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“Stay here, I will go and put a pot of water on to boil,” he murmured tenderly. “When is your housekeeper due back?”
“She has gone to a friend’s house in Tipton Hollow to sort something out for the jumble sale, and won’t come back until the storm has passed.”
Ben nodded. “Given the look of the sky, the storm is going to be here for a while. The clouds are as black as the ace of spades for as far as the eye can see.”
Beatrice groaned and glanced out of the window. “What about your horse?”
“I have put him in the stable for now. At least he is out of the rain.” With that, Ben disappeared into the kitchen.
While he was gone, Beatrice turned her attention to the mysterious package on her lap. Now that she had someone to keep her company, she felt a little silly for her earlier fear. The noise she had heard had been nothing more than someone delivering a parcel; that was all. There was nothing to be fearful of. That being the case though, why did she still felt as though something was wrong?
While Ben clattered pots in the kitchen, she removed the packaging paper from the parcel and studied the equally dull and boring box. She scowled at it for a moment, but there was no note, and no markings on the box to indicate what was inside. She lifted the lid and gasped as she was assaulted by the most unforgettable smell she had ever encountered in her life.
“Good Lord above,” she whispered, and wrinkled her nose up in disgust as she lifted the large flowering plant out of the box.
“What is it?” Ben asked when he re-entered the room. He was more than a little put out that she had received a plant from someone, and felt his hackles rise as he studied the surprised delight on her face. Unfortunately, that wondrous look soon evaporated and was replaced with wary disgust when the odour that came with the unusual plant started to fill the room.
“It is a flowering plant of some kind, although I have never seen this particular variety before,” Beatrice murmured. She placed it carefully on the table before her, not because it was heavy, but because the smell had started to make her feel a little sick.
“Is it intended for your uncle, do you think?” Although Ben hadn’t known Matthew Northolt personally, he had heard through the grapevine that he had been a well-respected, if a little eccentric, botanist.
“I am not sure,” she replied with a frown and peered into the gloomy depths of the box. Unfortunately, there was no note or anything to tell her who the plant might have come from. “How strange.”
“I take it that you weren’t expecting it then?” Ben murmured as he took a seat beside her. “I hate to say it but, although it is rather beautiful, that odour is a little pungent.”
“Pungent?” Beatrice replied aghast. “It stinks to high heaven.”
The blatant honesty in her declaration made him smile and he opened his mouth to answer, only for the whistle of the kettle to summon him back to the kitchen. While he clattered around looking for the things he needed to make tea, Beatrice studied the box, and then turned her attention to the wrapping paper it came in.
The label was badly smudged from rainwater, but the ‘B’ of her first name was still legible, as was the ‘N’ of her surname. Apart from that, there was nothing to say that the person who had delivered it even had the right address. Still, it seemed odd that something like this would be delivered here; to a botanist’s house, if it wasn’t meant for a botanist. It pointed to the fact that the plant had been left for her or her uncle for some reason, but why? Why hadn’t the person who had delivered it spoken to her to tell her they were leaving it?
She turned to look at Ben when he reappeared with a heavily laden tray of tea things, and lifted the paper so he could see it.
“It is definitely for me – look,” she pointed to the smudged writing and watched him nod.
“I take it that you know what to do with it?” He nodded to the plant.
Beatrice shook her head as she studied it. “I have never seen anything like this before.”
She trailed one finger along one of the waxy-looking flowers, and watched it quiver alarmingly. It was a miracle the plant had reached her safely, because it didn’t look strong enough to endure a good gust of wind, let alone confinement in a box. “Uncle Matthew would have known what to do with it,” she whispered sadly. “I just don’t have a clue, I am afraid.”
Ben looked at her with a frown. “I thought the beautiful garden here was down to you?”
The beautiful, well-tended gardens at Brantley Manor were renowned throughout the area for being the most stunning for miles around. Many of the plants visible from the road were varieties that were not popular in the area, but added to the wonderfully vibrant display that often made people travel for miles just to be able to witness the spectacle.
“It is, but this plant variety isn’t anything likely to be found in our gardens,” she sighed. “My garden,” she corrected. “It is just too delicate.”
B
en had to agree, he couldn’t see something as fragile lasting for more than five minutes in any English country garden.
“What is it?”
Beatrice studied it closely. “I have no idea. I haven’t seen anything like it before.”
Ben sighed and watched Beatrice pour the tea. “Maybe it was something he was working on. Maybe one of his associates, or friends, left it for him not knowing that he is no longer with us.”
“Maybe,” she nodded. “I really have no idea.”
