PROLOGUE
The floral fragrances—a symphony of subtle sweetness—swirled with the earthier scents of mist-damp leaves and the nutrient-rich soil. The gentleman closed his eyes for a moment and drew in a deep breath.
The essence of Life.There was nothing more beautiful, Josiah Becton mused as he stood very still in the shadows and let the warm air caress his cheeks.
Moonlight flickered through the soaring glass-paned walls of the magnificent conservatory, its silvery softness twining with the gold-hued glow of the lanterns hung among the exotic greenery. The faint sounds of a string quartet—was it Mozart or Haydn?—floated out from the assembly room attached to the rambling structure, the lilting notes punctuated by discreet laughter and the crystalline click of champagne glasses.
It was all so . . . elegantly civilized, this international symposium of botany scholars and wealthy patrons of science, gathered at London’s legendary Royal Botanic Gardens in order to share their knowledge for the good of mankind.
Becton slowly released a sigh. “But I am far more at home in the wilds of the world, where the flora and fauna have not yet been disturbed by the footsteps of men. Exploring . . . searching. . . learning . . .” His words trailed off as he meandered down the brick pathway, delving deeper into the vast assortment of specimens gathered from around the globe.
The music gave way to the whisper of the leaves and the drip of water feeding a section of succulents from the West Indies. His steps brought him to a smaller room that housed the treasures brought back from the islands of the South Pacific by Sir Joseph Banks, the noted scholar and adventurer whose tireless efforts over the years had established the Gardens as the leading repository of botanical specimens in the world.
“Ah, the South Pacific,” murmured Becton, bending low to examine the lush colors of a tropical flower. “Perhaps the Antipodes should be my next destination. Granted, it is so very far away . . .” A twinge of regret pinched at his chest.
So little time, so much to know.
“I see you are admiring the efforts of Sir Joseph.” Fronds rustled as a gentleman slipped past a cluster of leafy brake ferns.
“He is an inspiration to all of us who believe the natural world holds unlimited potential for improving the lives of all people.”
“Ah, but you, too, are an inspiration, Mr. Becton.”
“That’s very kind of you to say. But such praise is undeserved. I’m merely a curious traveler who is happiest in the solitude of the jungles or mountains.” He quirked a wry grimace. “I’ve always been far more comfortable with the company of plants than people.”
His companion chuckled. “I fear that a passion for science makes all of us odd fish.”
Becton smiled.
“Your work has always been quite special—ye heavens, your solitary journeys have taken you where few others have managed to go! Everyone here is eagerly awaiting the lecture on your explorations through the northern reaches of the Spanish Empire in South America, and all your fascinating experiences. The sense of wonder . . .” His companion allowed a pensive pause. “And discovery.”
“Yes,” agreed Becton. “As a fellow man of science, I know you understand that such opportunities can simply take your breath away.”
“Indeed, indeed.” A muted rustle of well-tailored wool. “Come, I took the liberty of bringing along some champagne. Let us raise a toast.” His companion offered him a glass. “To discovery!”
“Thank you, sir, but no.” Becton waved away the wine. “The marvelous botanical specimens here are intoxicating enough.”
“Nonsense, my good fellow. You have crossed the ocean from America to be here for this grand occasion. Surely, that calls for celebration—and the effervescence of champagne!”
“Alas, the years of traveling under constant adversities like heat, cold, and pestilence have taken their toll on my constitution. My physician forbids the use of strong spirits.”
“Sparkling wine is hardly strong spirits,” protested his companion. “A few sips to acknowledge the spirit of collegial friendships that have brought us here, from near and far, surely can do no harm.”
The lantern’s glow danced over the cut crystal coupe. Becton watched the tiny bubbles beckoning like myriad diamond-bright points of fire.
“Quite right,” he agreed, taking the proffered glass. “With so many dark forces at play in the world—war, disease, hunger—we must celebrate the light of knowledge and the hope it brings for the future.”
“To scientific triumphs that will change the world,” said his companion with a beatific smile.
Glass kissed against glass, setting off a sonorous ring.
“A lovely vintage, don’t you think, Mr. Becton?”
“Yes, I—” A sudden, strangled cough cut off his words. “F-Forgive me, I seem to be . . .” He reached out a hand to steady himself on one of the display pedestals, only to feel his knees begin to buckle.
“. . . Feeling unwell,” he gasped as he slumped forward, spilling the rest of his wine. A fierce pain spiraled through his gut, drawing a guttural moan. Everything was turning black as Hades. His head was spinning . . .
His companion plucked the glass from his spasming fingers. “It’s all right,” soothed the man’s voice. It sounded very far away. “All your mortal aches and pains will soon be over.”
