Evan Hunter - Lizzie

“Did you not want Westminster Hall then, sir?” the cabbie asked.

“Ignore it,” Geoffrey said. “The question was rhetorical.”

“I beg your pardon then, sir,” the cabbie said.

“Do you know what rhetorical means?” Geoffrey asked.

“Aye, sir, I do,” the cabbie answered.

“And what might it mean?”

“It means unworthy of an answer, sir,” the cabbie said, and stood erect again, and flicked his whip at the great black horse pulling them along.

Laughing, Geoffrey allowed the roof panel to fall loosely into place again. “There are fourteen thousand of these fellows in London,” he said, “and all of them fancy themselves to be wits. They’re absolutely right, of course — by half ,” he said, and laughed again. “They’re supposed to charge you sixpence a mile, you know, but foreigners will often pay twice that to avoid any dispute; so do be wary, Lizzie, and firm as well. They rent these vehicles, and so I suppose they have to hustle a bit to earn a bob. A four-wheeler’ll cost them ten bob a day, and a hansom like this one a pound.”

“More like a guinea, sir,” the cabbie said behind them, letting them know he’d overheard this last as well, and then slamming shut the trapdoor to advise them he cared to hear no more.

“We’ve even more policemen than we have cabbies, and if ever you should lose your way, don’t hesitate to ask directions of them. They’re well paid — your street-corner bobby will be earning something close to a quid and ten a week, with his sergeant getting closer to two quid — and they’re only too delighted to assist in any way possible. You’re not obliged to tip them for answering your enquiries, of course, but I’ve never yet known one to refuse a tanner in the palm. But then again, Lizzie, who in all England will not accept an offered tip? I haven’t yet tipped the Lord of Buccleuch or the lord mayor, but I haven’t yet met those honorable gentlemen,” Geoffrey said, and laughed again.

How very much like Alison he is, Lizzie thought. The same fair hair and flawless complexion, the same somewhat petulant mouth with its cupid’s-bow upper lip and pouting lower, the same green eyes, though very much darker than his sister’s — almost too pretty to be a man. And, too, he was possessed of the same casually knowledgeable air, the same spontaneous wit, and — most especially — the identical biting tone of voice, as though anything that touched his mind or his eye was fair prey for his quicksilver derision. When he took her, just before tea-time, to the tropical department at Kew Gardens, she was reminded again of Alison, and wondered if her comments the day before had had anything to do with Geoffrey’s choice now. Had they discussed together the things she thought might interest Lizzie? Was this dazzling display of orchids meant as a subtle reminder of Alison’s fanciful dissertation on American girls? But, oh, such a glorious array! And again how like his sister was Geoffrey, showing her through rows and rows of more orchids than Lizzie might have imagined in her wildest fantasies, as seemingly awestruck by their beauty as she herself was, and discoursing upon them (as Alison might have) in a manner that was at first informative and then — suddenly, unexpectedly — shocking.

“Aside from their extraordinary beauty,” he said, and immediately interrupted himself to point out a violently red bloom, which he identified as Ranthera something or other, “... as scarlet as your own lovely hair,” he said, and then, “ and your flaming cheeks, I might add,” for indeed his compliment had caused her to blush. “But aside from their extraordinary beauty,” he went on, picking up where he’d left off, “they’re not quite so useless as one might imagine. You know, of course, that vanilla is derived from the orchid...”

“No, I didn’t know that,” Lizzie said, still blushing.

“Oh, yes, the Vanilla planifolia, cultivated in Madagascar and the Seychelles and also the French West Indies, where yet another variety has yet another use — although a more plebian one. The bulbs there are boiled, dear Lizzie” (and this was the first time he used the affectionate adjective) “to abstract a liquid that is used for fish poisoning. Not to poison the fish themselves, you understand,” he said, smiling, “but to cure the poison injected when one of those beastly undersea creatures of the tropics chooses to bite you. Throughout the world, various species of orchids are used in one way or another for medicinal purposes. The mucilage from one species is even supposed to heal broken bones, and in some Eastern tropics the tubers are eaten like potatoes. A pity our barbaric Irish haven’t tumbled to that one, isn’t it? In short — and you’ll detect before long that I rarely address myself to any topic in brevity when greater length might suffice — the orchid, though so often compared to femininity by my dear sister, is not quite so uselessly ornamental as so many of our celebrated female beauties are these days.”

Ah, then. Had Alison’s little speech yesterday been a rehearsed and oft repeated one? Had she delivered it as a stage actress might, anticipating a response she knew would result the moment the words left her lips? Had it been, after all, flattery of the most blatant sort, and not the “honest praise” Alison had claimed it to be?

“The word orchid derives from the Greek, you know,” Geoffrey said.

“Does it?” Lizzie said. She was still thinking of the extravagant compliments Alison had so lavishly dispensed yesterday. There’s something so fresh about you... You have such marvelous color, Lizzie, that wonderfully fiery hair, and those incredible gray eyes... How silly of me, you’re quite beautiful enough without any artifice... Are there no looking glasses in all of Fall River then?... How prettily you blush...

She felt suddenly gulled.

She felt suddenly foolish.

“From the word orchis,” Geoffrey said.

“Indeed,” Lizzie said.

“Which means testicle,” Geoffrey said.

“Oh,” Lizzie said, shocked beyond further speech.

“Because of the shape of some root tubers.”

“Yes,” she said, and turned away from him. “I do so love these tiny delicate ones,” she said, knowing she was blushing again and unwilling to have him see her face or to comment upon it. She was quite beside herself, not wishing to reprimand a person Alison had described as “a gentleman through and through” (her brother, no less!) but at the same time reluctant to encourage any further discourse on the similarity of root tubers to portions of the male anatomy best left undiscussed in polite society. To her great surprise — and although he surely must have detected her diversionary tactic, such a great show of unbridled appreciation was she lavishing upon what was truly an insignificant if admittedly miniscule blossom — Geoffrey’s next words were, “Sexually — and despite the Greek derivation of its name — the orchid is an uncommonly curious flower.”

“Have we not seen enough of orchids?” Lizzie said politely. “I’m overwhelmed, truly” — which indeed she was, more by his shocking language than by the riotous display everywhere around her — “but I’m not sure I can bear much more,” and here she turned to face him squarely, her gray eyes meeting his, the set of her mouth clearly indicating (she hoped) that she did not appreciate such conversation and wished it would come to an immediate halt.

Apparently oblivious to her threatening glare or her compressed lips, blithely unaware of anything but the sound of his own voice and the certainty that he was disclosing something of enormous interest to her (or was he merely determined to shock, as had his sister been yesterday?), Geoffrey said, “The male and female sex organs, you see, are joined together in a single column. The stamens and the pistil, that is.”