By the time Mr. Washam and Aurora entered, the chatter had already rose to an uncomfortable din. Nobody paid them any mind at first, until Mr. Washam cleared his throat and stated, "who would like to start?"
Mr. Buckley rose his hand, and Mr. Washam winced.
Elmore rose his hand too, stating to the group, "I have some finds from Italy, perhaps I could start?"
The relief on poor Mr. Washam's face was instant. Nobody wanted Mr. Buckley to begin, not least because of his attitude. No, it was how he droned on forever that made people stop listening.
"Very well, Lord Winters," he said with a smile, "please, tell us about Italy."
Elmore fished the well-worn notebook from his pocket and set it down. Only those closest could really see — the three men across and on either side. They all leaned in for a better look, humming and muttering at what he had to show.
"Of course, there are poisonous plants everywhere. We have plenty of our own here — foxglove, poison ivy, and much more besides." He flipped the page to a sketch of a green plant with heavy, flat leaves. They were veined with creamy white. "Italy isn't the sort of place you'd expect to see dangerous plants, but I discovered this early on in my travels.Orange candleflower,it's called, or Italian arum. It causes severe skin irritation — and consumption is often fatal."
A mutter rose up in the crowd, and yet Elmore found his gaze drifting to Aurora. She sat a little away from the rest, beside her father, scribbling something in a notebook using a pot of ink at her side.
It appeared that shewaslistening, but purposefully refusing to look his way.
Elmore stifled the flicker of irritation in his stomach, not wanting to appear distracted. He turned to glance across the table at the faces all turned to him, and suddenly felt uncomfortable under their focus.
"The Italian arum appears in spring, as I visited Italy in April and stayed until mid-June. It produces small red berries that, I admit, do look inviting — but itisdeadly."
"Which is why you should never eat a berry if you don't know it's origin," one of the botanists pointed out, "I made that mistake in my youth, and I was ill for days."
"I'm glad to say that I didn't make the same mistake, nor the mistake of taking flowers to press and dry. You see, it isn't just the berries or leaves that are dangerous, but the entire plant. Had I not held myself back, I could have been seriously hurt."
"Did you have the chance to see the effects of the poison?" somebody asked.
Elmore laughed. Perhaps Aurora wasn’t engaging in his story the way he’d hoped, but everybody else was hooked. It gave him a well-earned burst of confidence.
"No,” he replied smoothly, “I'd assume that the locals know not to touch such a plant."
Now, Aurora was idly tapping her pen against her book, eyes flickering up to her Father. She didn'tlooklike a woman nervous, more like somebody who wished to speak but didn't know quite what to say.
"If anybody would like to look through my artwork," Elmore said, gaze fixed pointedly on Aurora, "please do pass it around — but be careful! Its contents are precious to me."
He wished for Aurora's look of awe, as she had looked when viewing the angel's trumpet. She had been so wide-eyed and youthful, filled with intrigue. It had been a beautiful look, so innocent, but now she simply watched as Buckley lifted the book from the table.
"Please make sure that everybody has a chance to see," Elmore said with a smile, "I have lots more besides the Italian arum. May I interest you in the angel's trumpet?"
Mr. Buckley huffed. "Ah, nobody cares for girlish flowers," he stated, "except perhaps for Mr. Washam here. The rest of us have different interests — in the medicinal, perhaps? What does Italy have to offer in the way of helpful wildlife?"
It's all helpful,Elmore wanted to argue,even the poisonous parts. All of it is nature, all of it important to its habitat.
Except, Mr. Buckley had already passed the notebook along, his attention severed.
The next man took it, and an impressed look swept across his face. Elmore felt a strike of pride in response, but he wished it wasAuroralooking at his beloved work with such enthusiasm.
What was her issue with him, exactly? As a child, Elmore had always been called sensitive; it was possible that he was imagining this odd hostility, simply misinterpreting a perfectly normal interaction. Somehow, however, he didn't think that was the case.
While the men were hovering over his work, Elmore turned to Mr. Washam. "Thank you for inviting me," he said kindly, "I know that I haven't been in the last few years, but the truth is that I thinkyouare the only one who welcomes me."
His expression softened. "Don't be silly, Elmore. You're always welcome here."
"You say as much, but that doesn't mean it's true."
Perhaps it was his own fault, for keeping his tutoring secret in his younger days; but he had been so afraid of his family's disapproval, that now he didn’t really feel comfortable staying anywhere but at home.
As if sensing his thoughts, Mr. Washam let out a sigh and pressed a comforting hand to Elmore's chest. "I mean it; you arealwayswelcome here. Aurora and I are glad to have you."