Page 95 of Bane Bloom

His eyes came to my face as he lifted his cup again. “So you’ve heard about your predecessor.”

“Mmm. I understand he’s been missing for quite some time. I imagine it posed a challenge when searching for a replacement.” I said all of this in the mildest tone imaginable, never taking my eyes from his face.

But the accusation was subtle, and he chose to overlook it. “There is some urgency to the cataloging of the glasshouse, as the Society intends to sell Pine Cottage to raise funds for continued maintenance of the Physic Garden. We’re told by our solicitor that there is a growing demand for holiday properties in the Lake Country, and the house has increased greatly in value.”

My heart sank. Thomas had been correct in his hunch.

“The Physic Garden is in desperate need of modernizing and updating,” Harding continued, “and the gardens do not receive the patronage they once did, though they are as critical as ever in the education of apothecaries.” He fixed his gaze on me. “So we come now to the purpose of my visit. If the Society were to discover a new medicinal, one that held the promise of new treatments for disease, I’m sure you can imagine how that might benefit the Society and the Physic Garden.”

And the interim curator who’d brought it to them!

“I speak, of course, of this.” Mr. Harding reached into a coat pocket and pulled out a square of paper. My illustration of the Bane Bloom.

Oh, Cricket. Even in this uneasy moment, I could appreciate the irony. I had sent him the letter and drawing in hopes the Bane Bloom would help me demonstrate my worth and secure my position. Now he was hoping to use the Bane Bloom for exactly the same purpose. So many things had changed since I’d written him. But not as far as he was concerned.

How was I to take it back? The truth was unlikely to be believed. Even if he did believe me, it might very well make things worse. I was faced with following through on exactly what I’d promised the queen last night, and I had no more idea how to do that now than I did then.

“Will you take me to see it, Miss Gray?”

He was addressing me differently than he had in his office—less like a petitioner—which suggested that my recognizing the Bane Bloom as something special had raised me in his esteem. This might help me. But at the moment, I couldn’t see that I had any choice but to do as he asked.

“Certainly, sir, if you’ve finished with your tea.”

As we approached the glasshouse door, his eyes followed the path of the rogue vine. The number of flowers had doubled since the previous day, and for the first time, it occurred to me that maybe the plant’s trespass wasn’t unauthorized after all; maybe it was part of Thomas’s system of wards.

“Ipomoea alba,” murmured the curator, touching the tip of one of the tightly closed blooms. “Moonflower, from the Americas.”

“Wards off evil. Blooms where love does.” I started at this whisper and looked around, but I knew who had spoken before seeing the thin spiral of smoke.

“Beg your pardon, Miss Gray?” said the curator, turning. He had heard her, too!

Forcing a smile, I replied, “I was just saying that I think you’ll be impressed with the Banes’ collection, if you won’t take that as impertinence, sir.”

For a moment his brow furrowed, likely due to puzzlement over the difference between what he’d initially heard and what I’d just said. Finally, he replied, “I do not. I appreciate your discernment.”

I opened the door and we went inside, pausing at the entrance so he might look around. “The elder Mr. Bane and his daughter have carefully labeled everything,” I said. “And Thomas has taken excellent care of the plants, as well as making repairs to the glasshouse itself.” It felt important to stress the value of the glasshouse, as well as remind him that it was the life’s work of the family who’d made their home here.

“I commend their hard work,” he replied. “Though, unfortunately, there is no guarantee the new owners will have an interest in preserving it.”

“It’s a shame, isn’t it, sir?” Besides what the sale of the house would mean for Thomas, it made me unspeakably sad to think of the new owners ripping out this garden, or even tearing down the house, as I’d warned the queen. And this was to say nothing of the personal risks they’d take in further offending Nyv and her kind.

“Yes, well,” he murmured, and I caught a note of regret in his tone, “we will of course remove any valuable specimens to London.” He turned to me. “Speaking of which, where is this shape-shifting beauty?”

With an inaudible sigh, I gestured toward the lily pool. “Just there, sir.”

He started toward it, and I followed.

The Bane Bloom—the Elfbloom—was present this morning, and I heard Harding’s soft intake of breath. I, too, had seen it upon my first visit to the glasshouse and wondered if the flower enjoyed greeting newcomers. Or, perhaps more accurately, inspecting them.

“You have captured it perfectly, Miss Gray,” Harding said in wonder. “What a lovely thing.”

“Yes, sir,” I said uneasily.

He knelt beside the pool and took a magnifying glass from his coat pocket, holding it close to the flower. “And you’ve seen only the one bloom?”

“Yes, sir,” I repeated.

“Perhaps Thomas might be able to tell us whether it ever produces more.”