Mary raised an eyebrow, her lips twitching. “Other women would have asked for jewels or dresses,” Mr Mellor said with amusement, dunking a sugar biscuit in his tea. “And you ask for insects. My my, Mrs Collins, you are an interesting person. Miss Bennet told me as much, but even her praise failed to convey the true heights. Yes, of course you may examine the little beasts! I had planned to take you through the glasshouses anyway, for it is there that I keep my most exotic treasures.”
“Have you sent any specimens away for examination?” Mary asked, taking another biscuit.
“Yes, to Mr Kirby and Mr Spence, who are writing a new book on entomology. I also sent a few to Mr Leach in London,though he has such a backlog that I expect it will take him weeks to get to my particular case now that he’s moved onto crustaceans. Lovely man,” turning to Charlotte, “and an excellent scientist, truly, but he works far too hard.”
Since Charlotte had no idea who any of these people were, she settled for nodding politely and helping herself to another scone with jam. Mr Mellor had a wonderful way about him—whereas Mrs Tremaine had made Charlotte feel stupid and out of place at the salon meeting, Mr Mellor treated everyone with the same agreeable enthusiasm.
“How heavenly it must be to walk here every day!” she said, staring out at the view. “Gracious, I would never leave. One would have to prise me out like a mussel.”
“I quite agree. That is why I spend as much time here as business permits, though it never seems to be enough. Every day brings a new joy at Amberhurst. Please do have as many biscuits as you like, Miss Bennet, for my cook will be quite ashamed of himself if we do not eat them all.”
The ladies were perfectly happy to oblige this request, for the tea was lightly spiced and the sugar biscuits were a wonderful, sweet complement. “Well now,” Mr Mellor added, once their cups and plates were empty. “Shall I give you a proper tour?”
“Yes, please.” Charlotte smiled at him, delighted by the way his blue eyes twinkled.
He led them down the wide stone steps to the path below, and along to the right, past rhododendron bushes which grew much more ostentatiously than Lady Catherine would ever have allowed. A young man in rolled shirtsleeves, who wore a stained leather apron tied around his waist, waited in front of the first glasshouse’s door. “Thank you, Henry,” Mr Mellor said, and the young man pulled the door open. “After you, Mrs Collins.”
Obligingly, Charlotte stepped inside and was transported into another world.
Chapter Twenty-Six
Charlotte had been in glasshouses before, though her memories had left her unprepared for the tidal wave of humidity which swallowed her whole. The heat felt like a physical presence, squeezing her from all sides, but she had to admit the effect was rather pleasant once one got over the initial shock. She fanned her face with her hand, creating only a draught of warm air against her cheek, and wished that she was wearing fewer layers, propriety be damned.
Orange trees lined one side of the building, their branches heavy with almost-ripe fruit, while lemon trees lined the other. The air was sweet with the smell of citrus flesh, yet bitter with the scent of its peel, and Charlotte breathed in the heady aroma with a sigh of contentment.
“I’m partial to the entire family, I admit,” Mr Mellor said, wandering deeper into the glasshouse. Henry stood quietly by the door, looking perfectly content to wait until he was given his next order. “We grow pineapples here too, see? Though I’m afraid I cannot give you a taste today, for they are not yet ripe.”
Charlotte had never tasted pineapple, though she’d heard it adorned the tables of those in the finest circles of society, and was intrigued by the strange, scaly fruit and its spiky crown ofleaves. After admiring the lemons, already a stark yellow with only a touch of green, they stepped back out into the sunshine, which felt rather cool after the heat of the glasshouse, and strolled along the path until they came to the second glasshouse. “Now,” Mr Mellor said, while Henry opened the door. “This is where I keep my tropical plants. We had to dispose of some which were too badly damaged to be of use to anybody, but we saved a great deal thanks to you, Mrs Collins.”
Charlotte could smell the dill before she even stepped over the threshold, and sure enough, planted between each row of flowers were slender green stalks, each branching into heads of several fronds. She had always thought that dill looked a little like a sea of waving arms, eager to be noticed, but these had been eaten back until they were only elbows. Here and there, a shiny insect crawled over the pots. The flowers themselves were exquisite: slender orange and white orchids, pink hibiscus, and beautiful red camellias. There were violets, too, though not at all like the violets Charlotte was used to—their petals curved so that each flower resembled a small bowl. The air was distinctly floral in here, in stark contrast to the first glasshouse, though this too was pleasing.
“Now, Henry.” Mr Mellor gestured the young man forward. “Could you fetch us one of those blasted insects? A dead one, ideally.”
Henry dispatched an insect quickly and handed it to Charlotte, who flipped it belly-up in her palm. The shell was an odd, iridescent black, while the body proper was matte black. The six legs were uniform, the head small compared to the body, the wings neatly compact. “I’ve never seen anything like it,” she said at last.
“May I?” Mary took it from her and studied it closely, before shaking her head, evidently coming to the same conclusion. She handed it back to Henry before turning to Mr Mellor. “Ido hope one of the gentlemen you mentioned can shed some light on this case.”
“As do I.” He sighed. “As you can see, the dill has been most effective in keeping them from the flowers, but I confess the entire situation puzzles me. Where did they come from? And why, when we have gone to such pains to rid ourselves of them—for I even had a crew helping me to handpick the damn things off the flowers at one point—are they still appearing? It is like some terrible sort of magic.”
Catching a glimpse of another wooden cabinet in the corner, Charlotte gestured towards it. “You keep curios in here too?”Unusual, she thought. Most people kept such valued objects in a drawing room or library, where they could be admired by visitors, though probably most visitors to Amberhurst ended up in the glasshouse sooner or later.
“Indeed. Of course, the humidity limits what I can store in here. No books or preserved specimens, lest they grow mould. I mostly keep rocks in that one, though you might be interested in the object on the second lowest shelf.”
The item turned out to be a wooden statue of an old man with a long beard that trailed all the way down to his bare feet. Charlotte hummed thoughtfully. “This might be an odd question, but was this one of Mr Barton’s possessions, by any chance?”
Mr Mellor gave her an odd look. “It was, but how could you possibly know that?”
Charlotte straightened, frowning. “In his diary, Mr Barton talked of a lingering headache and a fever that spread through the crew. He even gave up his rations so the working men could eat a little better.”
“A kindness which probably killed him,” Mr Mellor said. “What a shame that good intentions so often lead to terrible outcomes.”
“I agree, sir.”
“But how does that relate to the statue?” he asked.
“Well, Mr Barton also made note of the fact that the return journey on the ship was troubled by a plague of insects which ate their way through the stores of food, causing the shortened rations in the first place.” She bit her lip, thinking it over. “It was odd, since the captain had ordered everything checked carefully for any mites or pests, to stop that very thing from happening.”
Mary studied Charlotte, her eyes alight with interest. “Go on, darling.”
