Like a Flower in Bloom (15 page)

But then he came back round again and took my pen from me.

“If you insist upon sketching with a pen, then I suggest that you draw the stem thusly.” He grasped it with a firm hand. Such a firm hand that his stem had no suggestion of its natural suppleness. He offered my pen back to me, and I took it from him.

Paying no attention to his suggestions, I went on drawing the flower’s leaflets, sepals—which so many mistook for petals—pistils, and stamens. Some of the society members went up to the front to consult the plant but, as it was an anemone, and since anemones were classified as Ranunculaceae, I had drawn a good several dozen of this variety over the years, so I
accomplished my illustration nearly from memory. After not having picked up a pen in two weeks, I found myself exhilarated by the experience.

As I worked, the tutor came back along our row. I might have been tempted to hide my work from him, but even he could not fail to be impressed with my illustration.

As he passed behind me, however, I heard him gasp. “Oh no! No, no, no! We do
not
do that here.”

Do what? I screwed myself around in my chair to try to see him.

He bent so that he could speak into my ear. “We don’t draw
those
.”

“Don’t draw what?”

“Those!”
He was pointing to my illustration as if it were some plague-infested rat.

“You mean the pistils and stamens? But that’s what it has. It’s an anemone. It has numerous pistils and stamens.”

A tremulous shriek sounded from behind me. There was a rustling of skirts and then a soft thud.

Miss Templeton turned round, eyes wide. “Oh dear! Mrs. Shandlin’s fainted.”

“Just look what you’ve done!” The tutor’s cheeks had gone red at their tops.

“What? What have I done? I drew an anemone with its pistils and stamens.”

Miss Templeton leaned close as well. “It’s not done, Miss Withersby.”

“What’s not done?”

“You’re not supposed to draw those.”

“But anyone can see that they have them. Why shouldn’t I draw them? If I can’t draw those, then I can’t draw their ovaries and then they might as well not be plants!”

There was another rustle and second thud.

“Oh dear. That was Lady Harriwick.”

The tutor took my illustration from me, grabbed me by the arm, and pulled me along up to the front. “I don’t know what you’re trying to do here, but everyone knows those
things
aren’t discussed in polite society.”

“One can’t just ignore them!”

“If we must refer to them, we call them
the
man and his wives
.”

And that was less scandalizing? “Well, then each one has a multitude of them. They are running a veritable harem in that flower.”

“For your purposes, they don’t exist.”

“Then I might as well not draw the sepals or the leaves.”

“Perhaps that would be best.” He took a sheet of his own paper and gave it to me, looking pointedly toward my seat.

I took it from him and sat back down. I tried to start anew, but my zeal for the task had entirely disappeared.

Eventually, he called for our attention and pulled a book from his satchel. “Now. It’s always helpful to compare your work with that of a true professional, therefore, I have brought along a volume to which I often refer.” He presented us with the cover of the book. “Mr. Withersby’s
Ranunculaceae
in
Britain
.”

Miss Templeton prodded me with an elbow and flashed me a smile.

“There is quite a nice illustration here of an anemone, just like ours.” He flipped through the pages and then proceeded to show the society
my
illustration. He walked slowly about, up and down the rows so that the society’s members could compare their drawings to my own. I held my breath as I waited for the women to gasp and faint at the sight of those pistils
and stamens, but they only leaned forward to peer at the page more closely.

When he came to me, he paused. “I will admit that your work shows some promise. If you could just bring yourself to follow the correct process, and if you’re willing to practice, I think you might be able to produce a fine little painting one day.”

C
hurch was quite agreeable that Sunday. I nodded to several people that I had met earlier in the week and when church ended, I even spoke to some of them before Mr. Trimble dragged us back to the house.

I saw Miss Templeton on Monday evening at a dramatic reading I attended with the Admiral. There was an air of resolution in her manner as she approached me. She took me by the arm and pulled me back toward the wall. “I confess that before the watercolor society meeting, I didn’t understand that there was a difference between a painting and an illustration. Upon reflection, I admit that you were quite right to think that a watercolor society is not the right place for your work.” She was watching me quite carefully.

“I thought so as well, but I didn’t want to seem pedantic about it. You seemed so badly to want me to attend.”

She smiled. “So let us try to speed you back to your work. Now then . . .” She glanced about the room. “Mr. Stansbury is here, and I think it an ideal time for you to speak to him. Shall I go with you?”

I sighed. “Every time I see him, I think of that dreadful stumpery of his, and I just can’t pretend an interest in a man so immune to good taste in nature.”

“Try thinking instead of that terrible Mr. Trimble and his taking over your job.”

“I try. I do try.”

“Then you must try harder, because Mr. Stansbury is an eccentric. He’s liable to do just about anything. It’s quite startling, really, the number of odd things he’s done since he moved here, so if the Admiral can be convinced that he’s set his cap for you, then your father cannot afford to hesitate any longer.”

