down for an hour.’ He rose, avoiding Julius’s eyes. ‘Give my regards to Mr Flynn. Give him some tea.’
He went to the stairs.
Julius picked up his grandfather’s porridge bowl and threw it in the sink. The bowl broke into three even pieces like slices of a cake, and the porridge oozed across the sink through yesterday’s knives and forks.
The knocking came again.
When Julius, at last, unlocked and unbolted the door he found Mr Flynn and Darwin standing there impatiently. Darwin was pale and his eyes were red.
‘Good morning, Julius,’ said Mr Flynn. ‘Growing deaf in your old age?’
‘Sorry,’ said Julius. ‘I was in the privy.’
In the parlour Mr Flynn whistled at the fully laden breakfast table and the crackling fire.
‘Help yourself, Mr Flynn, Mr Darwin,’ said Julius.
He went to the cabinet and took out two extra sets of crockery and cutlery. Mr Flynn and Darwin sat at the table.
‘There’s good news and bad news,’ said Mr Flynn, reaching for a warm roll. ‘The good news is that I’ve pickled the soulcatcher in the jar—that’s the end of that one. The bad news is that Tock’s flown the coop. The house is as empty as a miser’s pantry.’
Julius tried to eat his porridge.
‘Gussy not around?’ said Mr Flynn, referring to Mr Higgins.
‘He’s not feeling well. He’s lying down.’
‘Nothing serious I hope.’
‘No,’ said Julius blankly.
Mr Flynn stopped spreading his butter and looked at Julius who had lowered his head over his porridge and pretended to eat hungrily.
‘Mr Darwin was telling me about the clergyman who went to the Village of the Soulcatchers,’ said Mr Flynn, between mouthfuls.
‘He was a missionary,’ said Darwin. ‘Matthew Merrisham. He went to the Village of the Soulcatchers, much like other missionaries go to leper colonies. He intended to set up a school and a church. He ended up being seeded himself. It was he who told me most of what I know about the soulcatchers—when he was still sane enough to do so.’
‘Tell Julius what you told me, sir. About how it all started,’ said Mr Flynn.
Darwin ran his hand through his thinning hair while he gathered his thoughts. ‘Years ago, one of the villagers woke to find a small red orchid by his bed. He did not know it at the time but he had been seeded by a soulcatcher,’ said Darwin. ‘He began to have the most delightful visions. He dreamt of a single raindrop falling on a leaf in the forest. The beauty of it made him weep with joy. The villagers listened to his tales as the soulcatcher took hold of his mind. They thought it was a blessing. They did not object when other small orchids crept up to them as they slept, and brushed their tendrils against their skin.’
Darwin stared at the empty teacup in front of him. He eyes were far away, in the Village of the Soulcatchers. ‘In the end, there was no one left. That is, no one except the youngest children. They were left to fend for themselves.’
Darwin looked up at Julius and Mr Flynn. He spoke like a witness on the stand.
‘But even for them it was too late. The seeds were in their blood, too, waiting to grow.’
Julius ate his porridge slowly. He remembered the children staring blankly at him across the river. The soulcatcher seeds were growing inside them. Would they end up like their parents? Like Skinner?
‘It’s odd,’ said Darwin, suddenly smiling at Julius. ‘You put me in mind of the boy who leapt to my rescue when Skinner tried to seed me.’
Julius felt himself redden. He dropped the spoon in his porridge. Now was the time to tell Mr Flynn.
But before he could do that Mr Flynn pulled a sheet of paper from his pocket. ‘Mr Darwin’s drawn up a list of the less scrupulous orchid dealers and collectors,’ he said. ‘We’re going to spend the day pretending to be orchid customers. We’ll see if we can find out anything of Tock or his whereabouts.’
CHAPTER 17
Sunday 21st January 1838
4:53 PM
Julius, Darwin and Mr Flynn arrived tired and dispirited at the ticket office of the Surrey Zoological Gardens. It was rumoured that the gardeners in the Orchid House there did an under-the-counter trade in orchids, with no questions asked.
But after calling on crooked orchid dealers and growers all over London, they had learnt nothing. Although most of the dealers had heard of the strange Mr Tock, few had met him, and none knew where he could be found—or if they did they were not saying.
The gardens were situated in Kennington, in the parklands of Walworth House. High iron railings surrounded the fifteen acres of gardens, glasshouses, animal enclosures, teahouses and a lake on which ancient sea battles were re-enacted every afternoon at three o’clock.
It was dark when Julius, Mr Flynn
and Darwin arrived. Mr Flynn placed three shilling pieces in front of the girl in the ticket booth.
‘Three, please,’ he said.
‘We’re packing up,’ said the girl, barely awake. ‘We close in ’arf an hour.’
