by Adele Geras
“This is not a fit subject for the luncheon table,” said Aunt Victoria. “Stop it at once, child. Let us talk about something else.”
Lucy was making a horrified face. “Ugh!” she said. “Vomit! Clara, that’s disgusting.”
“No it’s not,” said Clara. “It’s part of our nature. I’m sure I wouldn’t mind that side of it.”
“I must return to work,” said Uncle Percy. He had finished the food on his plate and put his knife and fork down with a clatter. “I see no reason to continue talking about this matter now, Clara. We will see what the future will bring but for the moment your duty is to learn all the accomplishments that befit a young lady. I’m sure you have a very pleasant life.”
“It’s pleasant enough, Papa, but not useful,” said Clara. “I would like to be of some purpose in the world. And I should like to study something more interesting than the latest fashions. Hugh does, and I don’t see why I may not.”
Lizzie could see that Uncle Percy might have lost his temper, but chose instead to be amused by Clara’s outburst. He laughed and said, “Learning indeed! Whatever next? Whoever heard of such a thing? Besides, Hugh is a boy and a young man must have an education. You will marry in the fullness of time and your duty will be to support and care for your husband. Like your mama.” He smiled at Aunt Victoria.
Hugh, who was sitting opposite Lizzie, said, “I’m going to be a plant collector. I shall study botany and then I’ll discover thousands of strange new trees and shrubs and flowers and bring them home to Kew Gardens and they will all be called after me. I won’t have time to help Papa in the shop.”
Uncle Percy stood up. “Well, this argument will not put bread upon the table. You, Hugh, are very young still and there is time for you to acquire some sense and reason. Your dreams are quite suitable for a child and will change as you grow older, mark my words. And naturally, when I retire, you will take over the business.”
He made his way to the door and turned to speak to Clara again, “And you, my dear, are old enough to know your duties to this family.”
Now, Lizzie was sitting at the table in the schoolroom, writing her daily letter to her mother. She thought of Clara, made to accompany her own mama as she sat in one drawing room after another and to make polite conversation with other young ladies, and understood that this was as unwelcome to Clara as stitching samplers was to her. She felt sorry for her eldest cousin, whom she admired greatly for her pretty face and kind manner. She was also full of admiration for Clara’s ambition. Lizzie sighed as she bent her head over her letter again and went on writing: Uncle William spoke a little today at luncheon. He made a remark about Florence Nightingale. Clara wants to train in Miss Nightingale’s new school for nurses, but Aunt Victoria does not approve and will do all she can to prevent it, I fear.
I would like to do what Hugh says he wants to do, and travel the world looking for wonderful strange plants to bring back and grow here in England. That would be grand, would it not? I think that if women can study to become nurses, they should also be allowed to study botany. Grandmama said that meals in the family were becoming as disputatious as a sitting of Parliament.
Chapter Five
In which Lizzie and Hugh disagree
After only a few days in London, Lizzie felt as though she were settling into the routines of the house. She still missed her mother. Even though Mama often sent letters, Lizzie wondered how life really was for her, alone with the gloomy Mr. Bright (whose name had always struck her as quite laughably inappropriate). But, for the most part, the time passed pleasantly enough. The lessons at Miss Jenkins’s Academy were not difficult, but neither were they as interesting as Lizzie would have wished. Nevertheless, she found her classmates most agreeable. Lizzie and Lucy were accompanied to school by Elsie, the maid, who also met them and walked home with them after their midday meal, which they took at school.
The daily hour in the morning room (from three o’clock to four o’clock) was the worst time of the day for Lizzie. She couldn’t understand why it was called the morning room when they generally frequented it after lunch. She and Lucy would sit with Aunt Victoria and attend to their handiwork. Lizzie looked often at the clock on the mantelpiece and wished the hands would move a little more quickly. This clock was much plainer than the one in the drawing room, which was covered in gold curlicues and twiddles. Also, in the drawing room, there was an arrangement of wax flowers under a glass dome, and many china figurines of shepherdesses in pretty skirts. These delicate creatures didn’t look to Lizzie as though they’d ever been near a real sheep. She thought of Hugh, doing his sums and writing his compositions upstairs in the schoolroom, and longed to be allowed to learn the same things as him – his lessons were surely more interesting than tedious embroidery. She had glanced at his books sometimes when she had been writing letters, and had been intrigued to see the maps and diagrams and words in foreign languages.
