Chapter Thirty #2
“The boy is already in danger. For Eden’s sake, Elswyth, she’s already sent one assassin after you.
What’s to stop her from sending another?
Percy will always be in danger because of who his father is.
Queen Viscaria will not suffer a bastard to live if it will muddy the lines of succession.
The stability of the empire depends on it, and her grandson’s wife has just given birth to a girl. ”
Elswyth’s lips pressed to a line. Prince Oliver had indeed married Venus Forscythe. She gave birth to a daughter quite soon afterward. Some said too soon. The baby was a curious sight, with Venus’s golden hair, deep olive skin, and dark amber eyes.
“As far as Viscaria knows, the baby died with Persephone. There is no royal bastard, only Percival Gall, Oleander’s son and rightful heir.
Conceived on our wedding night, before the tragic fire at the Royal Gardens took my husband.
” Elswyth wasn’t sure of that, of course.
It was plausible, perhaps, but unlikely that she had conceived a child with only a night spent with her husband.
Her father shuddered. “Doesn’t it bother you? Carrying that monster’s name?”
“I’ll wear it if I have to, to keep up appearances. But I’ll always be an Elderwood inside.”
Her father smiled—an expression that was becoming less rare as he healed.
“What will you do now? You’ve waited long enough, and your son has been ‘born.’ You’re free to leave if you wish. And you have the funds to attend school anywhere you’d like.”
She sipped her tea. “Perhaps. But I’m not na?ve enough to think that we can keep up the ruse forever. People will wonder why my newborn is crawling.”
“So what will you do?”
“The world is a big place, father, and I’ve always wanted to see it. Perhaps I’ll go. Bring Percy with me.”
“A difficult life for a child,” her father said.
“But a life. I’m afraid that may be all I am able to offer him. And yet I am, after all, one of the richest women in Britain. We will live comfortably wherever we go.”
Percy’s laughter echoed up the stairs, followed by the sound of Mrs. Rose cooing.
Her father smiled and then sighed. “Perhaps that is for the best. But I hope you do not leave too soon. It has been nice having you here and having a child around the house. It reminds me of when you and your sister were young. I should like some time to enjoy my grandson.”
Elswyth smiled as well. “Not too soon, father. I still have much to do.”
Elswyth sat with her father for a long while, checking over his warping and ensuring that it had not spread.
Dr. Gall’s research had allowed her to formulate the treatment she now used—she supposed she had to thank him, at least for that.
The continuous intravenous infusion of an amber-colored liquid contained something called trichlorophenoxyacetic acid.
The substance had the ability to disrupt plant growth, and Gall had used it himself to prevent warping from the overuse of floromancy.
Given the notes she’d found at his estate, his knowledge of chemistry and biology was staggering.
If he could do what he claimed to be able to do, Gall was decades, perhaps centuries, beyond modern scientific understanding.
She herself could only understand a fraction of it; the rest was like a cipher she couldn’t begin to decode.
He used nonsense terms like deoxyribonucleic acid and genetic manipulation and eidetic imprisonment.
Sometimes his notebooks weren’t in any language at all but strings of letters, repeating G’s and A’s and T’s and C’s, endlessly, sometimes filling multiple volumes, alongside strange drawings of twisting ladders.
And while the bulk of his research was on what he called functional immortality, she had found a concerning essay regarding the revival of species via something called virological genetic transfer.
She still did not know what that meant, but she believed that Gall was somehow using floromancy to create a new disease.
How or why, she could not begin to understand.
She reassured herself that Gall must have been mad at the end.
And yet, she thought back to his offer to remove her scar.
Had he really possessed the knowledge to rewrite flesh?
Nothing in his notebooks confirmed it, but she still wondered.
It devastated and terrified her to think of the amount of research that had been lost in the fire at the Royal Gardens.
Decades of scientific progress destroyed in an instant.
She did not know through what methods Gall had developed these theories.
She did not even know if they were sound.
But he’d shown impossible abilities, at the end, defying even death.
How, she had no idea. But she intended to find out.
When she was finished speaking with her father, she went to her mother’s greenhouse.
Kehinde waited there, watering some of the plants.
He’d taken to the place since he’d arrived at Elderwood House, helping clear the overgrown plants, organize her mother’s ancient jars of herbs, and manage the freshly tilled gardens.
Kehinde turned when she entered, and smiled. “Elswyth.”
She curtsied. “Uncle.”
Kehinde smiled; she’d taken to calling him Uncle after Percival’s death. He had objected at first, but Elswyth had insisted. Kehinde was her family now as much as Percival had been.
“I have finished your book,” Kehinde said, turning back to his plants.
“What did you think?”
He shrugged, smiling. “I did not understand half the words, but I loved it because it came from you. I know Percival would have said the same.”
Elswyth’s smile faltered. “Kehinde, I’ve been thinking.”
“You? Thinking? I’m quite shocked,” he said.
Elswyth laughed, happy to see that Kehinde’s good humor was returning.
