Page 39 of House of Roots and Ruin
“It’s a rare flower, found only in the Cardanian Mountains and nearly impossible to grow outside their acrid landscape. ButI finally perfected the right blend of fertilizer to add to our soil.” He tapped at one of the glass vials. “Sulfur, ash, and tea leaves.”
“Really?” I squinted at the murky liquid. “However did you come up with it?”
“Trial and error, my dear Verity, trial and error.”
I counted the pots before us. “And you’ll only make three?”
“In this trial, yes. Three. Always three. One is too small a sample. Anything it produces could be a fluke. Two isn’t enough either. Both could fail and you’re back where you started. But with three, you can observe where the problems are. Where things went wrong.” He nodded earnestly. “Always three.”
“We were just on our way to dinner,” Alex said, pushing his chair from the worktable.
“Of course, of course. Dinner…” He drifted off, his attention focused entirely on the plant. “Not tonight, I think. There’s simply too much to do. I need to take measurements and start sketching…”
My interest stirred. “Sketching?”
Gerard looked up, blinking at me in surprise. “Yes, of course. I must document everything…. Perhaps you might be interested in helping me? Dauphine says your skills with a paintbrush are quite commendable.”
“Father, she’s been working all day. I’m sure she—”
“I’d love to,” I said, overriding Alex’s protestation.
His eyebrows rose with surprise.
“This is a once-in-a-lifetime sort of flower,” I said, offering him a smile of reassurance. “I couldn’t miss that over something as trivial as dinner. Besides…nowIdon’t have to dress.”
An amused grin flashed over Alex’s face. “Touché.”
“Excellent.” Gerard patted my back with a hearty swipe. “I have a working field guide here….” He reached beneath the table and pulled out a massive ledger. “And there are watercolors stored in that bin over there.” He pulled open a drawer and removed tiny rulers and nibbed pens from its cluttered depths. “Alexander—go and tell your mother not to expect us…but have her send down some plates, will you? And maybe a bottle of champagne—yes! This calls for a celebration, wouldn’t you say?”
“Mother, dinner, and champagne,” Alex recited. “Anything else? Verity?”
The way he drew out my name’s syllables brought a wash of warmth over my cheeks and I was very grateful for Gerard’s single-minded focus on his instruments.
I shook my head and he began pushing his chair away, backing along the tiled path of the greenhouse in reverse, so that he could hold my gaze all the way to the ramp leading into the manor. Just before he rolled out, he winked, then was gone.
“Exquisite, just exquisite,” Gerard murmured, leaning over my shoulder to study my work.
Another two flowers had begun to bloom and I was determined to catch exactly how the strange petals looked at each step of their unfurling.
The tins of watercolors lay scattered across the tabletop like bits of the puzzles Marina and Elodie loved to while away their afternoons with. I flicked a damp brush through a well of juniper green, then dragged it across the page, following the looped stalks of the plant. A splash of red followed, hinting at the shadowy pot beneath.
Gerard crossed around to the other side of the work area, taking a long swallow from his coupe of champagne. He’d emptied most of the bottle already and his gait teetered unevenly.
“You know,” he began thoughtfully, “I thought Dauphine’s idea to bring in a painter from Salann was mad when she proposed it. Anyone worth their salt”—he paused to chortle at his own pun—“would be from here. From Bloem. They would have gone through our conservatories, found a patron, and would livein some little bohemian garret above their gallery.” Gerard raised the glass toward me with a solemn salute. “I was wrong and I shall certainly tell my wife so.”
His mention of Salann fell uneasily over me. It was simple enough to push aside creeping thoughts of my sister as I worked on the sketches of Alexander, but here, in the dark, my worries multiplied, gathering up behind my sternum and squeezing at my lungs.
He was happy with my work now, but what if Camille should write to him, tell him all of the awful things she thought of me?
Surely she wouldn’t dare.
As she’d said, a hint of madness would taint everyone, herself included.
Still, I scratched at the side of my thumbnail with anxious repetition.
Perhaps I ought to write her a letter—a real one—and actually send it instead of hiding it away in the depths of my steamer trunk.
Gerard sensed none of my troubles. He tapped an earlier drawing I’d finished, focus always drawn to his work. “You’re a wonder, Verity. Truly. I wish you’d documented all of my studies. My chambers are full of these ledgers but nothing in them looks as real as what you’ve done here. I almost…” He shook his head, chuckling at thoughts I was not privy to.
