The Fever Tree Read Online Free PDF Page B

another criticism which had been extended to her father, who had loved cigars and long nights at his club with a passion that suggested he hadn’t believed in a correlation between indulgence and longevity.
    After a few minutes, she stood up impatiently, her black crepe skirts rustling, and walked to the far side of the room, where a piano stood to the right of a wide bay window. She leant an elbow on the mahogany and looked into the Wardian case that stood embedded in the bay. It was a large ornate structure made of glass and lead with a rock garden at the bottom barely visible beneath a riot of ferns. They grew too closely together, palms pressed against the glass as though appealing for escape. The case had steamed up with a clammy heat. She bent closer and smelt the sweet rot of damp vegetation. A few lime-green shoots were unrolling themselves in the bottom corners, sprouting dense buds that looked like a collection of soft, furry snails. The glass case offered protection—the ferns wouldn’t last a minute exposed to the pollution of London air—but it would also, eventually, suffocate them.
    “You share my daughters’ fascination?” Frances turned and saw her uncle walk a little way into the room. “They are quite passionate about natural history.” Frances didn’t contradict him, though she seemed to remember her cousins had long ago abandoned their interest in the natural world; a passing obsession that had lasted long enough to convince him of their diligence.
    “Uncle, thank you for finding the time to see me.”
    He was dressed in his customary black suit and was frowning slightly, like a man under threat, not a little afraid of what the world might be mustering to throw at him. He was someone, she thought, who might be cowardly in all things except in the protection of his family. This single passion precluded close relationships with outsiders, and Frances, who had never had reason until now to test his feelings towards her, was unsure whether she would be considered one of those to be protected.
    He waved her to a corner of the brown sofa and sat down in a chair opposite. “How is Mrs. Arrow keeping?”
    “Quite well, thank you.” He had leapt straight to the heart of her problem, but she wanted to avoid having to spell out her fears. Her father’s sister—Mrs. Arrow—had arrived two weeks ago from Manchester. She took a shrill pleasure in denouncing her brother’s fall into penury, and demanded a gratitude from Frances which exhausted her. Every conversation began with a veiled criticism. “When we get to Manchester, I shan’t want you. . . .” She had five children, three of whom needed a nurse, and she had agreed to take Frances with her to Manchester on the understanding that she fulfill that role.
    “Good. Now, I have received a letter that pertains to you.” He unfolded a piece of paper from his waistcoat. “From a Dr. Matthews.”
    Frances felt the muscles in her face freeze up.
    “He asks for your hand in marriage.” Her uncle smiled at her. “What do you think of that?”
    “I think nothing of it.” She tried to keep her voice level, conscious that too much emotion unsettled him. “I can’t marry Dr. Matthews.”
    “I understand it might not have been what you were expecting, Frances, but on reflection it is a good match. And he has written a convincing letter. He talks about his friendship with your father, and your father’s charity towards him as a child. He is a qualified physician with a practice in Kimberley, and while he has little money right now, he is young and there is every chance he will do well in the colonies.”
    “Please, Uncle. You don’t understand.”
    “Frances.” His voice was cautionary, tipped with steel.
    “I barely know him.”
    “He tells me he saw you not long ago, in this house? You played chess together? That sounds almost like a courtship.”
    “I don’t like him.” Frances took a deep breath, trying to suppress the panic which