The Botanist’s Daughter

by Kayte Nunn

  Finally, she found herself at a gallery tucked away in a far corner of the gardens, where she spent a long time marvelling at the hundreds upon hundreds of paintings of Marianne North, an adventurous artist who, it turned out, had been alive at the same time as Anna’s own mysterious illustrator. Perhaps they had known of each other? Marianne was certainly well travelled, with paintings depicting flora from countries as far flung as the Sandwich Isles, New Zealand and Africa crowding the gallery walls. Anna looked fondly at a vibrant oil of a scarlet banksia with the backdrop of Sydney Harbour. Home seemed a long way away right now.

  She became so absorbed in the paintings that she only just made it back to her meeting place in time, dashing the last few hundred metres so as not to keep Dr Hammett-Jones waiting.

  She hugged the bag containing the sketchbook to her chest, casting around for someone who looked like they were looking for her. A tall, attractive man wearing shorts and a polo shirt was approaching her – but no, that couldn’t be him; he looked like he was on holiday, not a taxonomist at such a venerable institution.

  Behind him was an older man with wispy greying hair and wire-rimmed glasses. Now, he looked more likely. She was looking at him expectantly when holiday man spoke to her. ‘Miss Jenkins?’

  He held out his hand as the older man passed them both, narrowly missing Anna. She shook his hand and looked at him in surprise. His eyes crinkled appealingly and she took in freckles sprinkled like nutmeg across a strong nose, broad shoulders, blond hair lit by the sun and curling into his collar. She was vaguely aware of people walking around them, but she could only focus on the man now standing in front of her. Dr Hammett-Jones. Edwin. He didn’t look like any Edwin she had ever imagined. Not that she had met a great many. None in fact, until just now.

  ‘That is you, isn’t it?’ he looked suddenly doubtful.

  ‘Oh yes. Yes, it is me. That is, I am Miss Jenkins. Anna.’ Her cheeks reddened and she found herself uncharacteristically flustered. She wasn’t used to being called Miss Jenkins, she told herself.

  ‘Oh jolly good!’ he said, grinning at her and pumping her hand, pushing back his hair, which had flopped over his forehead, with his other hand. ‘Ed. Hammett-Jones, that is.’ The overall effect was of an extremely friendly Labrador.

  ‘How did you know it was me?’ Anna asked with a glance at the other women milling around them.

  ‘You’re the only one in the vicinity carrying what surely looks like a sketchbook. So, I took a chance.’

  ‘Oh, yes …’ She flushed, looking down at the package in her hands.

  ‘Come on then, let me show you to my office. It’s this way, past the south arboretum.’

  Anna followed close behind him, hurrying to keep up with his long-legged stride.

  ‘So, you’re an Aussie,’ he said.

  ‘I suppose that must be obvious as well?’ she said lightly.

  ‘The accent kind of gives it away.’

  ‘I’m still a little jet-lagged, I have to admit.’

  Edwin stopped in his tracks and looked at her closely. ‘You mean you flew all the way from Down Under to meet with me? You don’t live here?’

  ‘In your email you said that you’d take a look at the sketches if I brought them in.’

  ‘But I thought you said you found them in a house in Paddington. Oh dear, Miss Jenkins, I do hope you haven’t come all this way just for me to look at your sketches.’ He looked both apologetic and bemused.

  Her hand flew to her forehead. ‘Of course! When I said Paddington, I meant Paddington, Sydney. Not Paddington, London. In any case, no of course I didn’t come all this way just for our meeting,’ she said unable to keep a note of huffiness out of her voice. ‘I’ve got some more investigating to do, and it’s also a bit of a holiday. I’m off to Europe in a few weeks … Giverny, Versailles … you know.’

  It was true, she had planned to spend a few days in London and then get the train down to Cornwall to try to track down Florence Deverell. Then, depending on what she found out, she was going to book a ticket on the Eurostar and gorge herself on pain au chocolat, pomme frites and gelato, as well as the great palaces and gardens of France and Italy. But her meeting with him was the driving force behind her trip, even if she wasn’t going to admit that to him.

  ‘Oh, so you’re in the business? Or an enthusiast?’

