CHAPTER 11 #2
Hosack, too, had seemed distracted, his gaze occasionally slipping away from the speaker to the audience. However, as the gentlemen around them rose and began to file out to the main salon, the doctor muttered something under his breath and turned in his chair.
“I’ve suddenly remembered something that may be of help to us. Let us hurry to join the others.”
They followed the crowd to the postlecture reception, where already the pop-pop of champagne bottles was adding a festive note to the buzz of conversation.
“The lecturer’s mention of Alexander von Humboldt reminded me of an expedition to Spanish America that took place around the turn of the century,” said Hosack, looking around the room after accepting a glass of wine from one of the passing footmen.
A famous explorer and man of science, von Humboldt was renowned throughout Europe and America for his scientific expeditions and writings on the natural world.
Wrexford, who was growing impatient with diversions that led nowhere, was about to respond that history, however interesting, wasn’t proving to be much help when the doctor added, “Come, we need to find Markell von Stockhausen, who is part of the Prussian delegation.”
Swallowing his misgivings, along with a gulp of champagne, the earl fell in step beside Hosack.
As if sensing Wrexford’s reluctance, the doctor paused behind one of the floral displays in order to explain.
“Becton traveled for an interlude with von Humboldt’s first expedition to Spanish America, and I seem to recall having heard that von Stockhausen, who, like von Humboldt, is from a very prominent Prussian noble family, was also part of the group.
Perhaps if the two of them kept up a correspondence, he’ll have some idea of who might have had any ill feelings for Becton. ”
“Possibly,” said Wrexford, though it seemed grasping at a very fragile thread.
“However, we must be very discreet with our questions. I’m aware that there are already some rumors being whispered among our colleagues that Becton’s death might not be from natural causes .
. .” Charlotte’s drawing, alas, had done nothing to quell them. “And we don’t wish to encourage them.”
Hosack nodded. “Quite right, sir.” He finished his wine in one long swallow and set the empty glass on the pedestal. “I confess, I don’t have your expertise in this sort of investigation, so I will endeavor to let you do most of the talking.”
“Lead on,” said Wrexford.
Hosack soon spotted von Stockhausen conversing with several botanists from Sweden. Halting a short distance away, he and the earl waited for the group to drift apart before approaching him.
“Herr von Stockhausen, I’ve been looking forward to making your acquaintance!” said Hosack. “I’ve read your papers, and I must say, you have some very interesting ideas on how to improve Linnaeus’s classification system of plants.”
“Ha! The Swedes do not agree with you, sir. But I appreciate your sentiments,” replied the Prussian wryly. “You are Dr. Hosack, are you not? I, too, have been anxious to meet you. Word of your marvelous Elgin Garden in America has spread throughout Europe.”
“I am, sir, though the Garden now belongs to the state of New York,” replied the doctor. “And please allow me to introduce my friend, Lord Wrexford, who is a member of both the Royal Society and Royal Institution . . .”
The three of them went through the ritual of formal introductions, and requisite exchange of pleasantries, and then it was von Stockhausen who solved the earl’s dilemma on how to bring up Becton by broaching the subject himself.
“Dr. Hosack, please accept my condolences on Mr. Becton,” said the Prussian, inclining a stiff bow. “He mentioned you often in his letters as an esteemed man of science and a dear friend.”
“Thank you. I feel his loss deeply,” replied Hosack.
“He was a brilliant botanist and a very fine fellow—always cheerful and exceedingly generous about sharing his knowledge with others.” A pause.
“But then, I believe you already know that. Didn’t the two of you spend some time together traveling with von Humboldt and Bonpland on their epic expedition through the wilds of Spanish America? ”
“Indeed, we did.” A faraway look seemed to soften von Stockhausen’s gaze for a moment. “Though Becton left us after several months to travel on his own through Guyana, and then to Cuba and the West Indies, while I remained with the main expedition for another six months.”
“It must have been quite an experience to work with von Humboldt,” observed Wrexford. “The breadth of his knowledge and his discoveries—minerals, insects, and animal specimens, as well as the wealth of new plant species—are legendary.”
“Yes, he’s a man of extraordinary accomplishments,” agreed von Stockhausen.
“I learned a great deal from him.” He stared meditatively at the tiny bubbles fizzing in his wine.
“But it’s important not to dwell on what one has experienced and accomplished in the past. I believe that to keep making progress in science, one should focus on the present and the future. ”
“I’m sure Becton shared your sentiments,” murmured Hosack. “He never basked in the glory of his past achievements, but kept looking for new ways to make life better for everyone.”
Von Stockhausen’s brow furrowed slightly. He appeared to hesitate, as if trying to decide whether to speak or not. Wrexford held his tongue, hoping silence would encourage the Prussian to speak his mind.
“As to that . . .” Clearing his throat with a brusque cough, von Stockhausen shifted his stance before going on.
“In his last few letters, Becton hinted that he was working on a very important project, one that he felt held great potential. I do hope his papers and research have been passed to the Royal Society, so that despite his death, his ideas will live on.”
The truth, decided Wrexford, was the best answer. “I’m not aware of what happened to his papers.”
