Kathleen Tessaro - The Perfume Collector

Of course, Eva already knew the Hall and, more importantly, Ivy House – the red-brick Queen Anne house, set back on the grounds, behind a high garden wall covered in ivy and moss. She’d walked past it a dozen times since her arrival, hoping against hope for a glimpse of her little girl.

The interview at Ivy House had been terrifying; exhilarating. Catherine Maudley had fallen upon her like a starving man at a banquet. ‘At last! I can really work!’ she declared, barely glancing at the references in front of her. ‘When can you start?’

Now, as Eva pressed her head to her pillow at night, with her cheek against the cool linen, she listened, waiting until the house fell quiet. Then she got out of bed, crept soundlessly down the steps from her room in the attic and stole, undetected, into the nursery.

Crouching down by the side of her bed, she watched as Grace’s chest rose and fell in an even, sighing rhythm.

Sometimes she stayed there half the night.

Leaning over, she inhaled the fragrance of Grace’s matted hair; an intoxicating blend of warm sweat and tender, young skin. It was a smell that went to her very core; feeding a hunger that could never be satisfied.

Reaching out, Eva ran her fingers gently along the curve of Grace’s round little cheek.

Whatever her sins were, God must have forgiven them.

Here was heaven; here was redemption.

Here was her place on earth.

Folding the morning paper, Catherine Maudley took another sip of her tea, then held out her cup for Eva to refill. ‘Take Mr Maudley something to eat, Lena, will you?’ She stirred some milk into her cup. ‘He’s been up half the night and has locked himself away in that office of his again.’

Eva hesitated. The greenhouse was normally off limits. ‘What shall I take him, ma’am?’

‘Tea and toast,’ Catherine decided, opening one of her many notebooks and slipping on her reading glasses. ‘Or whatever. I shouldn’t think it matters. I don’t suppose he’ll actually eat it, but one tries, doesn’t one?’

‘Yes, ma’am,’ Eva nodded, heading back down into the kitchen. She wasn’t keen to go on her own.

Grace was sitting at the table, making a drawing with some colouring pencils, swinging her feet to and fro.

‘Darling,’ Eva turned to her, ‘would you like to give your father some of those black biscuits?’

Grace slid off her chair. ‘Yes, please!’

Eva arranged a tray with a pot of tea, a jug of milk, and some sliced apple and cheese, along with the charcoal biscuits on a pretty little plate. (No one wanted to eat cold toast.) She gave the plate to Grace to carry and together they walked over to the greenhouse and knocked on the door.

After a while, Jonathan Maudley unlocked the door, dressed in a laboratory coat. He looked from one to the other. ‘What’s this?’

‘We brought you something to eat.’ Grace held up the plate eagerly. ‘These will help your tummy! We made them, only Lena made them mostly…’ she corrected herself.

‘They have charcoal in them, sir. But only a small amount. They aid the digestion,’ Eva explained quietly.

‘Do they?’ He gave an uncertain smile, then took a step back. ‘Well, then, you’d better come in.’

They followed him through the main body of the greenhouse, past the laboratory and into his office at the back. Plants were lined and labelled in meticulous rows; the air was humid, thick with the damp ripe scent of greenery mixed with rich, black soil. There were pots and troughs, and neatly arranged species in various stages of growth; the laboratory was lined with small glass Petri dishes and vials, a large microscope, charts and notebooks. The office itself was small, housing mostly a large writing desk and an old settee, pushed up against one wall. It was clear from the way the pillows were arranged at one end that it often served as a bed.

Eva placed the tray down on the desk.

Grace stood tightly clutching the plate of biscuits. The thrill of being a guest of her father’s was almost too overwhelming.

Eva was about to go when Jonathan Maudley crouched down in front of Grace. ‘May I?’ he asked, taking one of the biscuits.

Grace’s eyes widened. ‘Yes, Daddy.’ She held the plate up higher.

He took one and bit into it. ‘Not bad,’ he decided. ‘I think I feel better already.’

‘Really?’ Grace stepped forward, the biscuits sliding perilously close to the edge of the plate.

‘Careful, mon ange ,’ Eva intervened, steadying her hand.

Jonathan Maudley was looking at her, at the mark on her palm.

She let go. ‘We should let your father get back to his work,’ she said briskly, laying a hand gently on Grace’s shoulder. ‘He is a busy man.’

But Grace didn’t want to leave. She’d never been allowed inside the greenhouse before. ‘What are you doing, Daddy? May I watch?’

Jonathan hesitated. Then he took the plate from her and set it on the desk. ‘Come with me.’ He held out his hand and she slipped her palm into his. It was large and warm and calloused.

He led her into the laboratory where almost a dozen small plants were lined up in identical pots, each numbered and labelled.

‘I am studying this common plant, called belladonna,’ he explained. ‘It grows wild all around Great Britain and has many possible medicinal properties but it’s also highly toxic.’

Grace stared at him.

‘It can be made into medicine,’ Eva interjected gently, ‘only it is also very poisonous.’

‘But how can poison be medicine?’ Grace asked. Jonathan smiled. ‘That’s a clever question. Many medicines can be helpful in small doses but if you have too much, they will make you extremely ill.’

‘Like sugar,’ Grace added, eager to prove she understood what he meant.

‘A little like sugar,’ he agreed, ‘only much more serious. For example aspirin, which you take when you have a fever, is made from willow bark. If you were ill and didn’t have any aspirin, you could brew yourself some willow bark tea instead. Nature is miraculous that way. But you can’t do that with belladonna.’ He pointed to the row of tiny plants. ‘My job is to see if I can breed a form of this species that has the good qualities without the harmful ones. But, in the wild, you must remember that they have terribly poisonous berries and you must never eat them. Promise?’

Grace nodded solemnly. ‘I won’t ever!’

Eva looked around her, at the fragrant heat and greenery. It reminded her of Andre’s workshop – the long wooden table lined with notebooks, the various vials; a private world of creation.

‘We should leave your father now.’ Again, she tried to move Grace towards the door.

Grace pulled away. ‘But we haven’t finished yet, have we?’

‘We shall see your father at supper,’ Eva reminded her. ‘But we must allow him time to work.’

Jonathan reached out, laid his hand gently upon the top of Grace’s head. ‘Perhaps another time.’

‘But supper’s ages away!’ All of sudden Grace felt panicked. She’d only just arrived; who knew when she would have another chance?

She wrapped her arms around her father’s legs, tight. ‘Don’t make me go, please! Let me stay with you. I promise I’ll be good, please, Daddy. Please!’

Jonathan Maudley went rigid.

‘Please, Daddy. Let me, please!’

‘Grace!’ The look on Jonathan’s face was one of blank horror.

‘Please, Daddy!’ Her voice rose to a hysterical pitch. ‘Please! Please!’

‘Don’t, Grace… you must stop!’ He tried to pull her hands off but she held on even tighter, pressing into him. ‘I cannot…’ He looked desperately at Eva. ‘Take her, damn it! Just take her away!’

Prising Grace’s fingers off, Eva hauled the screaming child up over her shoulder.