Chapter 3: Inside Out
The home of the Botanical Society of London was a sizeable estate. It was formerly a zoo whose expansive garden quickly became the main attraction. When the cost of maintaining the animals became too great, the society managed to purchase the buildings and its surrounding grounds. The central building was designed like a museum, with various chambers with themed displays of a variety of fauna. The posterior of the building branched into two other structures. One branch led to work rooms and nurseries. The second branch led to a large dome structure, which housed the society's "jungle." It was an experiment in creating a self-contained eco-system and was home to dozens of rare species.
Rosa arrived promptly before the evening's fanfare had begun. Guests were still arriving and lining up by the entrance to pay. The long line was a good sign, Rosa thought. The society had bought the property hoping that opening the location as an attraction would generate funds. However the place seemed fiscally unmanageable. They were in debt and depended on this fundraiser to breakeven at the least.
A green carpet lined the walkway that led to the Romanesque entrance of the main building. Rosa passed the large columns that lined the entrance and saw the extent of the decorating which the society had put forth. The normally dry exhibitions were now cleverly adorned with ribbons and wreaths. Each exhibit also had a sign announcing what was within. Previously the whole place was rather scientific and not family friendly. If a guest wanted to know what the section they were in was dedicated to they had to read the lengthy notes that were fixed to the displays. The notes normally read like dissertations. A simple question like "where are the Roses?" would generate a scornful or agitated look upon an ushers face. The prompt reply would be, "That's really depends on what class, order, and family you're looking for…"
Thankfully on this day there was a sign which read simply:
THE ROSE GARDEN
Rosa entered. It was located nearby the exit that led to the rear branching hallway. Briefly she glimpsed at the first few bushes of roses and was impressed at the variety of colors. White, pink, yellow, and red filled the square chamber. The flowers were planted in raised plots that lined the walls of the chamber. Each plot was dedicated to a single color and was about five feet in length and width. Rosa wondered how the gardeners reached the back of the plots without trampling the roses in the front.
"What are you doing here?" a voice cut through Rosa's thoughts. She turned and found a woman about twenty years her senior. Her skin complexion gave away the many hours spent in the sun toiling away at plants such as those that surrounded them. The woman's face was, for a moment, apprehensive but quickly shifted to one of pleasant surprise.
"Rosa," Deborah Foster exclaimed. "You're here, how delightful." She was smiling now.
"I couldn't miss this of course."
Deborah took Rosa by the arm and led her out of the exhibit. "I'm sorry about the way I called to you just now. It's just that we had a break-in through that section last night."
"A break-in, was something stolen?"
"Not that we've noticed so far. But with all the preparations for the fundraiser, who can tell? What a horrid time for such a thing to happen. I think my hair is falling out, can you see it?"
Rosa attempted to be serious as she inspected Deborah's scalp, which she proffered.
"It looks fine, Deborah."
"My nerves are on end. I'm ready for a breakdown. Oh! Come here, let me introduce you," Deborah said as she pulled Rosa by the arm. The two waded through the growing crowd of people who were now inside the building. Their course ended as they approached a group of women circling a single man. He was tall and towered over his onlookers. His face was rugged, as though he had seen many a day's work, but retained a handsome quality. His hair was fiery red with a few slivers of white on his sides. He was clean-shaven and showing off a fine set of teeth as he smiled at the gaping club of women that surrounded him. Rosa found the sight revolting. Particularly when she noted that many of the women were married and were in no way subtle in their swooning.
"Deborah, why are we here?" Rosa queried quietly.
She did not seem to hear her question but proceeded break through the wall of females. "Mr. Graves?" Deborah called out.
The man turned at the call of his name. The already wide smile on his face inexplicably widened even more as he caught Rosa's gaze.
"Is this her?" he spoke in a refined yet firm tone.
Deborah's response was a gleeful nod. "Rosa this is…"
"Ian Graves," he cut her off. Graves proceeded to take Rosa's hand as he bowed. "The Lady Rose," he asserted.
"Rosa. My name is Rosa."
"Ah, but when I think of a Rose, I shall think only of Rosa, so why not, the Lady Rose?"
Some of the ladies began to giggle, others Rosa noted, sighed with a hint of jealousy. Deborah was grinning ear to ear. Rosa meanwhile prayed that the Earth would break open and swallow this man. The man was a playboy, and she did not like to mingle in such company. Putting on her most correct face, Rosa allowed herself a mild smirk as she spoke.
"It was…nice…to meet you. Good day." She then quickly tugged at Deborah dragging her away from the group. Graves however followed.
"I have been so wanting to meet you…and your husband. I've heard so much about him."
"I'm so sorry he won't be here. He is away on business."
"Yes, I'm sure. Fascinating work it must be…"
Rosa glared at him. She didn't like his tone. There was a hint of double entendres, but not the kind he was exchanging with the other 'ladies.'
"…to leave such a gem behind," he finished.
"Let me guess. Next you are going to say that 'gems have been known to be stolen.' Well let me tell you, Mr. Graves. Some gems carry with them a curse. A curse that can result in a very bad end. Wary to the thief."
A slap, a drink, and quite possibly a punch to the face could not swipe away the delight in Graves face. Rosa was truly beginning to worry now.
"My Lady Rose, you ARE a romantic." The chuckle that followed Graves as he turned and walked away twisted Rosa's stomach. She felt the sudden urge to use Reinhardt's scarf to strangle the insufferable man. "Be seeing you," he called out.
"In hell…" Rosa whispered but not low enough to escape Deborah's ear.