His response deepened the Prussian’s frown. “I . . .” Von Stockhausen took a moment to glance around. “I had supper with Becton before the start of the symposium, and I had the impression he was nervous about something. However, when I mentioned it, he made light of the matter. But then . . .”
His mouth thinned for a moment. “But then, at the end of the meal, a man came over to our table and began pressing Becton to reconsider the deal he had been offered.”
“A deal?” asked Wrexford, feigning surprise. “Did Becton elaborate on what that was?”
Another hesitation. “Actually, he did. He told me the man was a fellow member of his scientific society in America. A merchant by the name of Tobias Quincy.”
It appears Quincy hadn’t been willing to take Becton’s refusals in New York for a final answer, thought Wrexford.
Von Stockhausen looked to Hosack. “Are you acquainted with him, sir?”
The doctor glanced at Wrexford, who took care not to react. The Prussian’s English might be a little rough around the edges, but his eyes held a sharp intelligence.
“Yes,” answered Hosack. “Quincy is a founding member of the New York Botanical Society, and has been a generous benefactor of many of its projects.”
A look of distaste quivered at the corners of von Stockhausen’s mouth.
“He struck me as a very havey-cavey sort of fellow. And I don’t think Becton thought highly of him, either.
” The Prussian frowned. “Are you saying that Quincy possesses any botanical expertise? He didn’t strike me as a man of science. ”
“Yes, he does,” confirmed Hosack. “In fact, he’s working with his cousin, who owns vast cotton plantations in South Carolina, on ways to improve the plant’s yield. To that end, he hired another American botanist—a man named Jeremiah Adderley—to assist in the research.”
The information appeared to further unsettle von Stockhausen. “Adderley?” He sucked in his breath. “But . . .”
“But what?” said Wrexford softly.
The Prussian’s expression pinched in uncertainty for a moment, but then he decided to speak.
“It’s just that, well, having traveled in Spanish America, I have kept up a correspondence with acquaintances there, and hear news from time to time.
Several years ago, there was an incident concerning a man named Adderley, who was part of an American naval visit to the Spanish viceroy in New Granada. ”
After a quick look around, he continued. “It was said he tried to smuggle some rare plant specimens that were forbidden to be exported onto his ship.”
“I see,” responded the earl, keeping his voice neutral.
After waiting for a trio of scholars to pass by them and enter one of the display rooms, von Stockhausen ventured to ask, “This man Quincy—you mentioned that he is a generous benefactor of the New York Botanical Society. Does that mean he’s very wealthy?”
Hosack looked a little surprised at the question, but nodded. “Yes, he’s a very wealthy man.”
Von Stockhausen pondered the answer for a moment. “Becton didn’t mention Quincy’s money. Nor did he explain the details of the deal for which the merchant was pressing.”
He shifted abruptly and drew back into the shadows of the decorative colonnade, gesturing for them to join him.
Wrexford was a little wary of the direction the conversation was taking. As he had noted, von Stockhausen appeared very observant—no surprise, of course, for a man who studied the nuances of flora, but an unwelcome complication to a very delicate subject.
“I have heard my colleagues discussing the latest drawing by one of London’s popular artists,” said the Prussian once they had moved closer. “Apparently, it hinted at the possibility that Becton was the victim of foul play.”
Lowering his voice to a whisper, he added, “You don’t think . . .”
Wrexford gave a dismissive laugh, intent on nipping the Prussian’s suspicion in the bud.
“Good heavens, sir—if you were more familiar with the scurrilous scribblers of this city, you would understand that it’s their bread and butter to indulge in lurid speculations and stir up titillating gossip.
” Another curt chuckle. “Pray, don’t allow your imagination to run wild.
My understanding is that Becton had been suffering from a weak heart for some time. ”
“That’s true,” murmured Hosack. “His health appeared strong enough for him to make the journey, but . . .” The doctor lifted his shoulders in dismay. “But alas, Nature takes its own course.”
Von Stockhausen made a wry grimace. “Ja, come to think of it, he demurred from drinking any wine or brandy at supper, saying his physician had warned him against having any strong spirits.” A mournful sigh sounded.
“Forgive me for indulging in childish fantasies. It’s just that it seems like .
. . like such a cruel twist of fate for the Grim Reaper to strike at this, of all moments. ”
“Life is often unfair,” said Wrexford. “We men of science like to think that we live in an orderly, clockwork universe, where immutable laws govern the workings of the forces of nature. But there are many mysteries of life that defy rational rules. Death is one of them.”
The Prussian responded with a solemn nod.
“And besides,” added Hosack abruptly, “who would wish Becton harm? He was a gentle soul, and though a trifle eccentric, he was admired and respected by his peers. I can’t think of anyone—can you?”
“Nein.” Von Stockhausen looked abashed. “As I said, I reacted foolishly, wishing to find a reason other than bad luck.”
“Understandably so,” said Wrexford. The Prussian had given them some useful answers, and he didn’t wish to encourage further speculation. Nor did he wish for their tête-à-tête to draw attention . . .
Sensing scrutiny, he shifted slightly and caught the hawklike gaze of Captain Daggett, who was watching them, before the American quickly turned away.
“Come, let us go mingle with the other guests, and talk of happier subjects than death.”