The Lady's Slipper (13 page)

At Lord Esham’s words the group fell silent.

‘Surely something must be done or history may well repeat itself. And I, for one, do not want another war,’ said Fairfax.

‘The only thing we can do is to administer the law as it stands and make sure we allow no room for error with these Quakers. The king does not want persecutions. He is sensitive to his position in terms of his popularity with the people. If tithes are not paid, then arrest the debtor and take goods in kind. This can be sanctioned within the law. And–’ Lord Esham paused and looked round at the others with a thin-lipped smile–‘we can always pay somebody to infiltrate these Quakers, befriend Wheeler and find out what is really going on.’

‘Like a spy?’ Fairfax appeared slow to comprehend.

‘That could be dangerous. Whoever undertakes it would need to be able to convince Dorothy Swainson that he shared her religious zeal. In short, someone who can play the part. And they must be absolutely trustworthy,’ Geoffrey said.

‘I have usually found generous payment the best way to ensure loyalty,’ Esham said.

‘I cannot think of anyone who is not already known to Lady Swainson or Isaac Fuller. They would become suspicious if one of us were to suddenly turn Quaker,’ said Ralph.

‘On the contrary. That is exactly what they expect at their conventicles,’ Lord Esham said drily.

‘Yes,’ said Geoffrey. ‘I have a feeling that Wheeler is playing the same game. His sudden conversion, hot on Cromwell’s death, seems a little suspicious to me. I think he is using these people for his own ends.’

‘The whole phenomenon is like a circus already, from the reports I have heard. It is the Devil’s work–claiming to be touched by the hand of God, and falling over and trembling and so forth,’ said Kendall.

Esham’s mouth twitched at the corners. ‘We’ll leave the Devil out of this discussion for the moment, shall we?’

‘I agree with Lord Esham,’ Ralph said. ‘One more person claiming to be won over would not surprise them at all, they are so stupidly convinced of their own wayward ideas.’

‘But who?’ Geoffrey stood up and walked over to the window. The heat of the room was making him restless, even though the itching seemed to have abated.

‘Are any of us prepared to do it?’

There was an uncomfortable silence.

‘I thought not.’ Lord Esham sat back in his chair.

‘None of us wish to be associated with such a rabble.’ Kendall was adamant. ‘I, for one, am not strong enough in health.’

‘And we all have our reputations to consider,’ Fairfax said. ‘There would be considerable risk–there were whippings and brandings when the king last took against them. And quite right too–the county needs to be rid of these heretics.’

‘Well, without proper evidence we cannot proceed against them,’ Esham said.

‘It could be a long business,’ said Ralph. ‘The spy must be prepared to sustain the act, for it may take time to win their trust before we find out the nature of Wheeler’s interests.’

‘It will need thinking about. If we were to approach the wrong person with the task it could warn the Quakers off and our work would be finished before it has begun,’ Fairfax said.

‘Let us think further on it and talk again at the next meeting. We have to deal with the Enclosures Act and the arrangements for the forthcoming assizes before we depart, and it is already late.’ Robert indicated the agenda on the paper in front of him.

With reluctance it was agreed to postpone further discussion until the next meeting. Geoffrey struggled to maintain his attention through the other items; his head felt thick, like sheep’s wool, his eyes bleary. He could not focus on the parchments in front of him, the letters jumped about like fleas.

As he got ready to depart and felt in his pocket for his riding gloves, he came across the cards Emilia had given him earlier. Now a little damp, the corners furred and the ink curlicues smudged, they came out with his gloves and landed at his feet on the hall flagstones, in full view of the departing gentlemen. Ralph bent over to pick them up for him, reading them as he did so. He would have to proffer the invitations now.

‘Lady Fisk asked me to remind you of our dinner next Saturday evening, at my home. The cards are here.’

‘Ah yes,’ said Robert, ‘Jane has told me about this. We are looking forward to it. She tells me there is to be dancing–not that I do much of that these days.’

‘Do you think there will be time for the gentlemen to play a round or two of cards, Geoffrey?’ Fairfax was a gambler.

‘Perhaps.’ Geoffrey knew no one would want to play against Fairfax–they would be sure to lose. ‘Emilia has planned the entertainment, so I really couldn’t say what her plans are.’

‘I believe she mentioned a play–an allegorical drama, she said. It sounds as though it will be quite an event.’ Ralph reached out a gloved hand for his card.