  ‘The business?’

  ‘A fellow plantsperson.’

  ‘Well, only in a very small way. But I did study plant science at university.’

  ‘Jolly good,’ he said with a look of approval on his face. ‘Let me show you around, then.’ He checked his watch. ‘Give you a personal tour. Especially as you’ve come so far.’ With that, he strode off again in the direction of the great glass greenhouse. Anna didn’t have the heart to tell him she’d already explored the gardens on her own before their meeting.

  ‘You might recognise this one,’ Edwin said, stopping in front of an evergreen. ‘Wollemia, of course.’

  ‘Just about everyone in Australia knows that story,’ she replied with a grin. ‘Rediscovered in the Blue Mountains only a few years ago. Still on the critically endangered list.’

  He nodded. ‘It amazes me that we are still discovering and rediscovering plants in this day and age.’ They marched on and he pointed to another, its delicate white flowers looking like five-pointed stars. ‘Ramosmania rodriguesi – native to a tiny island in the Indian Ocean. Thought to be extinct but rediscovered by a school student in 1980. And, this …’ he said, stopping for a moment in front of a small plant with pale yellow flowers. ‘Menodora linoides. Only member of the olive family native to Chile. Highly endangered. Thanks to a partnership with the Chilean Agricultural Research Agency and our Millennium Seed Bank, we’ve been able to germinate seeds and successfully propagate it. We’ve provided seeds back to the Botanic Gardens in Chile, where they are looking at conservation options for it. It’s one of our success stories,’ he said proudly.

  ‘Oh. Right,’ said Anna, impressed, thinking how well he would get on with Jane.

  ‘You might be able to guess that one of my specialist areas is endangered species. We’ve successfully banked around ten per cent of the world’s wild plant species. We’re aiming for twenty per cent by 2020.’

  Anna opened her mouth to reply, but he continued, ‘Every day another four plant species face extinction.’ He stopped, realising he had interrupted her. ‘Sorry. If you don’t stop me I’ll be on about it for hours. My daughter, Ella, is constantly telling me off about it. Says I could bore for England on the subject. What were you going to say?’

  ‘It’s just that I think I recognise that plant. There’s a drawing of it, or something very similar, in the sketchbook.’

  ‘Oh!’ He looked like an over-eager schoolboy. ‘Shall we go and take a look now? I can always show you more of the gardens later. Though you might, of course, prefer to explore on your own.’

  ‘It’s far more interesting to have someone who is so passionate and knowledgeable as my guide. Really.’

  He beamed at her again and Anna’s heart did a ridiculous flip-flop. She groaned inwardly at herself. Was this the effect of the time difference and too little sleep? He’d mentioned a daughter, so he was probably married.

  By rights she should have been tucked up in bed on the other side of the world, but how miraculous that she was standing here in one of the most beautiful and fascinating gardens she’d ever been in, with a wonderfully interesting and attractive man who seemed, unless she was reading the signs wrongly, to find her appealing? It was almost too much to take in all at once, and not at all what she had been expecting.

  ‘And here we have the Chilean blue crocus,’ he said. ‘Tecophilaea cyanocrocus. It grows on the slopes of the Andes and was thought to be extinct in the wild until 2001, though it’s a popular cultivated plant.’

  Anna bent down to examine the iridescent blue flowers. She marvelled at the perfectly formed blooms. Anna didn’t believe in God as such,
but she couldn’t deny the hand of a divine creator in the natural world.

  ‘The genus Tecophilaea was named after Tecofila Billiotti. She was a botanical artist and the daughter of a botanist, Luigi Aloysius Colla of Turin,’ he went on.

  ‘You really do know your stuff,’ she said. ‘Now, this definitely looks like one of the drawings in the sketchbook.’

  Edwin raised his eyebrows. ‘Really?’

  ‘Really.’ She was solemn, but she couldn’t help the twinkle in her eyes. Talking to him brought out her lighter side, one she’d almost forgotten she had.

  ‘Then I absolutely can’t wait to take a look. Onwards to my office, Jenkins!’ He strode off again, leaving Anna to hurry along in his wake.

