July 1836

Dear Rosa,

Hello from the Chrysalis Islands.

I admit I had a moment of self-doubt when I arrived in Liverpool to catch the steamer and the agent informed me they didn’t issue return tickets for their West African line, as so few travellers manage to make it back. And in my cabin later that evening I wasn’t much cheered to flick through my book of phrases in common use in Imago and found that the first one was ‘Help, I am drowning’, closely followed by ‘Why has not this man been buried?’

It was too late to turn back by that point, though, and I’m glad. I’ve been here three weeks now and wouldn’t have missed it for anything, in spite of the mosquitoes.

Truly, it is another world. I’m staying in one of the large cocoa-growing districts and have seen butterfly species new to me every day. I’ve even been fortunate enough to see rare females laying ova. But I’m really here for one butterfly in particular. It’s known amongst entomologists as the elusive ghost butterfly and several people have reported sightings of it in various locations throughout the islands. It’s never been captured and some dismiss it as a myth entirely.

But local people say that it can pass through the barrier between our world and the next and can be persuaded to deliver a final message to someone who has died. One village I stopped at had a shrine to the creature, in the form of a tree hung with dozens of green butterfly shapes cut from banana leaves, each with a message handwritten on it. When I enquired as to their purpose, I was informed that the ghost butterfly delivers the missive by eating the leaf. One boy even showed me a message he’d found on his pillow some years ago, which he believes a butterfly brought back from his mother in the afterlife.

I sat and watched that tree for hours, but I never saw so much as a caterpillar. I think I might have glimpsed a butterfly down by the stream one evening in Luna, though. It was as big as my hand, a beautiful creamy-white colour with ivory spots and lacy wingtips. I happened to have my butterfly net with me and had just made up my mind to plunge across the stream to get it when it took flight and sailed away into the jungle beyond.

I suspected that collecting in the Cameroons was likely to yield great treasures, and now I’m certain of it. It’s my keen ambition to be the first person ever to capture a specimen of this glorious creature.

For now, though, my candle is almost burned down and the relentlessness of the mosquitoes is wearisome. I hope you are well, Rosa, and I will write to you again soon.

Your friend,

Beatrice