She pointed to the clock behind her. It was coming up to five.
‘We just want a quick stroll by the lake,’ said Mr Flynn.
The girl shrugged. ‘It’s your money.’
She turned a brass handle three times and three tickets shot out of a slot in the counter.
In the gardens the Sunday crowd walked along the main thoroughfare, tightly wrapped in coats and scarves, determined to have a jolly time even though the clouds threatened rain.
Julius came to a crossroads and looked at the signpost.
‘Orchid House, this way,’ said Mr Darwin.
They passed the Animal House—a vast, domed glasshouse lit by giant chandeliers. Caged lions and tigers snarled and paced back and forth, while families of monkeys swung through the trees overhead.
Young clerks and apprentices, in the brightest cravats and waistcoats, strutted or staggered with their ladies, depending on how much ale they had consumed. The ladies shrieked and cackled in their voluminous skirts and hats with more ribbon hanging from them than there was rigging on a warship. Julius, Mr Flynn and Darwin waded through the throng until they came to the Orchid House.
It was a large glass structure. Low privet hedges lined the pathways surrounding it and bordered the empty flowerbeds, where squealing children in their Sunday best ran and leapt with glee at the fireworks exploding overhead.
There was no lamplight within the Orchid House and the condensation on the glass walls made it difficult to see inside. A sign hanging on the door said: Closed on Sundays.
‘Damn and blast,’ said Mr Flynn. He rattled the door handle.
‘What now?’ said Darwin.
The whiz of a rocket made Julius look up. The firework exploded with a crack, sending out a circle of golden lights. Another exploded beside it, then another.
‘Fireworks is bleeding ace don’t you fink?’ came a voice that Julius recognised.
In the bright flash of the fireworks Emily, Clara and Mrs Trevelyan were like actors making an entrance on an opera stage.
‘Well, I’ll be…’ said Mr Flynn, when he saw Clara.
‘Hello, Mr Flynn,’ said Clara. ‘It’s been a long time.’
Mr Flynn raised his hat. ‘It certainly has, Miss… er…’ He suddenly became unsure of himself.
‘It’s all right, Mr Flynn,’ said Emily. ‘’iggins knows who she is.’
She gave Julius a wot-you-looking-at stare until he turned away.
Clara looked as if she wanted disappear in a puff of smoke. Her eyes darted around, avoiding everyone’s faces.
‘Mr Flynn,’ said Mrs Trevelyan. ‘This is an unexpected pleasure.’ She blushed and straightened her bonnet, which did not need straightening.
Mr Flynn cleared his throat. ‘Mrs Trevelyan? Er…How do you do?’
Darwin raised his hat. ‘Charles Darwin, at your service,’ he said.
‘Charmed,’ said Mrs Trevelyan.
‘How do you do?’ said Clara. She bobbed an awkward curtsey in Darwin’s direction.
They all stood for a few moments wondering what to say next. Then Mr Flynn laughed and slapped his side. ‘It’s blessed good to see you, Clara. Blessed good. It must be twenty years.’
‘Seventeen, I think,’ said Clara, and her face softened into a smile. ‘Emily told me of all your kindness to her, Mr Flynn.’
‘Oi, don’t tell ’im that,’ said Emily.
‘Sorry,’ said Clara. She smiled apologetically then cast a quick glance at Julius. ‘Hello again, Julius,’ she said.
Julius felt all eyes on him. He made himself smile.
Mrs Trevelyan shivered. ‘Oh, the frigidity of it all,’ she said. ‘It makes me quite homesick for Scotland. Mr Flynn, would you see us safely to the gate? I hear there are wild animals about.’
Mr Flynn tipped his hat and held out his arm for her to take. Before Julius knew it, Clara was at his side.
‘Perhaps I could take your arm, Julius?’ she said. Her voice betrayed a hint of trepidation. But she slipped her arm through his before he could refuse. ‘Emily,’ she said. ‘Take Julius’s other arm to balance him out.’
‘Don’t fink so,’ said Emily. She turned to Darwin and linked her arm in his. ‘’ello again,’ she said. ‘You’ll do.’
‘Have we met?’ said Darwin. ‘You look familiar.’
‘Naaa,’ said Emily. ‘Don’t fink so.’
‘Julius, dear,’ said Clara, as they all walked to the gate. ‘Perhaps you’d like to stop by Walworth House to see my room? It’s ever so nice.’
‘Walworth House?’ said Darwin. ‘Lord Bloomingbury’s residence. A splendid fellow? He has a fine orchid collection, I believe.’
‘I haven’t met His Lordship yet,’ said Clara. ‘He has a menagerie too, you know.’
‘I carried Clara’s bags up the stairs,’ said Emily, to Darwin. ‘We peeked frough a door and saw the queerest ’orse you’ve ever seen.’
