Read Online A Flower for the Queen: A Historical Novel by Caroline Vermalle, Ryan von Ruben - Free Book Online Page B
Authors: Caroline Vermalle, Ryan von Ruben
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with impatience and the old lady to her teacup, her eyes closed, seemingly oblivious to the conversation.
“Very well, Mr Grant. You may scribble away. I only hope that you do not run out of pencil while waiting for whatever it is that you are looking for.”
C HAPTER 10
“So you’re a botanist?” The words were fired across the table like an accusation. Even though their meaning appeared benign, their speaker and his tone caused the table to fall silent until only the thumping of the waves against their timber cocoon and the scraping of cutlery against china plates could be heard.
In spite of his reprimand, Reinhold Forster had been allowed back to dine at the captain’s table, but he had not spoken a word all evening. In view of his usual combativeness, the other diners had been more than a little relieved, and up to that point the conversation around the table had been easy and light, as the food was excellent, the ship’s stores having just been replenished at Cape Verde.
But now the question hung gloomily over the table, and Burnette, who had thus far made an effort to avoid conversation and attention, was thrust into the centre of both.
“Yes, I am,” Burnette replied stiffly in a voice seemed younger than even his youthful features suggested. Despite its high-pitched tenor, his reply was unflinching in the face of Forster’s rudeness, brim full of confidence and the clipped vowels and clear annunciation of a member of the gentry.
“Have you any formal qualifications? Have you published? Or did you gain your place in Sir Joseph’s favour simply by riding with the same hounds?” Forster pressed, then before turning to his son and elbowing him. “Georg has travelled with me on all my expeditions since he was ten years old. I would wager that he was discovering new species while you were still sucking on your wet nurse’s teat. Go on, Georg, tell them about the history of Russia that you had published at the age of thirteen.”
The younger Forster cringed at his father’s side. “Please, father, it was only a translation.”
“It is true,” Burnette said, rescuing the younger Forster, who was trying to escape the pitying looks that had descended upon him, “that Sir Joseph and I have ridden in the same hunt together many times, but I learned everything I know from the gardeners who worked on my family’s estate, and from Sir Joseph’s kind tutelage, of course. It’s amazing what you can pick up when you are fortunate enough to be surrounded by men who see knowledge as something to be shared rather than something to be used as a cudgel to browbeat and belittle.”
“Well,” said Forster, casting a sly look at Masson, who was seated next to Burnette and who thus far had managed to remain anonymous. “As our resident gardener, perhaps Mr Masson could continue your tutelage whilst the rest of us get on with the real work of science.”
“I assure you that I need no tutor, Mr Forster,” Burnette snapped. “I have an herbarium of several thousand specimens and have classified hundreds of non-descripts, many of which were part of Sir Joseph’s own collection from the Endeavour . But perhaps you would suggest that old age and a comfortable seat in one of the libraries at the Royal Society are more desirable qualifications?”
The diners had hitherto been looking on like spectators at a gladiatorial match, waiting to see how the new arrival would acquit himself against the old hand. They chuckled audibly into their goblets of wine as Forster winced, his horn-shaped eyebrows almost dancing at the effrontery of the slight.
“Gentleman, please,” Captain Cook cut in, ending the sparring match before it escalated further. “We have already lost one good man overboard today, and I won’t have duelling reducing our numbers further.”
The chortles and guffaws of the men were swiftly silenced as they all remembered the fate of the ship’s carpenter, who had fallen overboard earlier that
“Very well, Mr Grant. You may scribble away. I only hope that you do not run out of pencil while waiting for whatever it is that you are looking for.”
C HAPTER 10
“So you’re a botanist?” The words were fired across the table like an accusation. Even though their meaning appeared benign, their speaker and his tone caused the table to fall silent until only the thumping of the waves against their timber cocoon and the scraping of cutlery against china plates could be heard.
In spite of his reprimand, Reinhold Forster had been allowed back to dine at the captain’s table, but he had not spoken a word all evening. In view of his usual combativeness, the other diners had been more than a little relieved, and up to that point the conversation around the table had been easy and light, as the food was excellent, the ship’s stores having just been replenished at Cape Verde.
But now the question hung gloomily over the table, and Burnette, who had thus far made an effort to avoid conversation and attention, was thrust into the centre of both.
“Yes, I am,” Burnette replied stiffly in a voice seemed younger than even his youthful features suggested. Despite its high-pitched tenor, his reply was unflinching in the face of Forster’s rudeness, brim full of confidence and the clipped vowels and clear annunciation of a member of the gentry.
“Have you any formal qualifications? Have you published? Or did you gain your place in Sir Joseph’s favour simply by riding with the same hounds?” Forster pressed, then before turning to his son and elbowing him. “Georg has travelled with me on all my expeditions since he was ten years old. I would wager that he was discovering new species while you were still sucking on your wet nurse’s teat. Go on, Georg, tell them about the history of Russia that you had published at the age of thirteen.”
The younger Forster cringed at his father’s side. “Please, father, it was only a translation.”
“It is true,” Burnette said, rescuing the younger Forster, who was trying to escape the pitying looks that had descended upon him, “that Sir Joseph and I have ridden in the same hunt together many times, but I learned everything I know from the gardeners who worked on my family’s estate, and from Sir Joseph’s kind tutelage, of course. It’s amazing what you can pick up when you are fortunate enough to be surrounded by men who see knowledge as something to be shared rather than something to be used as a cudgel to browbeat and belittle.”
“Well,” said Forster, casting a sly look at Masson, who was seated next to Burnette and who thus far had managed to remain anonymous. “As our resident gardener, perhaps Mr Masson could continue your tutelage whilst the rest of us get on with the real work of science.”
“I assure you that I need no tutor, Mr Forster,” Burnette snapped. “I have an herbarium of several thousand specimens and have classified hundreds of non-descripts, many of which were part of Sir Joseph’s own collection from the Endeavour . But perhaps you would suggest that old age and a comfortable seat in one of the libraries at the Royal Society are more desirable qualifications?”
The diners had hitherto been looking on like spectators at a gladiatorial match, waiting to see how the new arrival would acquit himself against the old hand. They chuckled audibly into their goblets of wine as Forster winced, his horn-shaped eyebrows almost dancing at the effrontery of the slight.
“Gentleman, please,” Captain Cook cut in, ending the sparring match before it escalated further. “We have already lost one good man overboard today, and I won’t have duelling reducing our numbers further.”
The chortles and guffaws of the men were swiftly silenced as they all remembered the fate of the ship’s carpenter, who had fallen overboard earlier that
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