Page 59 of House of Roots and Ruin
His eyes darkened and flickered over to the looming shadow of Chauntilalie. “One of his fits?”
“I didn’t see it…but he sounded in so much pain.”
He nodded gravely. “It happens from time to time. Was Frederick with him?”
“And Johann.”
His face relaxed. “Good.”
I waited for him to stir into action but he turned back to the pots before him. “Aren’t you going to see him?”
He shook his head. “He’s in fine hands. I’m sure they’ve already administered his medicine—he won’t be particularly coherent for hours now.”
“What…what was happening?”
“Muscle spasms. He’s been prone to them ever since the accident. His limbs seize up, curdling like spoiled milk.” He brought up his hand, fingers loose, then clenched it into a tight fist. “It’s obviously quite painful.”
“And the medicine?” I asked, remembering the black valise.
He brightened, looking proud. “One of my own concoctions, actually. A mixture of chamomile to help soothe, cherries to fight inflammation, and willow bark. There’re other things incorporated too, of course.”
“Of course,” I echoed, feeling uneasy at his pleasant tone, as though we were sharing afternoon tea and Alex wasn’t upstairs, writhing in pain. Or rendered unconscious. I couldn’t decide which was worse.
“And every bit of it was grown right here,” he added, waving his arm across the greenhouse.
“I didn’t realize the plants were used for anything more than decoration,” I admitted, glancing about his worktable. “Or perfumes. Alexander makes them sound so—”
“Frivolous,” he guessed, a quick look of displeasure flashing over his face.
I couldn’t pretend otherwise.
Gerard sighed. “That boy only sees what he wants to…. Mywork is so much more than pretty petals and scents. Look at these plants, Verity. They’re beautiful, certainly, but the work I do here is important. It has meaning. These plants contain medicine, have healing properties. They can ease Alexander’s spasms, take the ache from his limbs. They heal burns, cure sickness, banish scars. These plants—things my son holds in such low esteem—hold the powers of life and death.”
“Death?” I glanced up toward where I assumed Alex’s window was.
“See the section over there?”
I followed the point of his fingertip and saw a plot isolated, carefully kept from the rest of the greenhouse. It was bordered by a tall gate made of wrought-iron filigree. Grimacing metal skulls leered down from the top points of the fencing. They were such an unexpected sight in this world of green, growing things, my breath caught sharply in my throat. “What is that?”
“Complete ruination,” Gerard said, awestruck. He picked up a pair of work gloves and offered them to me. Once I’d put them on, he removed another pair from a flap on his vest and suited up. “Come with me, only don’t touch or smell anything.”
“Smell?” I asked, but he was too busy at the latch to respond.
The gate let out a shriek of scraping metal as he opened it.
“You ought to have that oiled,” I commented, unsure if I wanted to step over.
“I’ve kept it that way for years,” he said with a smile. “I’m the only one who has the key to the greenhouse, but I usually leave it unlocked while working—in case Dauphine or Alexander need me. If anyone else should sneak in, while I’m in the middle of something, to try and ferry out any of these plants…”He whipped the gate back and forth. “It’s like an alarm system, you see?”
I felt sick. What kind of plants needed these security measures?
“Come, come.” We wandered down the central path. “What do you see?”
I turned in a circle, looking at the caged plants with a critical eye. The tension in my chest dissipated, like fog burning off under a morning sun. “Everything looks so…normal.”
He chuckled. “That’s the great misconception of plants. People believe themselves so superior to the rest of the living world—we’re civilized, we ride in fancy carriages and create lasting pieces of art and fall in love. We must be so far above all of the dirt and weeds andthis.” He pointed to a short tree with an ugly, thick trunk. The leaves were dark green points and a few orange orbs hung from the branches. “Strychnos nux-vomica.If you were to breathe in the ground seeds of those fruits, convulsions would overtake you within minutes. Before the hour was out, you’d be dead.”
He pulled me down another path, stopping before a patch of green shoots topped with lovely little purple bells.