  They came to a building at the back of the gardens, near the perimeter wall, and inside they made their way to a tiny, very untidy office. He cleared a space for her on a chair, heaving a stack of books and papers onto the floor. ‘Sorry about this. It’s more organised than it looks.’

  ‘I’m sure,’ she said politely, sitting down.

  He faced her across his desk, which was also covered in papers. ‘Now. Let’s see what we’ve got.’

  Anna took the sketchbook out of her bag and placed it reverently on the desk in front of him before relocating a half-full cup of coffee to a nearby bookcase.

  There was silence as he turned the first page.

  Chapter Twenty-nine

  VALPARAISO, 1887

  Elizabeth hadn’t meant to fall in love.

  She knew it as soon as she woke. As she listened to what sounded like a linnet in the tree outside the window singing a sweet song as if only for her, as she hummed to herself while fastening the bodice of her dress, as she cursed her poor bruised feet (her dancing slippers had been no match for the hard ground of the barn) … she knew. She knew that her heart now belonged irrevocably to Tomas. Every part of her being sang it, every pore on her skin radiated it, her eyes were alight with it. Even as she thrilled to the knowledge, she cursed its inconvenience: it would complicate everything.

  But she believed that he felt the same way, for even while he had danced with others, his gaze had never strayed far from her. He had been solicitous of her comfort all evening, had kept his arm at her back and talked easily to her of his upbringing and family, of his thoughts and interests. But words were the least of it: she shivered as she remembered the feel of his hand in hers, for there were no gloves worn in this part of the world.

  Despite her joy, she was utterly confused. She’d had no experience of love, aside from being privy to her sister’s courtship, and never seen evidence of love between a man and a woman at home, her father having never taken another wife after the death of her mother. She had no idea what happened next.

  Breakfast had finished by the time Elizabeth reached the estancia’s large dining room, and the whole house was quiet, save for an occasional burst of song or giggling as the maids went about their chores. As she wondered where everyone might be, one of the maids entered and placed a silver pot on the sideboard, gesturing to her.

  ‘Si, si,’ said Elizabeth.

  The coffee was strong and bitter, but served to chase away the dusty feeling in her head caused by the cider of the night before. She sat and sipped, wondering when she might see Tomas again, for her whole being longed for the sight of him, for his touch. She drifted away on the sea of her thoughts, remembering the feel of being encircled in his arms and twirled until she was dizzy, and so she didn’t see Sibyl enter the room, only noticing her as she sat down on the chair opposite.

  ‘Did you sleep well, my dear?’ Sibyl asked, interrupting her musings.

  ‘Oh, quite well, thank you. I confess I am still rather tired though and my feet are so sore I fear they shall never be the same again.’ Elizabeth winced as she rolled her ankle to and fro in demonstration.

  ‘I am not surprised. Señor Flores certainly made sure you scarcely left the dance floor.’

  Elizabeth looked up from contemplation of her foot, surprised by Sibyl’s aggrieved tone.

  ‘Have I done anything to upset you, Sibyl?’ she asked.

  ‘Why, pray, would you think that, Elizabeth?’

  ‘I know that you are fond of Tomas and I certainly did not intend for him to monopolise me. I should hate to cause you the slightest unhappiness. I have few friends here, and would hope to count you as one of them.’

  Sibyl sighed. ‘No, Elizabeth, you have done nothing to upset me. Well, nothing that is of your making. It is as clear as day that Señor Flores is much taken with you.’

  ‘Oh, Sibyl, I fear I am also taken with him,’ Elizabeth confessed. ‘But I feel awful admitting that to you.’

  ‘Truth be told I am glad you have,’ Sibyl said. ‘For I don’t think I could bear it if you did not care for him as he obviously does for you. It would only serve to twist the knife in the wound.’

  ‘You are most gracious, and I am sure I do not deserve such understanding. But I did not come here to fall in love,’ she continued. ‘I came to sketch and paint plants, and to return to England and share my discoveries.’

  ‘Oh, dear Elizabeth, the heart chooses its own path and rides roughshod over everything else. Love does not respect intentions, nor boundaries, nor continents, nor wishes. Unhappily it has not found me yet.’ She sighed again. ‘For it must be the most glorious thing to love and be loved in return.’

