IV.
THE FLOWERING OF THE STRANGE ORCHID.
The buying of orchids always has in it a certain speculative flavour. Youhave before you the brown shrivelled lump of tissue, and for the rest youmust trust your judgment, or the auctioneer, or your good luck, as yourtaste may incline. The plant may be moribund or dead, or it may be just arespectable purchase, fair value for your money, or perhaps--for the thinghas happened again and again--there slowly unfolds before the delightedeyes of the happy purchaser, day after day, some new variety, some novelrichness, a strange twist of the labellum, or some subtler colouration orunexpected mimicry. Pride, beauty, and profit blossom together on onedelicate green spike, and, it may be, even immortality. For the newmiracle of nature may stand in need of a new specific name, and what soconvenient as that of its discoverer? "John-smithia"! There have beenworse names.
It was perhaps the hope of some such happy discovery that made WinterWedderburn such a frequent attendant at these sales--that hope, and also,maybe, the fact that he had nothing else of the slightest interest to doin the world. He was a shy, lonely, rather ineffectual man, provided withjust enough income to keep off the spur of necessity, and not enoughnervous energy to make him seek any exacting employments. He might havecollected stamps or coins, or translated Horace, or bound books, orinvented new species of diatoms. But, as it happened, he grew orchids, andhad one ambitious little hothouse.
"I have a fancy," he said over his coffee, "that something is going tohappen to me to-day." He spoke--as he moved and thought--slowly.
"Oh, don't say _that_!" said his housekeeper--who was also his remotecousin. For "something happening" was a euphemism that meant only onething to her.
"You misunderstand me. I mean nothing unpleasant...though what I do mean Iscarcely know.
"To-day," he continued, after a pause, "Peters' are going to sell a batchof plants from the Andamans and the Indies. I shall go up and see whatthey have. It may be I shall buy something good unawares. That may be it."
He passed his cup for his second cupful of coffee.
"Are these the things collected by that poor young fellow you told me ofthe other day?" asked his cousin, as she filled his cup.
"Yes," he said, and became meditative over a piece of toast.
"Nothing ever does happen to me," he remarked presently, beginning tothink aloud. "I wonder why? Things enough happen to other people. There isHarvey. Only the other week; on Monday he picked up sixpence, on Wednesdayhis chicks all had the staggers, on Friday his cousin came home fromAustralia, and on Saturday he broke his ankle. What a whirl ofexcitement!--compared to me."
"I think I would rather be without so much excitement," said hishousekeeper. "It can't be good for you."
"I suppose it's troublesome. Still ... you see, nothing ever happens tome. When I was a little boy I never had accidents. I never fell in love asI grew up. Never married... I wonder how it feels to have somethinghappen to you, something really remarkable.
"That orchid-collector was only thirty-six--twenty years younger thanmyself--when he died. And he had been married twice and divorced once; hehad had malarial fever four times, and once he broke his thigh. He killeda Malay once, and once he was wounded by a poisoned dart. And in the endhe was killed by jungle-leeches. It must have all been very troublesome,but then it must have been very interesting, you know--except, perhaps,the leeches."
"I am sure it was not good for him," said the lady with conviction.
"Perhaps not." And then Wedderburn looked at his watch. "Twenty-threeminutes past eight. I am going up by the quarter to twelve train, so thatthere is plenty of time. I think I shall wear my alpaca jacket--it isquite warm enough--and my grey felt hat and brown shoes. I suppose--"
He glanced out of the window at the serene sky and sunlit garden, and thennervously at his cousin's face.
"I think you had better take an umbrella if you are going to London," shesaid in a voice that admitted of no denial. "There's all between here andthe station coming back."
When he returned he was in a state of mild excitement. He had made apurchase. It was rare that he could make up his mind quickly enough tobuy, but this time he had done so.
"There are Vandas," he said, "and a Dendrobe and some Palaeonophis." Hesurveyed his purchases lovingly as he consumed his soup. They were laidout on the spotless tablecloth before him, and he was telling his cousinall about them as he slowly meandered through his dinner. It was hiscustom to live all his visits to London over again in the evening for herand his own entertainment.
"I knew something would happen to-day. And I have bought all these. Someof them--some of them--I feel sure, do you know, that some of them will beremarkable. I don't know how it is, but I feel just as sure as if some onehad told me that some of these will turn out remarkable.
"That one "--he pointed to a shrivelled rhizome--"was not identified. Itmay be a Palaeonophis--or it may not. It may be a new species, or even anew genus. And it was the last that poor Batten ever collected."
"I don't like the look of it," said his housekeeper. "It's such an uglyshape."
"To me it scarcely seems to have a shape."
"I don't like those things that stick out," said his housekeeper.
"It shall be put away in a pot to-morrow."
