The Botanist’s Daughter

by Kayte Nunn

  ‘I think this is the last time you should ride,’ said Tomas as they travelled back along the trail home. ‘I wish only for your safety.’

  ‘You are probably right,’ she agreed. Further riding expeditions would no longer be a necessity. She felt a small thrill: she had accomplished the first part of her task.

  They returned by nightfall, and Elizabeth excused herself from dinner. ‘I am rather weary from our excursion today. I think I should retire for the evening. Perhaps you can have Cook send me some supper later?’ she asked.

  ‘Of course, my darling, whatever you wish.’

  Once in the small dressing room that adjoined their bedchamber, Elizabeth took out the bag containing the seeds, put on her gloves and withdrew the lily from her father’s vasculum. She placed it in a jug and began to sketch, working quickly, for she had little time. Dinner would go on for several hours, but often her drawings could take that time and more, and it was important that she made a precise likeness.

  Eventually, she was finished and she removed the flower from the jug and pressed it between two pieces of vellum before placing it and her sketchbook in the metal box. She then burrowed to the bottom and lifted the flap to the hidden compartment. The bag of seeds fitted easily inside, next to her mourning jewellery, her mother’s silver-backed mirror and the photograph she had brought with her of her and her father at Trebithick, taken not long before he died.

  She hid the box in one of her travelling trunks, knowing that neither Tomas nor Daisy was likely to venture there. She would retrieve the bag containing the seeds when she was certain of being undisturbed and find somewhere to dry them out.

  She breathed a sigh of relief when everything was carefully stowed away, but she could not rid herself of the sick feeling in her stomach that she was deceiving her husband.

  Chapter Thirty-six

  CORNWALL, SUMMER 2017

  When Anna regained consciousness, she was lying on a chaise in a corner of a very pretty tearoom. There was a small marble-topped table next to her, on which sat a carafe of water and a glass. She lifted her head and looked out onto a walled garden, its lawn divided by neat gravel paths and a low, immaculately pruned hedge. Pink rose bushes bloomed in circular beds, and she stared, dazed, at a stone fountain that was spurting water several feet into the air. She blinked, not knowing for a moment where she was. ‘How …’

  ‘It’s all right, Jenkins. You fainted not long after we went into the house, and I carried you across here.’ Ed, who was sitting at the end of the chaise, indicated the tearoom. ‘You gave me quite a fright, not to mention causing a kerfuffle with the tour leader. I think he was more put out by your peacock leggings than seeing you keel over next to the precious porcelain, though,’ he grinned at her. ‘Take it easy, don’t try to move until you’re ready.’ He placed a reassuring hand on her ankle.

  ‘I didn’t … I didn’t break anything, did I?’ said Anna.

  He had such a concerned, tender look in his eyes that any embarrassment Anna felt dissolved like mist on a sunny morning. She slowly sat up.

  ‘Neither in the house, nor about your person. Now, I’ve ordered some tea. It’ll make you feel better,’ he said firmly. ‘I think it was the heat that did it. Being so hot outside and then going into that chilly hallway.’

  ‘I’m so sorry. I don’t know what happened. One minute I was looking at the painting of Lady Augusta—’ She broke off, remembering what she’d seen.

  ‘It’s all right,’ he reassured her, ‘happens to the best of us. ‘You know, there is quite a similarity between the portrait and you,’ he said casually.

  ‘You thought so too?’ she said weakly.

  He nodded. ‘Here, have a glass of water,’ he said, reaching over to the table and passing her one. ‘You might be dehydrated.’

  But she hadn’t fainted because of dehydration. She knew the real reason. That woman in the painting – she had to be related to her. She just knew it.

  After they finished their tea, Ed suggested a stroll in the gardens. ‘Only if you’re up to it,’ he said. ‘If you prefer, we can go back to the pub and you can lie down.’

  Anna insisted that she was fully recovered and unlikely to faint again. Nevertheless, he slipped his hand into hers as they walked, saying nothing. She felt a small thrill at his touch, his concern for her.

  The gardens were indeed spectacular: lush, green and blazing with summer colour. Anna particularly loved the path to the stables, which was lined with ancient oak trees, their foliage creating a tunnel of green shade through which to walk.

