Page 73 of A Murder in Trinity Lane
I turned my attention to the view beyond the window. The city was slipping away, replaced by green stretches and the promise of open air. Kew awaited, with its glasshouses and fragrant pathways and—more to the point—a certain gentleman.
Nathaniel Vale.
He would be waiting at the main gate. I’d dressed with that in mind—modestly, but not without intent. Today, I intended to observe him carefully and learn everything I could about him and his family—most especially his brother Henry. Perhaps, if I dug carefully enough, I’d find what I sought.
The carriage pulled up to the Victoria Gate just past noon, its wheels crunching lightly over the gravel drive. Ahead of us, framed by the elegant wrought iron archway, stood Nathaniel Vale — composed, upright, and waiting with practiced charm. But he wasn’t alone.
To my surprise, three figures stood beside him: a younger man, rakishly dressed in a fashionable coat of ink-blue broadcloth; a young lady with honey-blonde curls and an overabundance of ruffles in her gown; and a stout, ruddy-cheeked gentleman with a gold fob chain stretched taut across his waistcoat.
As soon as we alighted from the carriage, Nathaniel stepped forward with a bow. “Lady Rosalynd. Lady Edmunds. Rosehaven.” His gaze settled lightly on me. “May I present my brother, Mr. Henry Vale; Miss Lillian Travers; and her father, Mr. George Travers.”
Claire, beside me, gave the faintest jolt of recognition. Her fan snapped open with a soft flick.
“A pleasure,” I said coolly, giving Henry only the barest of glances before shifting my attention to the young woman. “Miss Travers, how lovely to meet you.”
Lillian dipped her head. “The pleasure is all mine, Lady Rosalynd. I’ve heard so much about you.”
“All good things, I hope.”
Miss Travers grew flustered. “Oh, yes. Of course. I didn’t mean to imply?—”
“Shall we proceed into the Gardens?” I said aloud to the group. Best thing to do before Miss Travers turned herself inside out.
“Absolutely,” Cosmos heartily agreed, launching at once into talk of rare specimens and hybridized orchids.
I took Claire gently by the elbow and murmured, “A word, if you please?”
We stepped a few paces away, just beyond earshot, our backs to the palm-lined path.
“Tell me about the Travers,” I said under my breath.
Claire didn’t bother with pretense. “Mr. Travers made an ungodly sum investing in railway expansions north of Birmingham. Miss Travers is his only child. She’s new to society—last Season was her first. He’s bought her the best gowns, the best governesses, the best everything. Her dowry is nearly thirty thousand.”
I blinked. “And she’s on Henry Vale’s arm?”
Claire nodded, lips pursed. “He’s cleverer than he looks.”
“Does her father know his reputation?”
“Oh, I imagine he’s heard whispers. But Mr. Travers is nouveau riche. He wants respectability—titles, landed connections. A younger son of a noble house will do just fine, so long as he stands up straight and keeps his boots polished.”
I glanced back at Lillian, who laughed softly at something Henry said, her hand lightly resting on his sleeve.
Claire’s voice dropped lower. “He’s courting her with serious intent. And her father will push it through. Unless someone stops it.”
My thoughts flickered to Elsie. To what Henry Vale had done to her. To what someone in that family might have done tokeep it quiet. And now, here they were, parading through Kew Gardens with another innocent girl.
Something coiled tightly in my chest.
We continued to follow the winding gravel path into one of the glasshouses where the warmth and humidity pressed gently around us like a damp shawl. Dense greenery rose on either side, misting the panes with fragrant breath. Exotic ferns trailed down from wooden trellises. Clusters of waxy orchids hung like jewels. And in the center of a raised bed, nestled beneath an arch of protective glass, stood the prized specimen Cosmos had promised us.
“There it is,” he breathed, practically reverent. “Impatiens aurantiaca. Native to the eastern highlands of Madagascar. Extremely rare in cultivation. This is one of only three specimens grown successfully outside its native soil.”
The others murmured appreciatively, though Henry Vale’s gaze drifted to Lillian’s neckline, and Mr. Travers blinked with the fixed expression of a man trying to appear more impressed than he was.
An oblivious Cosmos pressed on with enthusiasm. “Note the purple bracts just beneath the petals. See that subtle veining? That’s how it distinguishes itself from the similarImpatiens gordonii, though the leaf margin is ever so slightly serrated in this hybrid. Remarkable, really, when you consider the necessary conditions for propagation—heat, of course, and an exacting moisture ratio. That’s why the caretakers mist it hourly. Every bract, every bloom—delicately monitored. A single shift in temperature and the entire plant could collapse.”
Claire’s smile curled as she unfurled her fan. “I do love a well-tended garden. One never knows when it might bloom again.”