Geoffrey handed the last card to Lord Esham. ‘I know it is a long ride out for you, but we would be delighted if you and your wife would join us.’

‘I must unfortunately decline your invitation. We are already otherwise engaged. Please thank your lady wife for the card, and send her my apologies.’

Geoffrey could not help feeling somewhat relieved. Lord Esham set his teeth on edge, he had a knack of looking straight through you. Geoffrey’s head throbbed fit to burst, so he made perfunctory farewells and, trying not to look unseemly in his haste, stepped outside into the welcome cool of the rain.

Alice stood as soon as she heard horses approaching–for since stealing the orchid a tension had lodged around her shoulders and she was alert to any background sound. A serving lad had been over that morning to tell her that Geoffrey would call today to see her transfer the yellow dust in the orchid. Geoffrey had visited every day, suffocating her with his questions and his leaning presence. He had grown more persistent and she feared he would want to take her little plant, so she hovered over it whenever he appeared, like a mother hen with its chick. She wiped her brow with her sleeve. The afternoon light through the windows of the summerhouse was hot on her black wool dress.

She heard someone leave a trap at the mounting block, the shuffle of horses’ hooves and a rap at the house door. Ella’s slouching footsteps followed, accompanied by men’s boots on the path. So she was ready when Geoffrey’s tall figure pushed open the door without so much as a knock. His groom lurked just outside the door.

‘Good morrow, Mistress Ibbetson.’ Geoffrey smiled at her, but she could see now it was more from habit than warmth.

‘Won’t you come in, Geoffrey.’ Alice felt herself withdraw, as if to put a wall between them, but observed the usual pleasantries; it would not do to give Ella cause for talk.

Geoffrey dismissed his manservant. Ella, apparently eager to engage him in gossip, followed him up the path leaving Alice alone with Geoffrey. Alice had to run out to call Ella back so that she might order refreshments. She also set her to bring hot water steeped with coals from the kitchen fire, and to fetch over some warming pans.

Geoffrey sat himself on a tall stool by the table, as if to observe the proceedings with a proprietorial air. Alice did not speak. She would do as he asked, yes, but she would not be genial. She expressed her rebellion against his attempts to browbeat her by her detached, efficient manner. There was a tense silence until Ella staggered back with the pan of hot water, and a further chilly emptiness until she appeared again with the tray of cordial and sweetbreads.

‘You may go,’ said Alice, a little tardily, for Ella was already slinking away, ‘and if anyone should call, I am not at home. We are not to be disturbed. Do you understand?’

‘Yes, madam.’ Ella ducked her head. ‘Will you be lunching as usual?’

‘Lay out a cold repast in the dining room. I will eat it when my work here is done. My husband is at home today for a meeting this afternoon.’ She looked coolly at Geoffrey who was helping himself to the small lemon cakes and sugared figs from the tray. She saw him pick out something from his teeth. ‘Sir Geoffrey will not be staying.’

‘And, girl–tell the groom to attend to the horses and clean the trap whilst I am busy,’ said Geoffrey, between mouthfuls of cake.

‘Yes, sir.’

Alice had resolved to humour Geoffrey. She had been thinking about the likely scenes if she was found to be a thief. Like the rest of the village, she had seen Sissy Robinson dragged in her shift to the pillory and left there to be pelted and spat at before being whipped to the gaol. The uprisings in what they all called the ‘days of shaking’ had left a strange atmosphere in the air; there was a skin of normality over the village, but underneath an unease still seethed, like an unknown creature in a deep pond. A knot of fear had tightened in Alice’s stomach and would not let go. She felt its squeeze all the time now, like a slowly twisting tourniquet.

She moved her paintboxes and jars from the table and stood them on the washstand. Methodically, she set out the equipment she would need: the magnifying lens, a selection of fine squirrel-hair brushes and a large earthenware pot. She dropped the pot into the boiling water and left it to soak for a while. She also dropped in a pair of iron bodkins she used for embroidery. From a barrel of earth near the door, she used the trowel to fill a flat wooden tray with a few inches of dark soil. This she laid over the warming pans on the flagstone floor, turning the soil over and stirring it.

‘What are you doing that for?’

‘I am warming the soil. Although it is warm today, there was a sharpness in the air last night. You want your orchids to survive, do you not?’

