The room around her was a smaller glass atrium, a side chamber of the larger conservatory. She lay on a sage-colored chaise against a wall, beneath the frond of a palm. The room appeared to be a laboratory of some kind: workbenches were strewn with bits of machinery, scrap metal, and crumpled blueprints. Exotic plants grew in pots around the room, next to complex systems of chemistry equipment. Liquids bubbled in beakers, percolated through tubes, and distilled into flasks. The place smelled like a mixture of burning metal and tropical flowers, but her nose still stung with a chemical odor, obscuring the other scents.
Dr. Gall slowly lowered her back onto the chaise. He held his fingers to her nose, a white powder secreting from them. Whatever he’d used to wake her, it had a strong ammonia scent that lingered in her nostrils and numbed her skin.
“Apologies, Miss Elderwood, but I thought it best to wake you,” he said.
“What happened?” Elswyth asked. The electric sensation was leaving her, and a heavy tiredness returned. Her head swam, and she tried to remember the hours previous—the corpse flower, its open mouth yawning.
“You nearly got yourself killed is what happened,” Mrs. Rose said. “Just think what that would do to my reputation if you were eaten by a carnivorous plant!” Mrs. Rose turned her fan on herself, flapping wildly, as though she, too, were about to faint.
“So glad you were concerned,” Elswyth said.
Thankfully Dr. Gall ignored Mrs. Rose. “You went into the enclosure of the corpse flower, Miss Elderwood. Tell me, whatever could have possessed you to do such a thing?”
“I was sketching in my field journal,” Elswyth said, faltering. “I couldn’t get close enough to look into the pit, and I wanted to see what it looked like.”
To her surprise, Dr. Gall looked delighted. “Merely wanted to look! I admit, I must admire your curiosity.”
“While admonishing her stupidity!” Mrs. Rose chimed in.
Elswyth tried to sit up, but pain lanced through her leg.
“Don’t try to move just yet,” Dr. Gall said. “My sutures are still doing their work.”
Elswyth examined her exposed calf. There, where the thorns had dug into her skin, red wounds remained. Each one was held closed by threads of green, hair thin and capped withcream-colored blooms like seeding grass. Beneath them was a golden glaze, shining like honey and soaking into the wound.
Elswyth reached down to touch them. “They’re incredible,” Elswyth said. “How did you make them?”
“Floromantic sutures? It’s quite simple really. A trick I learned while serving as a combat medic in Ceylon. I stimulate your body to grow a sturdy varietal of grass, almost like a thread, weaving it through the skin. Then I apply concentratedMelaleucaas an antiseptic and some aloe vera for the swelling… All quite basic, really. The problem was clearing the corpse flower’s toxin from your blood. It secretes a sedative and paralytic agent through the thorns on its prehensile vines—makes it harder for their prey to escape. Luckily I’ve been working on an antitoxin!” Dr. Gall lifted a small vial filled with vermillion liquid. “And then, of course, essence ofCocato wake you up.” Gall wiped his white-powdered fingers on a rag.
Mrs. Rose scoffed. “I must admit, I did not anticipate cocaine on this visit to the Royal Gardens. And you’re showing your ankle. With a gentleman in the room!”
Dr. Gall smiled genially. His eyes crinkled beneath his glasses. “Oh, fret not, Mrs. Rose. As a medical doctor, I have seen far more than ankles. Why, I’ve delivered more babies than I can count. But if it’s modesty you’re concerned with, I can always wait outside, now that the lady is awake.”
“No, please,” Elswyth said, glaring at Mrs. Rose, “I am already feeling better, and I should like to know more about your healing techniques.”
Dr. Gall laughed, looking between her and Mrs. Rose. “Already curious again! An insatiable intellect! If only my other students had your adventurous spirit, Miss Elderwood,” he said.
“Other students?” Elswyth asked.
“Oh, yes. I lecture at Oxford during the school year. And I take a select few promising young scholars as assistants. I would have thought your uncle told you all about it. That is why we are meeting, is it not?”
Elswyth blinked. “Pardon me?”
Dr. Gall smiled again. “Well, yes. Your uncle mentioned you were looking for opportunities to continue your studies while in London. Percival and Kehinde are old friends. We had quite the adventures back in the day, when I was still researching in the field. He explained a bit of your predicament with your father and Oxford. It seemed like a natural fit. Only a few hours per week, here at the Royal Gardens. And of course I’ll assign some homework here and there. But I could always use more hands on my projects.”
Mrs. Rose’s mouth hung open. “I’m afraid that won’t be possible, Doctor. Elswyth has far too much to do. And it’s not befitting of a young lady—it might besmirch her reputation, if any were to learn that she was…employed.”
Dr. Gall looked back at Elswyth, smile fading. “It wouldn’t beemploymentper se—I could not pay—but if that is truly the case…”
“No! I mean… not at all,” Elswyth stammered, “I will make the time—I would be honored to work with you.”
Dr. Gall smiled again, his face as round and red as a cherry. “Wonderful! I’ll have my footman drop off some projects I’m working on. Do you have a workspace, at your uncle’s house?”
“I will make one,” Elswyth said. A swelling feeling started in her chest—then vanished.You should be searching for Persephone. Not seeking your own advancement.But then again, would Persephone notwant Elswyth to seek her fortune? To live life as she’d dreamed it could be?
“Excellent! And Miss Elderwood, I do have a bit of sway at Oxford… If I find your work satisfactory, I’m certain I could speak with the bursar about the possibility of a scholarship.”
Mrs. Rose glared at Elswyth, her hands wringing the straps of her bag. “I think we will need to have a discussion about this in private,” she said. “Your father—”