Lizzie’s sampler was now a little grubby round the edges, where she had gripped it so hard. Though her stitches were growing more even, they were still considered too large by Aunt Victoria, and she hadn’t even finished the row of letters of the alphabet. There had been a good deal of unpicking. After the letters, there would be the numbers to complete and only then could she progress to the picture of a house and a tree. At her present rate of progress, it seemed as though she might never finish. At least when she was in her mother’s care again, she would be spared this daily torment.
As soon as she had put away her sewing, Lucy ran out of the room. She was doubtless going down to the basement to talk to Cook and play with the cat, whose name was Mrs. Tibbs. When once Lizzie had suggested that she might accompany Lucy, she was told, rather firmly: “Mrs. Tibbs is my pet, and you can’t stroke her unless I give you permission.”
Lizzie didn’t want to play with Mrs. Tibbs today anyway. She had something else on her mind. When Aunt Victoria indicated that she may put her needlework away, Lizzie went to find Hugh. She had been so busy getting used to her new life in London that she hadn’t had the chance to attend to the walnut she had brought with her from the country. The frosts would soon be here, and the flowerpot needed to be outdoors, under some kind of shelter. She had discovered that there was a cold frame in the garden, which would do very well for her purposes. It looked like an enormous box with glass sides and a glass lid, which could be lifted up when the plants needed attention. A wizened old man called Amos Lewin came to attend to the garden twice a week, and Lizzie had seen him, pottering about among the shrubs, often accompanied by Hugh. On one or two occasions, Lizzie had gone out to the garden while he was there, and tried to engage him in conversation, but he was a very quiet sort of man and for the most part she simply followed him around, looking at what he was doing and enjoying the sight of all the plants that he took care of. He was not at work today, but Hugh would help her to find the perfect place for her flowerpot.
Now that she was free of her wretched sampler, Lizzie flew up the stairs two at a time. Lucy was just on the point of going down to the kitchen and her voice reached Lizzie on the first landing.
“Mama would make you come downstairs and walk up again properly. She’d say you were a hoyden.”
Lucy produced this last word with an air of great satisfaction.
“Then it’s fortunate Aunt Victoria is otherwise occupied,” said Lizzie, looking down at her cousin from the turn of the stair. Lucy tossed her curls and went down to the basement without another word. Lizzie ran up the next flight of stairs and opened the door of the schoolroom, and there was Hugh, drawing something very complicated in a sketchbook.
“Hugh?” Lizzie stood at his shoulder.
“Hmm?” Hugh was concentrating on his work and put down his pencil reluctantly. “I’m busy, Lizzie.” He laughed. “Busy Lizzie. How very amusing…that’s the name of a plant, don’t you see?”
“I know. Hugh, I need you to help me, please. I have something that needs to go in the cold frame. I don’t want Mr
. Lewin to be put out by finding something unexpected in a place he’s reserved for some other plant.”
“What have you got? Where did you get it? You’ve hardly been out of the house, apart from going to school.”
This was true. Lizzie had been on a few short walks, in the company of Grandmama, along the Embankment. She had visited Frazer and Son only a few days ago, together with Aunt Victoria and Clara, to buy a length of blue wool for a new dress that would be made up by Grandmama’s own seamstress in time for Christmas. Now she said to Hugh, “I brought it with me from the country. It’s a walnut, and I mean to grow it into a tree. I hope you will help me?”
“I’m sure your walnut would do better indoors,” said Hugo. “The warmth of the house will help it to germinate.”
“No,” said Lizzie. “Mr. Alton, whose tree this walnut comes from, was most particular. The nut needs a hard frost to help it grow.”
“Frost kills a young plant. Everyone knows that.”
