It was not to be as easy as she thought. After leaving a grateful Lady Harford and Charis, Penelope could not find an apothecary who carried precisely what she desired. She might have known that fresh germander speedwell could not be found in the heart of the city.
The third one she consulted said, “I have seen a plant of that in the Physic Garden over in Chelsea. Pity it is open only to an apothecary, or you might get a snippet of it there.”
“Could you give me a permit to visit, since you are a member?” Penelope was vexed to find that the place was generally not open to the public. It ought to be, she fumed. It was not as though she wished to decimate the garden.
The man took note of the elegance of the young lady, then the gold coin offered for his assistance, and succumbed. “Of course.”
With the piece of paper tucked in her reticule, Penelope headed in the direction of Chelsea in her carriage after giving her new coachman the direction. Wanting to keep her work a surprise from Miss Nilsson, she had slipped from Cousin Letty’s house with no one being the wiser. Now she complacently sat back as they neared the river.
When the carriage stopped, she left the vehicle and hesitantly approached Swan Walk, taking note that it ran like a country lane, green, peaceful, and quite rural. The warmth of the sun brought forth the scents of hundreds of flowers and herbs in a near-heady aroma. Penelope closed her eyes for a moment and thought herself back at Fountains. How her heart ached for her dear home.
As she neared a magnificent iron gate, she glanced back at her new coachman, suspecting he thought her a bit mad to be out in the country just to visit a garden.
All she had to do was to get inside, then locate the germander speedwell. Miss Nilsson’s countryman, Carl von Linnd, or Linnaeus, had named it Veronica chamaedrys. Eva Nilsson said she had once viewed his famous botanical garden, and proclaimed it superb. Over the years she had worked with Penelope to develop a splendid botanical garden at Fountains. Penelope was anxious to get this business of finding a husband over with so she might return to her estate and see how her new greenhouse progressed.
The gate swung open silently, and Penelope eased inside, holding her pretty new violet pelisse away from the catch. The breeze tugged at her bonnet, but the violet ribbons held it secure. She debated which way to go first.
Two picturesque cedars stood not far from the banks of the Thames. She recalled reading that the tops had been shattered in a storm back in 1809. It was a pity, she mused, while hunting about for the speedwell. An aged gardener shuffled over to her, admonishing her with a rake held high in one hand.
“You can’t come in here. Very private, this place is.” She waved the paper under his nose, rightly guessing he probably couldn’t read and it didn’t make the least difference what was written upon it. She ignored him, although she was most polite in her attitude.
The old man seemed nonplussed, not knowing what to make of this well-bred member of the gentry entering the garden to prowl about in a skulking manner. He retired to a shed to watch her with wary eyes.
There was a pond set in the center of the garden. She tripped on a piece of rough flagstone while skirting the edge of it, and fumed at the damage to her slipper. Beyond an ancient cork tree, once called Jesuit bark, she espied the offices of the society. She thought that might be where the lectures were given, and hoped no one was about today.
After a bit of study, she determined where the low-growing herbals were located, and made her way over the unevenly flagged walk to the spot. Quick scrutiny found the plant she sought. It was a pity that speedwell was the thing that worked best for Nilsson. Another herb might have been a good deal simpler to find. But, caring for her companion as she did, nothing would prevent Penelope from taking an ample cutting of this plant, sufficient to make a supply of the remedy.
“Here, you can’t do that!”
This time, the gardener was accompanied by another man, a younger one. Both were extremely irate and Penelope began to wonder how she would manage to get out of here with the cutting still in her possession.
She rose from where she had knelt, assuming her most haughty pose. “I beg your pardon?”
Both men stopped, taken aback at her composure. The younger man took a step forward. “See here, miss, you can’t come in here and dig up the garden. It ain’t allowed.”
“But I have not dug it up, merely clipped a bit of herb for a special remedy.”
“There are no women apothecaries. What do you want with the herb?” the man demanded, motioning the gardener to go away on some errand.
“I need it for a potion. My companion is not well.”
“There are sufficient mixtures to be had at any apothecary shop.” He narrowed his eyes, suspicion seeming to emanate from every muscle. “I must request you to leave.”
“Would a donation to the society be welcome?” Penelope asked, assuming that, as usual, she could buy her way out of trouble. She eased the bit of speedwell into her reticule, praying he would not notice her deceptive action.
“Are you trying to bribe me?” he demanded, looking incensed.
Penelope hastily shook her head, aware she had blundered badly. “Never. However, it has been my experience that most public gardens are usually in need of funds. I had read that the Physic Garden had been having a spot of difficulty. Perhaps I was wrong?”
The man was torn between accepting needed money and teaching this young chit a