The man had been bereft for months after the death of her uncle.
It had taken tending the gardens of Elderwood House to slowly bring him back.
“It is a matter of importance to me, Kehinde. I know that, when Percival died, his fortune and title went to his nearest heir. And if the world were just… well, that fortune and title should have gone to you.”
“Hm. Lord Kehinde Ogunlana-Devereux, an earl. What a scandal that would be. If enough people die, why, I’d be king of England. Imagine that.”
“And you would make a fine king, I think. I can do nothing about the title… but perhaps I can amend the fortune. I have plenty of money now. I would like to give you what you are owed. An inheritance, of sorts.”
Kehinde smiled, setting down his potted bonsai. “Is that so?”
“And I won’t take no for an answer. Percival would have wanted you to have that money. And besides, it’s blood money—I’d rather be rid of it, knowing what Gall did to attain it.”
“And what makes you think I want his blood money?” Kehinde asked. He turned around and leaned against the table, pruning scissors in his hands. “Elswyth, let me ask you something. What was your uncle’s primary occupation?”
“He was an explorer… an adventurer?”
“And historically, does that occupation pay quite well?”
“Well, I… I suppose I don’t know.”
Kehinde sighed. “It does not. And his position in the House of Lords afforded no salary. But over our years of travel, I have managed to collect a tidy fortune. Percival, bless him, was the more fanciful of the two of us. I was always the more practical. So the bulk of our fortune, outside his dwindling family wealth, has always been mine. So while I thank you for your kindness, it will not be necessary.”
Elswyth opened her mouth to speak, but then stopped. “I suppose I never thought of that.”
Kehinde waved his scissors, unbothered. “When people looked at us, all they saw was a nobleman and his servant. Given the truth of the matter, sometimes it’s better to let people see what they want to see.” He winked at her and then returned to his pruning.
“I fear I’ve been rather foolish, then,” Elswyth said. She reached into her sleeve and produced an envelope, then handed it to Kehinde.
“What’s this?” he asked, opening it.
“It’s the deed to Devereux Place. I thought… Well, it was your home. And you made it home for me. For Percival, and Persephone. I purchased it from his heir and placed it in your name.” Elswyth shifted uncomfortably. “It was supposed to be a happy surprise.”
Kehinde looked at the deed. His hands shook slightly, and she could see moisture in his eyes.
“You hate it,” she said.
“No, I—” Kehinde said, voice trembling. Then he stepped forward and locked her in an embrace.
“Thank you, Elswyth.”
She hesitated before embracing him back. When he pulled away, he wiped his eyes with the back of his sleeve.
“Will you return?” she asked.
“And galivant about the ton? I think not. That house… it’s only ghosts now. Memories. I’m not sure I’m ready to go back. Not without Percy.”
The thought saddened her. “What will you do instead?”
Kehinde considered for a moment and then shrugged. “I’m not sure. I have spent most of my life traveling. These years with Percival were an exception. A wonderful exception, but an exception still. Perhaps I will travel again. There is still so much to learn. So much to see.”
Then Elswyth had an idea. “Well… in that case, I do have another proposal.”
Kehinde tucked the deed into his coat pocket. “And what is that?”
“I’ve been planning something. An expedition.”
Kehinde raised an eyebrow. “But you’ve been invited to research at the Imperial Botanical Institute. Oxford. It’s what you’ve always wanted.”
“I’ve begun to sour on the idea of the Imperial Institute, as it happens.
And besides, there’s only so much one can learn from books, and there are millions of plant species just waiting to be discovered.
I have the funds to go anywhere I wish. Fund any scientific expedition I desire,” Elswyth said casually.
“But as you once told me, the world is a dangerous place. I believe I shall need my protector.”
Kehinde looked her up and down, and Elswyth thought she saw a glint of amusement in his eyes. “I’m not so sure, Miss Elderwood. It seems to me that you are quite capable of protecting yourself. If you had kept the Ebony, then I believe you would not need me at all.”
“I will always need you,” Elswyth said, “and the Ebony was never mine to keep.” She still did not understand how the strange ability worked, how it had been passed to her like a mantle and then, at her insistence, returned to its owner.
But she would not pry. She had learned that the thirst for knowledge, like every good thing, must have its limits.
That all virtues become vices, eventually. Dr. Gall had taught her that.
Kehinde nodded, turning to face her. He inclined his head in a small bow and said, “It would be my honor, Miss Elderwood, to accompany you anywhere. As your protector, or as your friend.”
Elswyth smiled, returning his bow with a curtsy. “Well then, Kehinde. It appears we are about to embark on a great adventure.”
“It appears we are. Where to, Miss Elderwood?”
Elswyth looked to the shelf nearby where Percival’s urn sat, waiting, red marble adorned with a golden lion’s head.
“Percival always said he’d like to return to Africa one last time. What do you say we take him there?”
Kehinde, looking up at the sun, smiled. “I think I should like that very much.”