“I do understand, but if you consider that I will have to hear him talk about that dreadful stumpery—and probably have to go see it—then you would not ask me to be kind to him.”

“Then I shall approach him for you and declare myself mad to see it and I daresay he will invite us for a tour. And if I let it slip that you’ve been invited to Overwich Hall twice now, just imagine what people will think!”

“I hope they won’t think I approve of his stumpery.”

“They shall think that he begins to favor you.”

“They will?”

“Indeed. And then I shall be able to see it too! I’ve been dying to do so, you know. He really is quite extraordinary. Perhaps he’ll even give us a tour of his house. He didn’t last time, and I’ve heard there’s an entire room given over to swords and sabers and another to a collection of clocks and watches. I’ve half a mind to tell him that to really have a respectable estate he needs a menagerie, just to see what he’d do. I’ve always wanted to see one of those what-do-you-call-thems with the long necks.” She sighed. “It’s such a pity you don’t want to marry him. I should think it ever so amusing to be married to a man like that.”

“Perhaps you should have him, then.”

She frowned. “My father would never approve. Although he hasn’t approved of half the things I’ve said and done, so in the end, that would probably be no obstacle.” Snapping her fan open, she fluttered it as she pondered Mr. Stansbury for a long moment. “The problem is that he seems quite incapable of falling in love with anything but his glasshouse and that stumpery. And my express wish is to marry someone completely besotted with me. Remember? No, I shall stand by my original decision: I think he’s best left to you.”

Between the readings, Miss Templeton took my hand in hers and walked the length of the room as she conversed with me about hair falls and gowns. When she paused to open her fan and look about, I was quite surprised to find that we had come to a stop in front of Mr. Stansbury.

He bowed.

We curtseyed.

She squeezed my hand. “Miss Withersby has told me such stories of your . . . your . . . ?” Her brow puckered.

I mouthed the word
stumpery
.

“Sumpery.”

“My
stump
ery?”

“That’s it! You see, it’s such a fantastical idea that I really can’t quite conceive the picture of it.”

“It’s a garden of sorts set with tree stumps placed upside down so their roots show. Does that give you a better idea?”

“Not really.”

“There are twenty-three such stumps. I just began to cultivate it last spring, and I—”

Really, I’d had enough of such foolishness. “What I’ve al
ways wondered is how one
cultivates
a stump.” It defied the definition of the word
cultivate
, did it not, when the thing was dead to begin with? “Perhaps caretaking would be a better way to explain it.”

Miss Templeton’s smile was fixed to her face, although her eyes looked quite vexed. “I really have
so
little imagination, Mr. Stansbury. I’m afraid it’s one of my most grievous faults.”

He smiled down at her as if he considered her fault a virtue. “I’ve always been a man more inclined to the practical than the fanciful myself, Miss Templeton. I see no reason for you to apologize.”

“That’s so kind. So very kind. Isn’t it, Miss Withersby?”

I felt my brow wrinkle as she looked at me.

Her brows sunk into a curve. “You’re so very kind, Mr. Stansbury, that I wonder if you would consider doing me a favor?”

“For you I would descend into the salt mines, Miss Templeton; I would brave even those steaming, malodorous salt pans.”

Her cheeks colored. “I’m such a dreadfully curious creature. My father is forever saying so. I’ve always supposed it the consequence of having been left motherless—”

The levity left Mr. Stansbury’s eyes in an instant. “I’m so sorry. I had no idea that your mother—”

“There’s no reason you ought to be sorry, but in any case, I
do
so wish I could see your stumpery.”

He searched her eyes for a moment before answering. When he did, his smile had returned. “I would consider it an honor. Why don’t you come tomorrow? I will show it to you myself.”

She linked her arm with mine. “You’re too generous! You’re so thoughtful! We’d be delighted to come. Wouldn’t we, Miss Withersby?”

“Tomorrow? I’m not certain I can—”

She jabbed me in the ribs with her elbow.

“Yes. That would be fine.”

“Is anything wrong, Miss Withersby?” Mr. Trimble asked the next day as we sat across from each other at our midday meal.

“Wrong? No. Why would you think so?”

“You’re attacking that veal quite violently.”

I looked down to find I’d been shredding the meat with my knife. “It’s just . . .”

Father looked over at me, pushing his spectacles back up his nose.

“It’s just that . . . I am contemplating Mr. Stansbury and how dreadful it would make me feel to leave this place for his.”

“Dreadful? You sound as if you don’t care for the man.”

“Did I say that? No. I did not. I’ve actually become quite . . . quite . . . fixed to the idea that I could improve his taste.”

Mr. Trimble was frowning at me. Again. “It seems to me one ought to marry a person of whose taste one already approves.”

