The Angel of Highgate

11 A ROMP IN EDEN

The gardens at Kew spread over hundreds of acres of land. But its crowning glory was the greenhouses: glittering edifices of curved glass and ironwork that scintillated in the sun. The largest of these was the Palm House, the design of which presaged that most famous architectural triumph of the time, the Crystal Palace.

While the wan September sun was scarcely able to warm the chill from the day, inside the Palm House the climate was turgidly Amazonian. It needed to be to sustain the towering palm trees, breadfruit, elephant grasses, and the thousands of exotic plant species that grew in a burst of equatorial greenery quite dazzling to the senses. The effect of entering the Palm House was always remarkable, but especially so on a chilly day, for in a single stride one passed from the dull browns and muted earth tones of autumnal England into the humid fecundity of a tropical rainforest.

The Palm House was the bailiwick of Algernon Hyde-Davies, who was employed there as head botanist. It was his job to oversee the cataloguing and cultivation of all the thousands of new and hitherto unknown species of flora that arrived each day, shipped in from every corner of Victoria’s sprawling empire.

On this particular morning Algernon was in one of the smaller greenhouses overseeing the transplantation of seedlings ready to be moved into the Palm House. His staff of gardeners stood at a long table while they presented wooden flats filled with hundreds of seedlings for Algernon’s perusal. He moved along the line like a drill officer inspecting his troops.

“Too much light,” Algernon said, eyeing a flat filled with green seedlings whose leaves all had brown tips. “Try moving them to a more shaded area.”

“Yes, Mister Hyde-Davies,” replied the gardener.

Algernon moved onto the next flat. These were stunted and leaning every which way.

“Oh, dear,” Algernon exclaimed. He tugged one of the seedlings free from the soil and inspected it. The stem of the plant was long and thin, the tiny leaves half the size they should have been. The roots had black fungus growing on them.

“See that, Baines?” Algernon said holding up the seedling to the gardener, a young man of eighteen with a red spotty complexion and fiery ginger hair. “Stunted growth, small leaves, black on the root system. We all know what that means, do we not?”

He looked at Baines, awaiting an answer. The young man’s face reddened further.

“Er, I suppose.” Several emotions swept across Baines’ face: embarrassment, frustration, and finally gloomy resignation. “I, I dunno, sir.”

“You planted them too deep,” Algernon gently chided. “The poor plant took all its energy trying to dig itself out of the ground. You’re not burying a corpse, remember. No need to plant them six feet deep. They’re just little seedlings. Delicate babies. They need to see the sun just as much as you and I. Understand?”

The young man dropped his eyes to the pathetic display of withered seedlings he stood behind.

Algernon clapped a hand on the younger man’s shoulder and reassured in an avuncular tone, “Don’t worry, Baines. You’ll get it soon enough. Before we’re finished I’ll make a first rate gardener out of you.” He moved on to the next box of seedlings. “Now,” he said brightly. “How are these coming along?”

Before the gardener could answer, Parkinson, one of Algernon’s junior botanists came rushing into the greenhouse in a state of agitation, his face flushed.

“Mister Hyde-Davies, sir!”

“What ever’s the matter, Parkinson?”

Parkinson was out of breath and so excited he could barely talk. “There’s a man, sir. In the Palm House. A naked man!”

Algernon’s expression showed his total bewilderment. “A naked man, you say? In the Palm House?”

Parkinson nodded his head rapidly. “Naked, sir. Totally starkers.”

Algernon couldn’t quite believe his ears. “A naked man—” He suddenly stopped as an awful premonition came over him. No. He wouldn’t! Would he? Not even he would do such a thing. But then again, who else?

Algernon and Parkinson sprinted along the winding pathways of the Palm House.

“Mister Greenley’s chasing him, sir,” Parkinson yelled, “but he’s a slippery fellow. Look, there’s some of his togs!”

They found a gray silk top hat crowning a ficus tree. Ten feet on a pair of boots and socks lay where the owner had kicked them off. Farther still a pair of men’s trousers dangled from the lowest limb of a palm tree. They continued on, finding various items of hastily tossed-aside clothing. Finally Algernon spotted something thrust into the soft soil of a planter — a walking stick topped with a golden phoenix rising from the flames. Now there could be no doubt as to who the naked man was.

Algernon snatched the walking stick from the soil. He looked around the Palm House agitatedly. Seeing nothing he looked up at the glass domed ceiling and yelled at the top of his lungs.

“GEOFFREY!”

A naked man burst from the nearby bushes.

“Hello, Algy,” Thraxton shouted, chortling gleefully as he ran past.

“Geoffrey, what the deuce—” Algernon began to say, when a second later Mister Greenley, a gray-haired man in his late fifties, burst from the same bushes in hot pursuit, wielding a gardening rake with an obvious intent to do Thraxton some serious mischief.

“I’ll get ya, you swine!” Greenley yelled after the fleeing Thraxton.

Algernon and Parkinson joined the pursuit and now the four of them crashed pell-mell through the dense vegetation. Even as he ran, Algernon could see his position as head botanist evaporating before his eyes. His best friend was engaging in a demonstration of public lewdness that could very well land them both in the law courts if not at least the newspapers. Meanwhile his head gardener was trying his damndest to emasculate a peer of the realm with a gardening implement. If word of this got out, Kew’s head botanist would be lucky to find a position as a gardener in a municipal vegetable allotment.