  ‘Rosa Mundi,’ said Ed, pausing at a bush heavy with candy-striped bright pink-and-white blooms. ‘One of the oldest roses, introduced to Britain before William the Conqueror.’

  Anna was once again reminded of how extraordinarily long some plants had been around for, blooming, dying and blooming again across the centuries, seeds scattered on the wind, seedlings divided and shared, sold and replanted in foreign soil.

  Their footsteps eventually led them in a large circle, and they reached the formal garden again, coming upon the sundial, a globe that turned on an axis, etched faintly with the countries of the world. ‘It reminds me of one in the Botanic Gardens, in Sydney,’ she told Ed. She reached out to touch the metal. It was hot in the afternoon sun. As she ran her fingertips over its raised surface, she noticed that the central ring surrounding the globe bore engravings of different herbs. Mint, rosemary, bay, four-leafed clover. ‘It’s the same engraving as the box!’ She stopped and counted them. Thirty-eight in all.

  ‘The box?’ asked Ed, confused.

  ‘The box in which the drawings were locked.’

  Comprehension dawned on his face. ‘Are you sure?’

  Anna nodded emphatically. ‘Positive.’

  ‘It all makes sense, doesn’t it?’ he said. ‘I think we need to find out more about John Trebithick and his daughters.’

  ‘Daughters? I didn’t know he had more than one.’

  ‘I read about them while you were laid out on the chaise. Elizabeth and Georgiana. Georgiana married a Robert Deverell and they lived at Trebithick Hall after John Trebithick’s death. They had two children, George and Penelope. Turns out that Penelope died, unmarried, in 1967 and George had a daughter, Florence Elizabeth, who was born in 1935 and is still alive – that’d be your FE Deverell.’

  ‘Elizabeth!’ cried Anna. ‘ET – the artist.’

  ‘Correct, Jenkins.’

  ‘Was there any other information about her?’

  He shook his head.

  ‘Should we go and find the guide, and see if he knows any more?’ Anna was seized with a desire to get to the bottom of the mystery as soon as possible – it was so tantalisingly close.

  Ed looked at his watch. ‘It’s after five, so it’ll have to wait till tomorrow, I’m afraid.’

  ‘What do we do now?’ Anna said, frustration creeping into her voice.

  ‘Steady on. The mystery has waited this long, I think it can stand another day.’

  Reluctantly she followed him back to the car, casting a longing glance at the house as they left. When they passed through Padstow, Ed pulled up outside a small deli. ‘Won’t be a sec,’ he said, and disappeared inside. He returned several minutes later and placed two white shopping bags on the back seat, then without a word edged his way back into the traffic that clogged the narrow, winding streets and drove out of town and along a road that wound along the clifftop.

  ‘Are you going to give me any clues?’ said Anna, bemused.

  He put a finger to his lips. ‘It’s a secret. Unless, that is, you’ve had enough of them for one day?’

  ‘I think I might just be able to take one more.’ She turned her attention to the scenery flying past: vertiginous rocky cliffs, emerald-green fields with pathways cut across them and weathered stone cottages huddled into folds in the hills. The landscape must have looked this way for centuries.

  A few minutes later, Ed pulled over onto a small farm track and
parked. ‘I think this is the spot,’ he said. ‘We used to come here from school at the weekends sometimes. Come on.’ He reached in the back for the shopping bags and they set off along the path in front of them. ‘This is pretty close to Trevone,’ he said.

  As they began to walk, Anna noticed the wheat fields were studded with poppies, their fragile petals like the crumpled skirts of a scarlet ball gown. The path soon became steep and rocky, with steps cut into the hillside. ‘Ladylove Cove. Also known as Lady Luck Cove,’ said Ed. ‘A popular spot with smugglers, so legend has it.’

  ‘Smugglers?’

  ‘Contraband – rum, more often than not – from Brittany and the Channel Islands. Centuries ago Cornish miners often supplemented their income with smuggling. Made some of them quite wealthy, too. There were also rich pickings from the shipwrecks along this part of the coastline.’

  They had reached the end of the steps, and ahead of them was a narrow golden sand cove. Between the steps and the sand was a fast-running stream, which Ed loped across, but even with his long legs he cleared the bank by only a few centimetres.