‘Just for a few minutes, Julius,’ whispered Clara. ‘It’s not far.’ Her voice was coaxing and her expression confident and kind. Her eyes stayed on his, waiting for an answer.
Before Julius could find an excuse, Mr Flynn thrust a few shillings into his hand. ‘Here, take this. Get a hansom cab home.’
Julius stiffened and pulled away from Clara. Why was everyone trying to make him do things he didn’t want to do? He felt Clara’s arm tug on his.
‘Come on, Julius. I’ll show you the peculiar horse,’ she said. ‘Emily, why don’t you come with us? Julius can see you home afterwards. You wouldn’t mind if she’s a bit late, would you, Mrs Trevelyan?’
‘Not at all, Clara,’ said Mrs Trevelyan. She still had a firm hold of Mr Flynn’s arm.
‘Don’t worry, ’iggins,’ said Emily. ‘I won’t let naffing eat you.’
Julius thought he saw a hint of a smile on her face.
CHAPTER 18
Sunday 21st January 1838
6:18 PM
Julius followed Emily and Clara across the parkland between the Surrey Zoological Gardens and Walworth House. The gravel scrunched under their feet when they arrived at the path leading to the stables and the trade entrance. The black shape of the mansion obscured most of the sky.
‘It’s a very large house for one old gentleman,’ said Clara.
‘Don’t forget all the animals,’ said Emily. ‘Running all over the place like they own it.’
‘Aren’t they in cages?’ said Julius.
‘Cages?’ said Emily. ‘Cages is boring. When I grow up I’m ’aving an eagle.’
‘We’ll see,’ said Clara.
They entered the stable yard and Clara led them down some steps into dark corridor lined with boots and coats on hooks. It opened into a sizeable kitchen—full of cooks and kitchen hands, all rushing about, busily stirring, peeling and chopping. It was as noisy as race day on Epsom Downs with the clash of pans and the hiss of the fires along with the oaths shouted at the poor kitchen maids. Clara leaned close to Julius. ‘The kitchen is hot with jealousy. His Lordship’s cook is in charge and she bullies the rest of them. There’s a cook for the crocodiles. There’s one for the all the monkeys, and twenty more for all the different animals, all the way down to the poor girl who sifts the bird seed for the fairy wrens.’
‘You ain’t seen naffing yet,’ said Emily above the din. ‘Come on.’
Clara and Emily took him up a flight of stairs. Clara opened the door at the top just a little. ‘Strictly speaking we shouldn’t be here but I wanted to show you,’ she said.
She touched his hand as she spoke.
Despite himself, Julius was intrigued. He peered through the gap. Before him was a wide passage. After the cacophony of the kitchen it was eerily quiet. Gas jets shaped like long-necked birds lit the corridor, which was
lined with wallpaper depicting exotic birds flying among branches that bore colourful fruits. Wooden panels below the wallpaper were carved to resemble climbing plants, and the carpet looked to be as thick as a mattress.
‘Look up,’ whispered Emily.
The ceiling was one long painting of a blue sky with wispy white clouds, interrupted by plaster mouldings, from which the chandeliers hung.
Julius heard a scrunching sound. There was movement further along the corridor.
‘’ere comes somefing,’ said Emily. ‘I ’ope it’s good and peculiar.’
Julius, Emily and Clara watched in astonishment as a creature trotted along the carpet. It was as large as a badger but resembled an armoured rat. When it neared the door it stopped, pointed its long snout at them and sniffed.
‘Off with you,’ said Clara, nervously.
The creature lost interest and continued along the corridor.
‘It’s going to take me a while to get used to the wildlife,’ said Clara. ‘Follow me. I’ll show you my room.’
They retraced their steps down the stairs. Clara took a spare oil lamp from a hook and led them to the back stairs and then up the four flights to the women’s wing of the servants’ quarters.
‘They haven’t put gas pipes up here yet,’ said Clara. She stopped at one of the doors. ‘Here we are. Home, sweet home.’ She opened it and ushered Julius and Emily inside.
‘It’s ace, ain’t it?’ said Emily. ‘Mrs Trevelyan gave her all sorts of fings to make it nice.’
Julius looked around. A curtained window was set into the sloping ceiling and a narrow bed with a bedside table stood against the wall. A small fireplace with a dying coal still gave off a little warmth.
‘You can see the dome of the Animal House from the window,’ said Clara, as she unbuttoned her coat and removed her bonnet.
Julius pulled the curtain aside but all he could see was the black night. He remained there, looking out at nothing.
Emily sat on the edge of the bed and bounced. ‘All you need is some pictures to ’ang and you’ll be like royalty,’ she said.