After a while she put on gloves and used a pair of iron fire tongs to bring the pot out of the boiling water, before filling it with earth from the warming box.

‘And you have boiled the pot to make sure it is clean, and free of any pestilence–is that right?’

She nodded. Geoffrey continued to watch her, shuffling restlessly on his stool. His knee jiggled up and down, she heard the rhythm of his silk breeches rustling. He was never still, she thought–always impatient, always restless. The lady’s slipper orchid was hidden out of the servants’ view under the table. Ignoring his fidgeting, she bent to bring it out and calmly set the flower down on the table.

‘Hang me if that’s not a fine sight.’

Alice gritted her teeth. A week ago he had told her it was miserable-looking and not as fine as that other popish flower, but that was before he had decided it was of medicinal interest.

‘So what happens now?’ Geoffrey said.

Alice answered briskly. ‘First I will repot the lady’s slipper in the warmed earth; this will give it the best possible chance to set seed, once the dust is put in place.’

She felt his eyes resting on her as she transferred the orchid into the large pot and put the warm earth around it, tamping it down with her fingers. When she had finished she took off her gloves, filled a small jug from the boiling pan and took it to the basin at the corner washstand. Using hot water and a piece of lavender soap she washed her hands thoroughly and dried them on the linen cloth hung above the basin.

‘Well,’ she said, ‘I will take a moment to examine it to see how complex it might be to transfer the yellow dust from one part to the other. Only if I think it can be done without damage to the plant will I go ahead.’

She must have been looking some time because Geoffrey appeared over her shoulder wanting to peer into the lens. She handed him the glass without a word. She must be careful when transferring the dust not to damage the flower with the needle and to keep everything clean. Her orchid must remain unsullied, pure. She was relieved that Geoffrey, although a plant enthusiast and so-called scientist, had scant knowledge of seeding or growing plants. He would certainly have wanted to do this for himself had he known what to do, and she wanted to keep this process to herself. She thought of her father, whose knowledge of the plant kingdom had been almost legendary, and hoped he might be looking down on her kindly.

Using the tongs that were resting in the boiling water, she withdrew one of the needles with difficulty. She waved it in the air to dry it.

‘It is essential that you do not move whilst I do this,’ she said, looking directly at him for the first time. ‘The least breeze could cause me to lose some of the precious dust which will set the seed in the plant. Please keep absolutely still and do not speak.’

Geoffrey leaned forward breathing heavily, trying to see what she was doing. She felt his breath on her neck, but she was careful to shield the plant with her body. Looking through the glass she opened the delicate pouch of the lady’s slipper orchid and, using the tip of the bodkin, gently lifted out a single cluster of yellow dust. This she carried to the centre of the petals and placed in a small well in the central column, brushing it inside with a squirrel-hair brush to mimic the insect’s path. She did this tenderly, as if brushing a child’s hair.

She repeated this process once more before replacing the needle on the table and stepping away, wiping her hands on her apron.

‘Is that it?’

‘Yes. It is done.’

‘How will we know if it has worked?’

‘That was only the first part of the process. When the seeds have started to form, the petals will fade and drop and the top of the plant swell. When the seed pod has ripened I can catch the seed and sow it. This too is a difficult process. Orchid seeds are very tiny, like particles of ground pepper, and it will need special dry conditions if they are not to rot.’

‘But there will be plants if it all goes to plan?’

‘Yes, Geoffrey.’ Alice was resigned. ‘There will be plants. But not for some time.’

‘How many?’

‘I can’t answer that. You know as well as I that though there may be hundreds of seeds, only very few will germinate.’

She did not mention her father’s secret, that they needed to be sown alongside a fungus if they were to thrive. Instead she said, ‘I have to warn you, the new plant may not be as showy as the parent plant.’

‘I am not so concerned about the look of the thing. Good strong roots, though, Mistress Ibbetson. Make sure they have good strong roots.’

‘As I have said before, it will take time. Nature can be led, but not forced. Much like people.’ Her eyes met his. He looked away.

‘There will be a profit in it for you if you produce more than a dozen of the plants.’ He wandered around the room, scanning the walls, obviously looking for something. ‘And where are Lord Shipley’s paintings? I will take those with me now. You will be reimbursed for your time with the paintings when the plants are large enough for me to grow on.’

