‘Apparently Neville is having little success,’ she said. ‘TheProteais challenging to propagate and requires some particular attention to methods.’
George sat back in his chair. ‘I am sure you are pleased about that?’ he asked. That took her aback, she thought a dislike of Knatchbull was one thing they shared.
‘Pleased about what?’
‘That he’s struggling?’ She pursed her lips thoughtfully and a knowing smile grew on George’s lips. ‘You are such a snob.’
‘I am not,’ she asserted – used to the accusation but worrying that she might have overplayed this card already.
‘Just because he started out in business and is new money, you don’t like him,’ said George, dropping another lump of sugar into his black coffee. Thea shot a glance at Fletcher. This wasn’t going the way either of them had hoped. George must have taken far too much whisky last night and didn’t remember any of it.
‘I am not sure you like him any better,’ she said in a gentle tone which she hoped would remind him of their mutual feelings and wouldn’t anger him. Placation was the key now, when he was in this mood.
George sighed, as if she were a small child hanging on his trousers. Even Fletcher was more patient with Samantha. ‘You know we must keep Knatchbull happy. He is in parliament now.’
‘Of course.’ She tried not to sound too indignant, even though the details of politics were kept from her and she couldn’t know exactly what they were dealing with. ‘I know you dislike his new money, and you know that I dislike that he made his thousands from torture instruments.’
‘Instruments of empire and discipline,’ said George. Thea bit back a response, but George went on. ‘The masses that buy them can’t be wrong.’
‘The masses of slave owners in the West Indies?’ asked Thea.
‘Exactly.’ George took a bite of the pastry, entirely missing her point. She knew this line would get her nowhere and only anger him, but she felt a little fire inside. She took a breath to calm herself, reminding herself that either George had expressed a desire for her assistance, or Fletcher thought this was a good chance for her to make progress with his support for her growing. Either way she needed to placate him.
‘I could germinate those proteas, for the queen, if I had more seed and the right propagation conditions.’ Her heart pounded in her chest as she said it out loud.
George snorted and sat back in his chair, folding his arms. ‘If Knatchbull can’t do it, how do you imagine you would?’ Her vision blurred at the edges with frustration, but she swallowed it down, as always. This must have been Fletcher’s idea, and he must have made a mistake. She glanced up at him and hated the pity and apology that she saw there. Nevertheless, her pride wouldn’t quite let it drop.
‘It is difficult with the current–’
He cut her off. ‘You know my position. I built you glasshouses. At great expense.’
‘If we could only amend them a little–’
He interrupted again. ‘I am tired of this conversation. I understand the seeds of the protea are rare.’
‘And?’ she asked, too defiantly.
‘And,’ he said, as if explaining a concept to Samantha – not that he ever did. ‘They therefore should go to the most appropriate growers.’
She stared at him, angry, but not surprised. ‘You mean men?’
‘Of course,’ he said. He was still polite on the surface, even as he dismissed her. ‘It is lovely for you to have your little hobby, and I am happy to support your fun, but this is serious businessand for the queen. How would it look if I procured the seeds for you, and you failed? Just like every other time?’
‘That’s all part of the–’
‘The process, I know,’ he said, standing and signalling that the conversation was at an end by folding his paper. He fixed her with what she assumed was meant to be a placatory smile. ‘But I am sure the queen only needs experts on that board. Maybe it’s time you learned to leave it to the men?’
Chapter 5
Two days later, Thea found herself waiting in a carriage on Rathbone Street, north London, waiting for a doctor. She told herself it was to seek the council of Harriet’s miracle apprentice on the subject of Abigail’s rash that refused to clear up, but really, she could have sent one of the staff to do that. Fletcher had apologised profusely for what he saw as a misstep on the growing issue, but she had thanked him for trying to better her position. She was embarrassed that the staff cared for her welfare more than her husband, but she was also used to it.
Nevertheless, she had found that defiance motivated her almost more than curiosity. George had never been so blatant in his dismissal of her before, and so when Kit Speckle had written to invite her to his garden, she accepted with little hesitation.
A carriage arrived that she assumed to be Speckle’s and she jumped down and waited on the pavement. Nobody emerged. She tapped her foot, then pursed her lips, and finally approached to peer through the window. As soon as she did, the door flew open.
‘I am so sorry, Your Grace’ Doctor Speckle was a ball of energy with a notebook open in his hand. ‘I just had a thought about vascular bundles and had to get it down before I forgot.’
‘Of plants or animals?’ she asked immediately, remembering her anatomy lectures on the vascular system. His eyes shot up and met hers, staring. They weren’t really looking at her though, she knew – she recognised that fervour – she was a spot to focus on while he organised thoughts in his mind.