  ‘Of course love will find you, Sibyl. I am certain of it,’ Elizabeth reassured her.

  ‘You may be right,’ she replied. ‘But it is taking its time. I shall be quite grey if it does not hurry along.’ She smiled, to Elizabeth’s relief.

  ‘Where is everyone? There is neither sight nor sound of Daisy, nor of anyone else, for that matter.’

  ‘Mother was up early and said that Tomas was taking a party of guests out riding, those who have not already departed, that is. We are to leave after luncheon.’

  ‘Oh,’ said Elizabeth, deflated. She had been anxious to see Tomas again, but she did, however, have another plan for the day, but for that she needed to locate his sister.

  ‘Did Sofia go with them?’

  ‘No, I don’t believe so. Perhaps we can ask one of the maids if they have seen her.’

  ‘Hola señoritas,’ Sofia greeted them warmly as she entered the room just as the women were finishing their coffee. ‘I trust you slept well and are rested?’

  ‘I am, thank you. And thank you for a wonderful evening. I cannot recall the last time I enjoyed myself so much. Though my feet are suffering this morning,’ Elizabeth replied with a rueful smile.

  ‘Oh dear, does that mean we must postpone our walk? I was so hoping to show you the plants we spoke of last night.’

  ‘Oh no, not at all,’ replied Elizabeth. ‘I should very much like to walk with you. My feet will surely survive a few more steps.’

  ‘Señorita Sibyl, would you care to join us?’ asked Sofia.

  ‘Thank you but I think I shall remain here. I might practise on the piano while it is quiet,’ Sibyl replied.

  ‘By all means,’ said Sofia. ‘We shall only be gone an hour or so.’

  The two women, one so dark and the other so fair, one wearing a bustled gown in green bombazine that reached the floor, the other in a simple black shift topped by a brightly coloured woven poncho, left the house by the front door. They followed a path to the right of the barn where the fiesta had been held, and then through a gate and into a kind of meadow, beyond which rose steep hills. Lush grass sprang up around their feet and there were numerous wild flowers among the green like so many brightly coloured dots, extending as far as the eye could see.

  ‘Our home is named after a flower, the copihue – see, here it is,’ Sofia said, pointing to a scarlet, trumpet-shaped flower. And then she pointed out plant after plant, most of which Elizabeth had never seen before. She explained how one was used for curing eruptions of the skin, another for headaches, and another for dispelling evil spirits from a person. ‘Oh how I wish I
had thought to bring my sketchbook on our walk,’ said Elizabeth, fascinated by all that Sofia was showing her.

  ‘Do not worry. I am sure you will have many other opportunities to make likenesses of them,’ she said.

  ‘Well, I do hope I shall be invited again, though in truth I am not certain how long I intend to stay in Valparaiso.’

  Sofia looked confused. ‘But I thought you and my brother … Did you not know that he is absolutely smitten with you?’ She clapped her hand over her mouth. ‘Ay dios mio! I have spoken out of turn. It is none of my business and he will never forgive me for interfering.’

  Elizabeth smiled at her, thrilling inwardly to Sofia’s disclosure. ‘Do not worry,’ she whispered. ‘I shall not breathe a word.’

  They walked in the meadow, and despite the fact that Tomas had been very much on her mind since she had first woken that morning, Elizabeth had but one question for his sister. She turned the conversation once more towards botany, and, after a while, spoke up.

  ‘Tell me, Sofia, do you know of a plant called the Devil’s Trumpet?’ she asked. ‘The shape of the copihue we saw reminds me of it a little.’

  ‘Demonios trompeta.’ Sofia’s eyes grew wide and she crossed herself, muttering under her breath. ‘How is it that you know of it?’

  ‘I read its name somewhere, when I was researching this journey,’ she bluffed, feeling a pang of guilt at deceiving Sofia.

  ‘It is an extremely dangerous plant,’ Sofia explained darkly. ‘It is also now very rare, which may be a blessing. My mother and other machi like her did their best to keep its location secret whenever they came across it. In the wrong hands it can destroy a whole village, more even. And it can kill the one who tries to harvest it.’