‘But that could be years…’

‘I am sure you will find a way to hurry the process along, Mistress Ibbetson.’ He smiled, but it did not reach his eyes. He gave a grunt as he spotted the framed ferns, stooping to pick them up. The room had become damp. Alice noticed the windows were steamed up. Droplets of moisture were running down them, leaving transparent trails like sweat.

‘My manservant will return in one month to see how the orchid is doing,’ he said. ‘If there should be a problem, let me know immediately. And if it takes too long, I will send for another expert to assist you.’

Alice did not deign to acknowledge his last remark. She would never let another botanist near the little orchid. She wiped her hands on a cloth, unlocked the door and rang for Ella to see him out.

Ella was a while appearing, and when she arrived she was flustered and red in the face. Her apron was all greasy and her hair had escaped in rat’s tails from her bonnet. She looked slovenly. Even through her annoyance, Alice was momentarily ashamed that one of her servants should look so unkempt. She resolved to have a word with her later. Geoffrey gave Alice a slight bow, but she gave him only a terse nod in return before going back inside the summerhouse.

Alice took up the watering can. She dribbled a little water into the black earth around the lady’s slipper. Once the seeds were sown, she would be able to return the stolen orchid many-fold, and plant the new plants in other places too. She would follow in her father’s footsteps. And she had her heart set on a lady’s slipper to stand over Flora’s grave, Flora had loved it so.

Alice packed away her equipment and washed her hands. There was nothing to do now but wait and let nature take its course. She had done all she could. The flowers would wither and the seed pods come–and then she would harvest and sow the seeds. After that she could divide the rootstock and nurture the seedlings until they could be replanted. She carefully carried the lady’s slipper back to its hiding place in the orchard, ducking under the low-hanging branches with one hand shielding the top of the plant.

Thank goodness Geoffrey seemed to have forgotten all about his monstrous flame-red orchid. She had made her mind up, she would never give him a single lady’s slipper. He would maul it and dissect it, and use it for his strange experiments in physic. Perhaps she could pretend the plants had failed to thrive. But he was a powerful man, not someone whom it was wise to anger. If he found out she had deceived him, her life could become extremely uncomfortable. There were rumours that when he was crossed he would send his men to plunder all your household goods in tithes. Previously she had dismissed these rumours as idle hearsay, but now she read them as a caution, she must watch her step. It was evidently better to have Geoffrey as a friend than an enemy.

As she put the lid back on the beehive, she remembered how Margaret, the herbalist, had told her to be careful. This warning had stuck in her mind like a knife. Perhaps it was this awkwardness with Geoffrey to which Margaret had referred.

Then again, perhaps Margaret was warning her to be careful of Richard Wheeler. She still did not know what to make of him. He knew she had the orchid, she was sure of it, yet he had not called the constable or asked Thomas to search the house. It was almost like a pact between them, an unspoken understanding.

She paused and looked out over the landscape, the trees interspersed with the slate rooftops, the squat square tower of the church. She thought again of him arriving at the door so unexpectedly. His old-fashioned manner of speech could have been quaint, but it only made him appear formal and distant. She could tell from the way he walked that he was a man used to action, but that this was somehow pent up under his unruffled exterior, like a wild horse in traces. She remembered the intense look in his eyes. Alice felt herself blush for no reason.

Whilst Alice was entertaining Geoffrey, Ella led the manservant to the kitchen, where they sat down with Cook to hear the latest gossip about Sir Geoffrey and his wife, the Lady Emilia. The groom had heard all about Lady Emilia’s secret affair and the letters that went back and forth, but Lizzie, Emilia’s maid, was refusing to tell them anything. According to the groom, she was too frightened of losing her position. They were agog to hear more, but the bell was tinkling from the summerhouse, and Ella reluctantly went to answer it.

She had chuckled when Alice had summoned her to fetch refreshments and said that she had not to be disturbed. Thomas was still at home and was in the parlour, going over some papers. She told the manservant Sir Geoffrey’s message, and he went off to clean the trap and see to the horses. When she made up a tray for Mistress and her guest, she made up another tray for Thomas. Cook was busy with the meal preparations, and a huge pile of gooseberries she was topping and tailing.

‘I’m off to polish the cutlery in the dining room and clean the windows,’ said Ella. ‘I’ll take this up for Master on the way.’