  ‘Think you can make it?’ he said as Anna stood assessing the distance. ‘Don’t worry, I’ll catch you,’ he grinned.

  She raised her eyebrows at him.

  ‘I’ve got this,’ she said, waiting for him to move. She took a couple of backward steps and then launched herself across the gap, landing neatly on the far side of the bank with plenty of room to spare.

  ‘Impressive, Jenkins.’

  ‘Year six long-jump record holder, St John’s Primary,’ she said with a smirk.

  The aquamarine water glinted and frothed in the late afternoon sunshine as they walked onto the small, deserted beach.

  ‘Oh, what a lovely spot!’ Anna cried.

  ‘We aim to please,’ Ed gave her a fleeting wink.

  She kicked off her sandals and walked to the water’s edge, letting out a yelp as it washed over her ankles. ‘Christ it’s cold!’ she called over her shoulder.

  ‘It’s the Atlantic, not the balmy South Pacific,’ said Ed, laughing at her.

  Anna retreated, discouraged by the freezing temperature from venturing further into the water.

  They found a spot near a huge driftwood log that had washed up on the beach and Ed began to unpack the carrier bags. ‘Supper: cheese, olives, tomatoes, salami, oh, and a baguette and some chocolate,’ he said with a flourish. ‘And, of course, not forgetting a cheeky bottle of wine,’ he said retrieving a bottle of rosé. He had also carried a covered wicker basket with him, and from this he produced two tumblers, a small chopping board and a couple of plates. ‘I thought this would be more fun than dinner in the pub. I don’t know about you, but I can never spend enough time outside, especially in summer.’

  Anna smiled at his enthusiasm. ‘You were a boy scout, weren’t you?’

  ‘Not for nothing is our motto: “Be Prepared”,’ he said, pouring them both a glass. ‘And you never know when the urge to picnic might come upon you.’

  ‘I can sense that might be fairly often,’ she said.

  ‘Weather permitting. Though the company is not always so delightful as today.’

  ‘One has to make do,’ she said gravely.

  They sat side by side and leant back on the driftwood, gazing out to sea. ‘Quite a day, hey?’ he said.

  ‘You’re not wrong,’ she replied, thinking back to their early start in London. More had happened to her in the past few days than in the past few years. Her head spun even thinking about it, and she felt almost as if she had fallen between the pages of a storybook into an adventure that didn’t quite belong to her.

  ‘So, who was he?’ Ed asked, breaking the silence.

  ‘I’m sorry?’

  ‘The chap who hurt you so badly?’

  Anna froze. ‘What?’ How did he know? What did he know?

  ‘You’ve got that look,’ he said with a sad smile. ‘When you think no one’s watching. Like you’ve got the weight of the world on your shoulders. I noticed it when we first met, and then at the party I was sure … It’s something I’m familiar with.’

  ‘Oh,’ Anna said quietly, gazing firmly at the smudged blue horizon.

  Ed waited for her to speak. Eventually she did.

  ‘Simon. We’d been together throughout university. Inseparable. Had grand plans to take the trip of a lifetime once we’d graduated. See the great gardens of Europe. We had a whole, wonderful future ahead of us. So much to look forward to.’ She took a slug of wine. ‘It was a few days after our final exams. I’d stayed over at my sister’s – she has three kids, and Fleur, my youngest niece, had croup. My sister was having a tough time of it, so I offered to give her a hand. I went back to the flat the next morning and found him. He’d taken a bottle of pills. There was no note. No warning. He’d been a bit stressed, but I thought it was just the exams. I had no idea.’ Her last words came out as a sob. She’d never really spoken to anyone about it – she had barely even discussed it with her mother and her sister – but somehow, so far from home and to someone she barely knew, it was easier to finally unburden herself.

  ‘Oh, Anna. I’m so desperately, desperately sorry.’

  ‘When the results came out, he’d come top of our class. Had everything to live for. I still don’t really understand why. Why he didn’t talk to me about it, how he was feeling. I wonder if I should have known, did I miss something? Could I have prevented it? Got him some help? Was I a terrible girlfriend?’

  ‘How long ago was it?’

  ‘Nearly six years.’

  ‘Still hurts, huh?’

  ‘It’s getting better,’ she smiled weakly.

  ‘You’re allowed to let it go, you know.’

  She stared at the ocean. Was she? Would she ever?

