When finally the horses rounded a bend, Charlotte let out a gasp. The house was magnificent on a par with Rosings—large and imposing, fronted by a large, stepped fountain, which reminded Charlotte very much of how a guest at the parsonage once described the fountain at Chatsworth House in Derbyshire. The flower-beds were neat but not overly pruned, offering bursts of bright colour to enhance the landscape.Lady Catherine would never have permitted something so haphazard, Charlotte thought to herself,though really Rosings would benefit from a small amount of chaos instead of everything so uniform.
The carriage slowed to a halt outside the pristine white steps leading up to the front door. The smell of stewing rhubarb drifted in the warm air. Though they’d had an excellent breakfast of eggs and fried kippers, Charlotte’s stomach rumbled. As Mary descended, holding a hand out to assist Charlotte to the ground, a man dressed in a smart black coat emerged from the house. His shirt was so white it seemed to glow in the early afternoon sunlight. “Miss Bennet,” he greeted Mary, and bowed. “Mrs Collins,” adding another crisp bow. “May I escort you to the drawing room? Mr Mellor has been informed of your arrival and will join you shortly.”
The butler led them into the house proper, and Charlotte did her best not to let her jaw drop. The foyer was painted a lurid shade of green, and several open doors revealed other rooms painted in equally shocking shades of reds, blues, and oranges. The drawing room was the kind of dark pink that probably only butchers saw on a daily basis, and while another gentleman might have tried to match the colour with pink furniture and upholstery, Mr Mellor had outfitted the sofas and armchairs in a most becoming teal.
The butler bowed, then disappeared. Charlotte stared around in amazement, hardly able to take in so much colour. A long side table against the opposite side of the room held severallarge vases of flowers. She was delighted to see that Mr Mellor understood that the purpose of such an arrangement was not to stuff every possible flower into a space, but to arrange them attractively in a way which allowed each their own space to breathe. White lilies and lavender looked enticing against the dark pink wall and smelled wonderful too. Mary settled herself on the teal sofa, seemingly content to let her lover wander around. “What do you think?” said she.
“It suits him so well,” Charlotte said, laughing. “For he is such a cheerful man that of course his house must be painted in all the colours of a rainbow. One would never know it from the outside, however.”
“And how does it compare to Rosings?”
Charlotte ambled towards the other end of the room, where the narrowest wall was adorned with small painted plates. Some depicted orange sunsets, glowing over yellow beaches, while others showed odd statues she thought might have been Greek. “Rosings is such a stuffy place. One can barely sneeze without feeling as if one is dishonouring some surly ancestor or other. This, on the other hand, feels very comfortable, as if someone actually lives here. The beauty on display is not simply for show, but to please the man who sees it every day.”
“I completely agree,” Mary said. “I have only been here a few times, but it is so refreshing to see a house made to fit its occupant perfectly, rather than the other way around.”
Mr Mellor entered the room, beaming widely. Today he was dressed in a seaglass-green tailcoat over an ivory waistcoat and white cravat. “Mrs Collins! Miss Bennet! I am delighted to see you,” he cried, throwing his arms wide. “Has no one brought you tea yet? I cannot abide an empty table.”
“Your man only just left, sir,” Mary said, amused, and sure enough, there was a clinking sound from the hallway and the butler soon entered bearing a tea tray, followed by several footmen though it caused not a little chaos and confusion whenMr Mellor shooed all of them back into the hallway. “We cannot possibly sit in the drawing room, not when it is so beautiful outside. Take the trays to the terrace, please.” Turning to Charlotte and Mary, he added, “Come, ladies. I am of the firm opinion that refreshments are much improved when there is an agreeable view to accompany them.”
Back in the foyer, Charlotte spied a curio cabinet and could not help staring at the shelves, which were crammed with all kinds of objects. “Ah,” Mr Mellor said, noting her interest. “Those are my favourite trinkets—well, almost all my favourites. I keep some in the glasshouses too, so they do not dry out.”