"Rosa, that man is one of the society's biggest benefactors."
"Ah," Rosa breathed. "So that's what that was about."
Deborah feigned ignorance. "I don't know. He just wanted to meet you that is all. You shouldn't be too fussy. Half the married women circling him would kill their husbands just to be in 'mourning' in his arms."
"Revolting…"
"Money."
"Prosti…"
"Quiet. You should be grateful that such a man even takes an interest in you," Deborah said laughingly.
Rosa grimaced trying to hide her irritation. "Now exactly what is that supposed to mean?"
"Oh dear, you and I have been friends for years, but your standing isn't what it used to be. Marrying a foreigner? And a Catholic? Dear, their lot may have been emancipated, but lots of people remember the tithe war."
"I married for love, is that so wrong?"
"Of course not. But people don't see that. If talk gets around all they will see is a woman who's turned to recusancy."
"If talk gets around, it'll be from you, Deborah."
Deborah began to wave her arms as if she were physically changing the subject, "didn't you have something to tell me?"
Rosa put her arm around Deborah hoping to relax her, however it had the opposite effect. She could feel her already tense shoulders tighten almost inhumanly. "It's a bit of bad news, probably."
"Probably?"
"Harrison Thatcher stopped by my home earlier today. He did not look good. In fact he seemed…ill."
"Oh Lord," Deborah began to hold her head in her hands. "How so?"
"He was distracted, erratic, and…dirty."
"Dirty?"
"Yes, as if he had not changed clothes in weeks."
"Dear God, this is disastrous." Deborah's hand went to hear forehead. "Is this why he isn't here? Why did he go see you?" she asked.
"He didn't. He wanted to see Reinhardt."
"What on Earth for?"
"He refused to say. He stormed off after I told him that Reinhardt was away."
"Where on Earth could the man be? He is supposed to be here by now." Deborah paused. "Wait, I received a telegram from the hotel, confirming that he checked in!"
"But has he sent a telegram himself?"
"No. But will tell you what I'm going to do. If that man thinks he's going to stay in that hotel for free while this society goes down in flames, he will hear from me! The society is paying for his accommodations and it is quite an expense."
"You are going?"
Deborah nodded her head and began to walk briskly in the direction of the entrance. Rosa stuck close by her side. "I will go with you, if you don't mind."
"Not at all dear, we'll take one of the hansoms that are parked in front."
At seven in the evening there was very little traffic so the cab glided through the streets of London relatively unperturbed. In no time at all Rosa and Deborah were striding through the halls of the Longham Hotel, the largest in London. The society having paid for the room, Deborah knew that Thatcher was staying in room 16. As Rosa followed her companion she was instantly struck by the strong and repugnant smell, she had sensed at her earlier encounter with Thatcher. They passed several hotel guests standing in their doorways shouting complaints at one of the maids.
"What's this stink?"
"Have you no idea what I'm paying?"
"Don't you people clean?"
The maid tried her best to calm the guests, but to no avail. Rosa surmised that her 'status' as a maid did not help either. These were the kind of people that would not be satisfied until the manager had come in person to apologize. These people were just venting their frustrations.
"I'm sorry, we're doing our best to find out the problem," the maid said in reply to her various persecutors.
"Just use your nose, girl!" shouted one man.
"Excuse me, but if your olfactory capabilities are so advanced, why don't you find the problem?" Rosa said defiantly. The man remained silent. "Nothing to say?" Rosa proceeded to take the maid by the arm. "Come with us, I think we know where the problem is."
Deborah looked at Rosa quizzically, "We do? Oh dear."
The three of them had to cover their noses and mouths as they approached room number 16. Deborah knocked before trying the door.
"Harrison, its Deborah, are you in there?"
There was no reply. She tried again, repeatedly but the room was silent. Deborah shot Rosa a concerned glare that was returned. Rosa's face however was not laced with fear as Deborah's. She took the maid's hand and gestured for her to unlock the door. After she had done so Rosa motioned for Deborah to stay back.
The door creaked open slowly as there was something beyond hindering its movement. Rosa entered the room and the stench became so intense she felt dizzy. Aside from the smell, Rosa was instantly taken aback by what she saw. As her feet took steps forward they were not greeted by the most expensive floor in London, but a slim layer of soggy material, which made a squishing sound as she stepped on it. The walls were now tinted green with the wallpaper obscured by what appeared to be thick greenish veins. Furniture was buried underneath equally thick growth of the same kind. Upon closer inspection the veins were in fact roots twice the size of any plant's she had seen. Combined with a peculiar vegetation which seemingly grew upwards from the under the floorboards, the room was now a small jungle. Rosa walked toward the far end of the room with a window to the street. She caught a glimpse of a desk and a figure seated in a chair. She recalled her confident speech to Henry as she walked around to face the figure in the chair. The sight that beheld her chilled her to the bones.
Although he was covered by the strange plant life, which now flourished in the room, Harrison Thatcher's face was still recognizable. However that was all that could be discerned as being his remains. The roots that stalked the room all found their beginnings within Harrison's chest cavity. He looked as if he had exploded from within. A singular black flower sprouted from within his agape mouth.
"Oh my…" Deborah exclaimed as she disregarded Rosa's instructions to remain behind. She then followed her shock with a piercing scream at the sight of Thatcher's corpse. Rosa rushed forward to catch her as she fainted and fell toward the ground.
Looking back at Thatcher's remains Rosa saw how Thatcher's eyes still held that detached gaze as if he were still looking at something visible only to him.