I smiled. “They say love is blind. I daresay it must be true.”

He was looking at me as though he held my words suspect. “Perhaps. In any case, we received a missive yesterday from the butcher demanding last month’s payment. He said he had sent the bill, and I know that I saw it, but it’s quite gone missing.”

Father sighed. “I searched for it half the night.” He stifled a yawn. “I can’t imagine what happened to it. Mr. Trimble has quite the system, you know, for managing . . . for managing . . . everything.”

He’d stayed up half the night? Looking for a bill I’d hidden? Guilt pinched my conscience.

“Might you have come across it, Miss Withersby?” Mr. Trimble’s gaze seemed to peer deep down into my soul.

I meant for
him
to be the victim of my perfidy, not my father.

My father spoke again. “I suppose . . . there must be someplace I didn’t look. Perhaps I’ll just start again and look through everything once more.”

“No!” Heaven help me, I was no good at deception. “Let me look. Maybe I’ll find it.” And the letters from Ceylon and the University of Edinburgh as well.

Once the men began their discussions after lunch, I made quick work of undoing my deceit. I couldn’t leave fast enough once the Admiral arrived with his carriage. We fetched Miss Templeton, who chattered the entire way.

Once arrived, we exchanged our carriage for Mr. Stansbury’s open landau, and he proceeded to take us through his stumpery at an excruciatingly slow pace. I have to think that several hours passed before we reached the middle of it, and there—in a pagoda up on a rise where we could view the stumpery in its entirety—we found tea waiting along with a tray of biscuits and some tiny little sandwiches. The Admiral took up several.

“So what do you think of my stumpery, Miss Templeton?”

“If you must know, I think it completely appalling!”

I very nearly choked at her words.

Mr. Stansbury blinked, and a flush began to rise up around his ears. “You . . . you do? I rather thought it the height of fashion.”

“I do hope you’re not finished with it yet.”

“Well, no. In fact, I’m not. I had thought that—”

“What’s needed are some ferns and some vines.” She had left us at the table and was walking around the pagoda, looking at the views.

Mr. Stansbury had half risen from his chair in order to keep her in sight.

“And I do hope you’re thinking of adding some birds?”

“Well, I hadn’t thought that—”

“Because I find birds are so necessary to creating a natural sort of garden. I should think they’d find these roots the perfect place to build their nests.”

“I’m sure they—”

“You
will
have some vines, won’t you?” She was walking back to us now. “I’m sure Miss Withersby knows exactly which ones would grow best. You’d want some really vicious ones that like to climb.” She was looking at me as if I ought to say something. “You know the ones, Miss Withersby, don’t you?”

“Perhaps some ivy. Or wild lilac.”

“A wild lilac! Those flower, don’t they?”

I nodded.

“They’d like it here ever so much.”

Mr. Stansbury was spluttering. “But it’s meant to look like a ruin!”

“Yes, but ruins are only a means to a romantic vista. When I visited Tintern Abbey last year, I was delighted to find it overgrown. It was so picturesque. You do approve of the picturesque, don’t you?”

“I’d never considered—”

“Yes. I think the picturesque is what’s lacking here.” She paused and turned to survey the stumpery once more. “I’m sure Miss Withersby could have it looking perfectly decrepit in a matter of days. She’s an expert in botany, you know.”

“I certainly agree with—”

“A veritable genius.” She came forward and took me by the arm, propelling me from my seat toward his. “I’m sure it will take some time to get it to look respectably overgrown, so you and Miss Withersby have much to talk about. I don’t mind taking a bit of a ramble while you speak. If, that is, you don’t mind my going about here and there to look around?”

“Of course not. Please, feel free . . .”

The Admiral had already offered up his arm to her. They turned to stroll down the steps and then ambled off along a pebble-strewn path toward a particularly monstrous specimen of an upturned stump.

Mr. Stansbury watched them for a moment and then slid a glance in my direction before looking once more toward Miss Templeton. “I hadn’t quite realized before how bare this all is. But if she says it needs to be more picturesque . . .”

“In my experience, Miss Templeton is quite knowledgeable where fashion is concerned. If she says a thing is stylish—or not—you can be certain it’s true.”

“She’s rather formidable for one so young.”

“I quite agree.”

He threw back his head and laughed. “I haven’t been so entertained, nor so thoroughly scolded, in ages.” He left off looking at Miss Templeton and turned his green-eyed gaze upon me. “Now then, Miss Withersby, I throw myself entirely upon your genius. What would be the quickest, most fashionable way to make my stumpery more suitably picturesque?”

We spoke for quite some time about ivy and honeysuckle, dog roses and wild clematis. While I didn’t generally approve of invasive plants, I laid aside my prejudices for the greater good of covering up Mr. Stansbury’s stumps.