Charlotte stepped closer, peering at a cluster of long-stemmed pipes sitting beside a long jawbone from a creature she could not identify. “That is one of my particular favourites,” he added, pointing at the jawbone. “I would like to have a cabinet full of them someday.”
“What sort of animal is it?”
“This one was a marine beast. I bought it from Cuvier and had it shipped from Paris last year, and he wanted a pretty penny for it, I don’t mind telling you. There’s a family in Lyme Regis who’ve been digging up similar things for a few years now, so I’ve sent one of my men over to have a look and see what might be purchased. The world is full of marvels, is it not?”
On the shelf above the jawbone, a box carved with long-legged birds was flanked by two large teeth, both as big as Charlotte’s palm. She leaned closer and stared at the box. “In a book I am reading, the captain of a ship received something very like this as a gift from some islanders he traded with.”
“I gave her Mr Barton’s diary,” Mary clarified, and Mr Mellor’s eyes widened.
“Why, you are entirely correct. That is the very same box—I bought it at auction after theRositaniareturned. The captain died, poor fellow, although he made it home in time to say his goodbyes, unlike poor Mr Barton.”
“You knew him?”
“Not well.” Mr Mellor sighed. “Not nearly as well as I would have liked to. Such a promising young man. Came to our salon meetings a few times prior to his departure on theRositania. I’d hoped to hear all about his travels upon his return, and I—” He broke off, hesitating. “Adventures come with a high price, and most are forced to pay it. I wish I had travelled more in my youth, though perhaps if I had I would not be here today.” Mr Mellor cleared his throat. “Come, let us step out of this gloom and into the sunshine.”
He guided them through a hallway and down a narrow passage made of stone, which led onto the terrace. Charlotte, bringing up the rear of the party, was the last to step outside, blinking in the brightness of the day’s sunshine. The grounds were impressive—an enormous, neat lawn bordered by flower-beds bursting with vivid scarlet, ivory, and black roses. Three glasshouses stood side by side on the right, a stone path leading to their doors. Gardeners in aprons and gloves bustled about, carrying trowels and mysterious bags. In the distance, far beyond the glasshouses, Charlotte could just make out several rows of low hedges. “Ah,” Mr Mellor said, catching her gaze. “I am growing a maze, and intend to put some sort of treasure at the centre. A beautiful statue, perhaps, to make the journey through the labyrinth worthwhile. At the moment the hedges are only up to here—” he gestured halfway up his own thigh with a flat palm “—but so much of gardening is patience. Is that not so, Mrs Collins?”
“Indeed,” Charlotte agreed, “that has been my experience, sir. It is not a pastime which lends itself to sudden excitement, but to careful and precise labour.”
Mr Mellor smiled. “Speaking of precise labour—I had my gardeners plant dill, as you suggested at our last salon meeting. They were dubious about it, but I am delighted to report that your advice was correct and my poor flowers have already begun to recover.”
“Oh!” said she, “I am terribly glad to hear it.”
“See,” said Mary, patting Charlotte’s arm, “and you were worried that you might have nothing of value to contribute.”
“Perish the thought, Mrs Collins.” He ushered them towards a white table, shaded by a large parasol. “You have saved a fortune’s worth of flowers and I am entirely in your debt.”
Charlotte had been so taken by the view that she hadn’t even noticed how pretty the terrace itself was—paved by stone slabs set in hexagonal patterns, bordered by raised beds of peonies in every possible shade.
“It is most beneficial for me, though I am afraid you have dealt a dreadful blow to young Mr Cromley’s hopes of winning a prize this year,” Mr Mellor added, grinning. Charlotte’s smile grew uncertain. “Oh, do not feel too badly for him. I won’t live forever, after all. Every dog hath his day, hmm?” He gestured for the butler to come forward and pour the tea, while they seated themselves at the table. “Now, may I interest you in a sugar biscuit? They’re quite delightful.”
Charlotte leaned forward while the butler poured tea. “May I be so bold as to ask a favour, sir?”
“Of course, my dear girl, anything you like.”
“I’d like to see the insects.”