A respectable middle-class family — a husband and wife, and their fifteen-year-old daughter — were strolling along one of the paths when Thraxton leapt from the undergrowth directly in front of them. All three stood in open-mouthed astonishment at the unwarranted appearance of a naked virile man. Then the wife screamed and swooned into her husband’s arms. The schoolgirl’s eyes widened in delight at her first glimpse of male genitalia. She held a pigtail to her mouth and giggled.

A moment later Mister Greenley burst from the bushes. He swung the rake at Thraxton’s head, narrowly missing. Thraxton ducked under the whizzing rake and took off running again just as Algernon and Parkinson reached the pathway.

“Geoffrey!” Algernon cried helplessly. “For God’s sake, man, put your clothes back on!”

Mister Greenley trembled with rage as he stopped to catch his breath. “Filthy swine. Wait till I lay my hands on him.”

Greenley made as if to run after Thraxton again, but Algernon grabbed his arm to restrain him.

“No! Please, Mister Greenley, Parkinson, leave this to me. I will endeavor to make him see reason.”

But Mister Greenley’s blood was up. He had no intention of allowing such a lecher to escape without a good hiding. “I don’t care if he is a lord,” he spat. “Prancing around naked in front of God and the world. The man ought to be horsewhipped.”

“Yes, thank you, Mister Greenley,” Algernon repeated, attempting to assert his authority. “That will be all. I shall deal with this matter myself.”

“Horsewhipped, I say!”

“Please.”

Mister Greenley cast a furious scowl in the direction he had seen Thraxton disappear. With great reluctance he shouldered his rake and walked slowly toward the door. Algernon gave Parkinson a nod to indicate that he should follow Greenley’s lead. When both men had gone, he stepped off the path and pushed his way into the lush vegetation.

“Geoffrey,” he called. “Put your clothes back on. You’ll cause a scandal. You’ll get me the sack!”

Thraxton’s disembodied voice came from somewhere in front of him. “They won’t sack you, Algy. Not while I give so generously to the Royal Botanical Society.”

Thraxton stepped from behind a spectacular breadfruit tree, his naked torso glistening. “Come on,” Thraxton urged. “Get your clothes off, Algy. You have recreated Eden. This is our natural world. Let us be natural, too.” He struck a dramatic pose, one armed raised. “I am the new Adam, and I have found my Eve.”

With that Thraxton turned and ran off into the undergrowth, chortling inanely.

“Geoffrey!” Algernon watched his friend’s bare bottom vanish and hurried to follow. After several minutes’ searching he came upon Thraxton again. He was standing on tiptoe, straining to reach up and touch the huge orange and purple bloom of an exotic tropical flower.

“Geoffrey, no!” Algernon cried in alarm. “Do not touch it!”

“Why ever not?” Thraxton asked. “It is exquisite!”

“It is a bloom that cannot abide the touch of man. If you lay hands upon it, the flower will die. Please… please… let it be.”

Thraxton relaxed his stretching fingers. He drew back and turned to look at Algernon.

“A mere touch will kill it?”

Algernon nodded in affirmation.

Thraxton was quite struck by the thought.

“Why is it those things of the greatest beauty are always just beyond our grasp?”

“I believe I have found my Eve,” Thraxton said.

He was fully clothed once again, to the great relief of Algernon, and the two were strolling around the pond that lay immediately in front of the Palm House. Compared to the dripping humidity of the greenhouses, the day was dry and bracing.

“Who is this demi-goddess?” Algernon asked. “Another actress? Surely not the wife of that fellow you told me about — Sir whatshisname?”

“Algy, you disappoint me. You know me better than that. Do I wax eloquent about every single one of my conquests?”

“Yes, Geoffrey, now that you mention it, you do tend to rattle on about them — every single one.”

“Mmmn, quite,” Thraxton said, looking hurt. “This is different. I have truly met my inamorata.”

Algernon was unable to conceal a look of deep skepticism. Thraxton noticed and cleared his throat, but continued. “Actually she is the woman you pointed out to me that day at the British Museum — Constance Pennethorne.”

Algernon’s face dropped at the news, but Thraxton was oblivious.

“We met the other day in Highgate Cemetery. We had some time to talk and, I may dare say, to open our very souls to one another. I found out that not only is she a woman of great beauty, she is also a creature of rare intelligence and spirit.”

Algernon looked away so that Thraxton could not read what was written on his face. In the center of the pond stood a Laocoön-like statue of a naked athlete struggling with a serpent. Algernon suddenly felt a deep empathy for the fellow — he could practically feel the serpent’s coils tightening around his own neck.

“And she feels the same about you?” Algernon probed.

“I have little doubt of it. She’s invited me to a very exciting evening this Saturday. A séance of all things. I’m looking forward to it profoundly.”

Algernon turned back to look at Thraxton. He had forgotten to recompose his face and Thraxton noticed his dour expression.

“Oh, there’s no need to look so glum, old stick,” Thraxton said good-naturedly. “Of course, you’re invited, too. She went out of her way to mention it, in fact.”

Thraxton punched his old friend in the shoulder. “Should be quite an adventure, eh? Conversing with spirits of the departed!”