Lizzie wondered whether Hugh could possibly be right. He did, after all, spend a great deal of time reading about plants and animals, and she knew only what she’d been told. Perhaps Mr. Alton was mistaken. Then she remembered the noble trees in the garden of his property in the village and knew that he wasn’t. She said, “It’s my walnut and I want to put it out in the cold frame.”
“You’re being stupid!” said Hugh. “You’re just as obstinate as any other girl I’ve ever met. Girls never listen to reason. They don’t know a thing about science.”
“That’s not true!” Lizzie protested. “I am not obstinate. I simply know what’s right. I’ve been told by someone who’s been harvesting walnut trees for years.”
“When Mr. Lewin comes next week,” said Hugh, “we can ask him, but I’m sure he’ll agree with me.”
“But I wanted my flowerpot to go outside this afternoon. Or tomorrow at the latest. Won’t you help me? We can ask Mr. Lewin as well, but meanwhile…”
“You’re the one who’s going to blub when that nut doesn’t sprout,” said Hugh.
“Then you will help me? Oh, please do! I’m sure it’s the right thing, truly.”
“I can see that I’ll be nagged and nagged if I don’t do what you ask. You won’t stop asking me, will you?”
“Certainly not. I shall continue till you give in.”
Hugh sighed. “Tomorrow after school, then. I promise.”
“Thank you. It’ll be a wonderful walnut tree one day, you know. They grow slowly but they are very splendid when they’re mature.”
“Enough! I don’t want to hear another word about your dratted walnut. You’re not only stubborn, like all girls, but also too fond of the sound of your own voice. Like all girls.”
Now that Hugh had promised to help her, Lizzie didn’t mind his teasing so much, but she still picked up a book from the table and held it up in mock anger.
“Take back those rude remarks, Hugh, or I shall throw this book at your head.”
Hugh burst out laughing. “I surrender! You’re too fierce for me. I’m going to hide behind the rocking horse.”
When Lucy came to call her brother and her cousin for supper, she found them chasing round the room, helpless with laughter.
“Whatever are you two up to?” she asked. “Lizzie looks a fright. Don’t you think she looks a fright, Hugh? Mama will make you go upstairs again and brush your hair, Lizzie.”
“Then I’d better go and do it before she sees me, hadn’t I?” said Lizzie. She left the room, smiling at Hugh from behind Lucy’s back.
Chapter Six
In which the family visits Kew Gardens
On the following Sunday, which was the clearest, brightest November day Lizzie had ever seen, the Frazer family, all except for Uncle William, set out for Kew Gardens in the carriage. The horses had been specially brushed and groomed by their stable boys, in the livery stables where they were housed, and the Frazer family, Lizzie thought, looked just as fine. Everyone was in their Sunday best and Aunt Victoria’s hat was decorated with pheasant’s feathers. She had brought a grey fur muff with her, for there was a chill in the air. Grandmama had a fox fur round her neck, which Lizzie disliked intensely. The dead fox seemed to look out of his glass eyes most sadly.
“The trees will be magnificent,” said Uncle Percy. “And there will be far fewer people than we might have met during the summer months. I can never understand why everyone so admires the natural world in May, June and July and quite loses interest in October and November.”
“It’s often very chilly during those months, dear,” said Aunt Victoria, “and the flowers are mostly over by the autumn, are they not?”
Lizzie was staring silently out of the window. She looked at the river as they crossed Putney bridge and could see the dome of St. Paul’s Cathedral in the far distance. Her thoughts turned to her walnut, which was now safely installed in the cold frame. Even though he had complained, Hugh had helped her to find the right spot and it made her feel happy to think of it there, safe with the other plants.
She was relieved that she no longer had to worry about her flowerpot, for something else had begun to concern her. Up until now, every day had brought a letter from Lizzie’s mama to her daughter. Lizzie longed for each delivery, and used to stand near the window of the front parlour, looking out for the postman, who waved cheerily to her as he came to the door.
But for the last three days, there had been no word from Mama. At first, Lizzie was disappointed but not worried. It was possible that Mama was busy. Perhaps she and Mr. Bright had gone on a trip to visit a friend, though Lizzie found it hard to imagine who this might be. She determined not to fret, but as the days went by, it was hard not to imagine that something bad might have happened to her mother. The baby she was expecting was not due until the new year, but ladies, she knew, were sometimes unwell in the months before their babies were born.
