‘I will speak with Mrs Wright,’ Eustace said. ‘And get to the bottom of whatever this is.’

‘Good. Oh and, by the way, I have decided to stay.’

He stared at her. ‘You … you have?’ She saw astonishment and then a brief flash of delight pass over his face.

‘On one condition.’

He looked wary. ‘Yes?’

‘I want a garden.’

Perhaps there was no competition or, even if there was, maybe another garden would win. But Rosa had always believed you needed to fight for the things you wanted. The trick was to fight longer and harder than anyone else. You had to still be there, over and over again, slogging away long after everyone else had given up and gone home. You had to drag yourself up after every single fall, even when you were exhausted and bleeding. That was how you ended up with everything you had ever wanted. That was the only way to win, in the end.

‘Very well,’ Eustace replied. ‘Although I’m not sure why you go through the pretence of asking me, when it appears I have little choice in the matter.’

He looked at the clockwork raven on her shoulder and his eyes were full of a seething resentment that startled Rosa. She had seen it before, but there seemed something wilder about it this time, as if whatever control he had of himself was wearing thin. She told herself it did not matter. She would enter the competition, she would win that wish and she would use it to fix whatever was wrong with her husband.

CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

December 1837

Beatrice stood in the hallway of the Linnean Society and shook with outrage. Her hands were gripped so tightly around the document in her hand that she was in danger of ripping the paper. Her anger was a fist clenched around her throat that made it even harder than usual to get any words out.

‘H-How c-c-can you kn-know my p-paper has no w-worth?’ she struggled. ‘You h-haven’t e-even g-g-glanced at it.’

The secretary sighed. ‘Madam, this is a men’s establishment for real scientists. I’m sure your mushrooms seem most interesting to you, but—’

‘Lady Beatrice,’ a voice called.

Beatrice turned to see James Sheppard walking over to her across the shining tiles. She felt no anger towards him this time for leaving her employ. Instead she felt a pang of shame as she recalled the nature of their parting at Half Moon House the year before. She had been terse with him, perhaps even rude. She had said all the wrong things and regretted them later. But if he nurtured any grudge, it did not show on his face, which was as amenable as ever.

‘This is a surprise,’ he said, smiling. ‘I did not know you were back in England.’

‘Only b-briefly,’ Beatrice said. ‘I h-hoped to p-persuade the s-s-society to ch-change their m-minds about my w-work. But I c-c-cannot even g-gain an audience.’