"It looks," said the housekeeper, "like a spider shamming dead."
Wedderburn smiled and surveyed the root with his head on one side. "It iscertainly not a pretty lump of stuff. But you can never judge of thesethings from their dry appearance. It may turn out to be a very beautifulorchid indeed. How busy I shall be to-morrow! I must see to-night justexactly what to do with these things, and to-morrow I shall set to work."
"They found poor Batten lying dead, or dying, in a mangrove swamp--Iforget which," he began again presently, "with one of these very orchidscrushed up under his body. He had been unwell for some days with some kindof native fever, and I suppose he fainted. These mangrove swamps are veryunwholesome. Every drop of blood, they say, was taken out of him by thejungle-leeches. It may be that very plant that cost him his life toobtain."
"I think none the better of it for that."
"Men must work though women may weep," said Wedderburn with profoundgravity.
"Fancy dying away from every comfort in a nasty swamp! Fancy being ill offever with nothing to take but chlorodyne and quinine--if men were left tothemselves they would live on chlorodyne and quinine--and no one round youbut horrible natives! They say the Andaman islanders are most disgustingwretches--and, anyhow, they can scarcely make good nurses, not having thenecessary training. And just for people in England to have orchids!"
"I don't suppose it was comfortable, but some men seem to enjoy that kindof thing," said Wedderburn. "Anyhow, the natives of his party weresufficiently civilised to take care of all his collection until hiscolleague, who was an ornithologist, came back again from the interior;though they could not tell the species of the orchid, and had let itwither. And it makes these things more interesting."
"It makes them disgusting. I should be afraid of some of the malariaclinging to them. And just think, there has been a dead body lying acrossthat ugly thing! I never thought of that before. There! I declare I cannoteat another mouthful of dinner."
"I will take them off the table if you like, and put them in thewindow-seat. I can see them just as well there."
The next few days he was indeed singularly busy in his steamy littlehothouse, fussing about with charcoal, lumps of teak, moss, and all theother mysteries of the orchid cultivator. He considered he was having awonderfully eventful time. In the evening he would talk about these neworchids to his friends, and over and over again he reverted to hisexpectation of something strange.
Several of the Vandas and the Dendrobium died under his care, butpresently the strange orchid began to show signs of life. He wasdelighted, and took his housekeeper right away from jam-making to see itat once, directly he made the discovery.
"That is a bud," he said, "and p
resently there will be a lot of leavesthere, and those little things coming out here are aerial rootlets."
"They look to me like little white fingers poking out of the brown," saidhis housekeeper. "I don't like them."
"Why not?"
"I don't know. They look like fingers trying to get at you. I can't helpmy likes and dislikes."
"I don't know for certain, but I don't _think_ there are any orchidsI know that have aerial rootlets quite like that. It may be my fancy, ofcourse. You see they are a little flattened at the ends."
"I don't like 'em," said his housekeeper, suddenly shivering and turningaway. "I know it's very silly of me--and I'm very sorry, particularly asyou like the thing so much. But I can't help thinking of that corpse."
"But it may not be that particular plant. That was merely a guess ofmine."
His housekeeper shrugged her shoulders. "Anyhow I don't like it," shesaid.
Wedderburn felt a little hurt at her dislike to the plant. But that didnot prevent his talking to her about orchids generally, and this orchid inparticular, whenever he felt inclined.
"There are such queer things about orchids," he said one day; "suchpossibilities of surprises. You know, Darwin studied their fertilisation,and showed that the whole structure of an ordinary orchid flower wascontrived in order that moths might carry the pollen from plant to plant.Well, it seems that there are lots of orchids known the flower of whichcannot possibly be used for fertilisation in that way. Some of theCypripediums, for instance; there are no insects known that can possiblyfertilise them, and some of them have never been found with seed."
"But how do they form new plants?"
"By runners and tubers, and that kind of outgrowth. That is easilyexplained. The puzzle is, what are the flowers for?
"Very likely," he added, "_my_ orchid may be something extraordinaryin that way. If so I shall study it. I have often thought of makingresearches as Darwin did. But hitherto I have not found the time, orsomething else has happened to prevent it. The leaves are beginning tounfold now. I do wish you would come and see them!"
But she said that the orchid-house was so hot it gave her the headache.She had seen the plant once again, and the aerial rootlets, which were nowsome of them more than a foot long, had unfortunately reminded her oftentacles reaching out after something; and they got into her dreams,growing after her with incredible rapidity. So that she had settled to herentire satisfaction that she would not see that plant again, andWedderburn had to admire its leaves alone. They were of the ordinary broadform, and a deep glossy green, with splashes and dots of deep red towardsthe base He knew of no other leaves quite like them. The plant was placedon a low bench near the thermometer, and close by was a simple arrangementby which a tap dripped on the hot-water pipes and kept the air steamy. Andhe spent his afternoons now with some regularity meditating on theapproaching flowering of this strange plant.