She was determined not to say anything about it to anyone. Perhaps there would be a letter tomorrow. On this brilliantly sunny day, it was hard not to be optimistic and think that nothing was amiss. She was on her way to Kew Gardens, which Hugh said were the best in the whole world.
The gardens surpassed all Lizzie’s expectations. The trees had lost most of their gold and scarlet leaves, but these lay about the ground in heaps, and the children crunched through them, shouting with delight. The wide paths between stretches of lawn were filled, on this fine day, with families enjoying the beauties of nature tamed. Clara and Lucy went off to walk with Uncle Percy round the lake and the others made their way towards an enormous glasshouse.
“This is the best thing in the whole of Kew,” said Hugh to Lizzie. “It’s just like a proper jungle in there. Let’s go in.”
The glasshouse was the most beautiful building that Lizzie had ever seen, and reminded her of the Crystal Palace, where the Great Exhibition had been held. It was very high, with a curved roof that glittered in the sun, and all the beams and joints of the building were made of white wrought iron. She could see the dark green leaves of a plant she didn’t recognize pressing against the panes. Aunt Victoria and Grandmama found a bench to rest on, and Hugh and Lizzie went inside.
The heat, the steamy air and the mossy, earthy smells in the glasshouse made Lizzie feel faint at first, but she followed Hugh up one of the paths, marvelling at the lush greenery all around. At one end, a spiral staircase twisted up and up to the highest panes of all, and there were some trees that were almost tall enough to press against the glass roof. On a long trestle table at the far end of one of the gravel paths, an elderly gentleman was busy with pots and compost.
“Let’s ask him,” Hugh whispered to Lizzie.
“Ask him what?”
“About your dratted walnut, of course. I’m sure it should be indoors.”
“But we don’t know him. Maybe he doesn’t wish to be disturbed,” Lizzie whispered back. Hugh wasn’t listening. He had already approached the old man and was speaking to him.
“Good mornin
g, sir,” he said, and the elderly gentleman turned round.
“Good morning, lad,” he said. “May I be of assistance? Mr. Samuel Hocking at your service.”
“I’m Hugh Frazer and this is my cousin, Lizzie.”
“Charmed, I’m sure,” said Mr. Hocking and bowed from the waist, with his fingers still covered with crumbs of dark brown earth. He looked, Lizzie thought, exactly like an elderly elf, being exceedingly small and red-faced, with a sparse, white beard.
“May I ask you a question, sir?” Hugh asked. “My cousin and I have been having a disagreement about a walnut.”
“I’ll help you if I can,” said Mr. Hocking. “You are trying to grow a walnut tree from a nut, I take it?”
“Yes, sir,” said Lizzie, feeling braver now that Mr. Hocking had turned out to be so friendly. “I brought it to London from the country and I was told that it needed a hard frost to help it grow. Hugh says that warmth is good for plants, and indeed it is very warm in this glasshouse.”
“Many of the plants here are tropical,” said Mr. Hocking, “but you’re quite right, Miss. A frost is just what’s required. Perhaps there’s a cold frame in your garden?”
“Yes, that’s where we’ve put it,” said Hugh.
“You thought it should remain indoors,” Lizzie reminded him. “You didn’t believe me, when I told you what Mr. Alton said.”
“One should always, I’ve found, listen to the ladies,” said Mr. Hocking.
“Thank you,” said Lizzie. She made a face at Hugh. “I am going to plant it in the garden at the back of the house, when it’s big enough.”
“That will be delightful,” said Mr. Hocking. “You should see some shoots coming from your nut early next year. Perhaps in February or March. They’re slow to grow, are walnuts. That’s what I love about these here…” He waved a hand at the variety of leaves and shoots that surrounded them in the jungle-like atmosphere of the glasshouse. “They grow up like Jack’s beanstalk.” He chuckled. “Yes, just like magic. Inches and inches almost overnight, it seems sometimes. But when it comes to walnuts, patience is the order of the day. Yes, that’s it. Great patience.”