  ‘There’s no prize for mourning the longest. Or the hardest. Sooner or later you have to start living again. There’s no other way.’

  ‘I suppose you’re right,’ she said finally, still not convinced.

  ‘Has there been anyone else since?’ Anna didn’t answer for a moment and he added, ‘Stop me if I’m prying.’

  She thought fleetingly of Noah, back in Sydney, but she shook her head. There had been no spark of attraction there, lovely and kind as he was. ‘No, no one else.’

  ‘Okay, enough sad stories. Do you think you can help me collect some of the wood that’s up there?’ He pointed to the far end of the beach, which was littered with flotsam washed up by higher tides.

  ‘Sure, why?’

  He reached into one of the bags and waved a box of firelighters at her. ‘There’s nothing quite like a fire on the beach.’

  She looked at the box. ‘Not exactly Bear Grylls are you, though?’

  ‘Hey,’ he said, indignant, ‘I’ll have you know I was not your common-or-garden scout; I was actually an eagle scout, believe it or not. Got the badges to prove it.’

  ‘Just not the making-fire-from-two-sticks one, hey?’ she teased.

  ‘Okay, you’ve got me there,’ he replied. ‘You get the kindling and I’ll try to find some larger stuff.’

  She wedged her tumbler of wine in the sand and got to her feet. ‘Okay, I’m on it.’

  By the time she returned, dragging a huge branch behind her, a bundle of smaller sticks under the other arm, Ed had gathered a couple of big bits of driftwood and was scrunching up the paper that had been wrapped around the wine bottle, and dotted it with firelighters. ‘Whoa! We might be here for a while if we burn that,’ he laughed. He took the smaller sticks from Anna and placed them in a teepee shape around the paper. Producing a box of matches, he began to light them and drop them into the teepee, then knelt and blew gently on the tiny flames.

  The driftwood was bone dry, and before long the fire was crackling away, sending sparks into the twilight. They sat, companionably, gazing into the red-hot centre of it, watching as the branches flaked and pale ash caught in eddies around the heat of the flames.

  Much later, when the picnic
had been all but finished, the wine bottle emptied and the embers of the fire were dying down, Ed hauled himself to his feet. ‘Come on, let’s get you off to bed. You’ve had a long day.’

  For a moment she misunderstood his meaning and felt a bolt of alarm. But she looked into his guileless blue eyes and saw nothing but concern for her and was reassured. She liked him and felt more comfortable with him than she had with anyone in the longest time, there was no doubt about that, but she wasn’t ready for anything more. Besides, she would be on her way to Europe in a week’s time and in all likelihood never see him again. That didn’t stop her being thankful for his presence, or immune to his considerable charm.

  ‘Here,’ she said, pulling her mobile out of her pocket and switching on the torch. It had grown dark while they sat by the fire and there was no other light for miles around. The cliffs looked suddenly dark and forbidding.

  Ed kicked sand into the fire to extinguish it and then Anna felt him next to her. Her breath caught and goosebumps raised on her arms.

  ‘Lead on, O bearer of the light,’ he said, picking up the picnic basket.

  Stumbling in the dark, they navigated their way to the steps cut into the cliff and climbed out of the cove. Anna almost fell asleep on the short drive back to the pub, and declined Ed’s offer of a nightcap in the bar.

  ‘Not even a hot toddy?’ he offered.

  ‘Thanks, but I think I’ll head upstairs,’ she said.

  ‘Good night, Jenkins,’ he said, leaning towards her and kissing her chastely on the cheek. ‘Don’t let the bed bugs bite.’

  As she climbed the back stairs towards her room, Anna found herself chuckling at the expression – she didn’t think she’d been told that since she was a little girl.

  Chapter Thirty-seven

  VALPARAISO, 1887

  Elizabeth’s labour began slowly. A dull ache in the small of her back. A light cramp in her stomach that she did her best to ignore. The last time she had seen the doctor in Valparaiso he had assured her that the birth was still several weeks away, and so she and Tomas had travelled to his family’s estancia to spend some time there before her pregnancy made the journey more difficult. She loved it: the cool mornings that gave way to warm days, the gentle breezes that ruffled the long grasses and the distant mountains, completely white with snow now, that towered above the flat river valley.