And at last the great thing happened. Directly he entered the little glasshouse he knew that the spike had burst out, although his great_Paloeonophis Lowii_ hid the corner where his new darling stood.There was a new odour in the air, a rich, intensely sweet scent, thatoverpowered every other in that crowded, steaming little greenhouse.
Directly he noticed this he hurried down to the strange orchid. And,behold! the trailing green spikes bore now three great splashes ofblossom, from which this overpowering sweetness proceeded. He stoppedbefore them in an ecstasy of admiration.
The flowers were white, with streaks of golden orange upon the petals; theheavy labellum was coiled into an intricate projection, and a wonderfulbluish purple mingled there with the gold. He could see at once that thegenus was altogether a new one. And the insufferable scent! How hot theplace was! The blossoms swam before his eyes.
He would see if the temperature was right. He made a step towards thethermometer. Suddenly everything appeared unsteady. The bricks on thefloor were dancing up and down. Then the white blossoms, the green leavesbehind them, the whole greenhouse, seemed to sweep sideways, and then in acurve upward.
* * * * *
At half-past four his cousin made the tea, according to their invariablecustom. But Wedderburn did not come in for his tea.
"He is worshipping that horrid orchid," she told herself, and waited tenminutes. "His watch must have stopped. I will go and call him."
She went straight to the hothouse, and, opening the door, called his name.There was no reply. She noticed that the air was very close, and loadedwith an intense perfume. Then she saw something lying on the bricksbetween the hot-water pipes.
For a minute, perhaps, she stood motionless.
He was lying, face upward, at the foot of the strange orchid. Thetentacle-like aerial rootlets no longer swayed freely in the air, but werecrowded together, a tangle of grey ropes, and stretched tight, with theirends closely applied to his chin and neck and hands.
She did not understand. Then she saw from under one of the exultanttentacles upon his cheek there trickled a little thread of blood.
With an inarticulate cry she ran towards him, and tried to pull him awayfrom the leech-like suckers. She snapped two of these tentacles, and theirsap dripped red.
Then the overpowering scent of the blossom began to make her head reel.How they clung to him! She tore at the tough ropes, and he and the whiteinflorescence swam about her. She felt she was fainting, knew she mustnot. She left him and hastily opened the nearest door, and, after she hadpanted for a moment in the fresh air, she had a brilliant inspiration. Shecaught up a flower-pot and smashed in the windows at the end of thegreenhouse. Then she re-entered. She tugged now with renewed strength atWedderburn's motionless body, and brought the strange orchid crashing tothe floor. It still clung with the grimmest tenacity to its victim. In afrenzy, she lugged it and him into the open air.
Then she thought of tearing through the sucker rootlets one by one, and inanother minute she had released him and was dragging him away from thehorror.
He was white and bleeding from a dozen circular patches.
The odd-job man was coming up the garden, amazed at the smashing of glass,and saw her emerge, hauling the inanimate body with red-stained hands. Fora moment he thought impossible things.
"Bring some water!" she cried, and her voice dispelled his fancies. When,with unnatural alacrity, he returned with the water, he found her weepingwith excitement, and with Wedderburn's head upon her knee, wiping theblood from his face.
"What's the matter?" said Wedderburn, opening his eyes feebly, and closingthem again at once.
"Go and tell Annie to come out here to me, and then go for Dr. Haddon atonce," she said to the odd-job man so soon as he brought the water; andadded, seeing he hesitated, "I will tell you all about it when you comeback."
Presently Wedderburn opened his eyes again, and, seeing that he wastroubled by the puzzle of his position, she explained to him, "You faintedin the hothouse."
"And the orchid?"
"I will see to that," she said.
Wedderburn had lost a good deal of blood, but beyond that he had sufferedno very great injury. They gave him brandy mixed with some pink extract ofmeat, and carried him upstairs to bed. His housekeeper told her incrediblestory in fragments to Dr. Haddon. "Come to the orchid-house and see," shesaid.
The cold outer air was blowing in through the open door, and the sicklyperfume was almost dispelled. Most of the torn aerial rootlets lay alreadywithered amidst a number of dark stains upon the bricks. The stem of theinflorescence was broken by the fall of the plant, and the flowers weregrowing limp and brown at the edges of the petals. The doctor stoopedtowards it, then saw that one of the aerial rootlets still stirred feebly,and hesitated.
The next morning the strange orchid still lay there, black now andputrescent. The door banged intermittently in the morning breeze, and allthe array of Wedderburn's orchids was shrivelled and prostrate. ButWedderburn himself was bright and garrulous upstairs in the glory of hisstrange adventure.