Sophie jumped back and stared at the man who'd spoken, her cheeks turning pink. He approached briskly, his moustached-face sharp with annoyance.

"Please refrain from putting yourself in harm's way, young lady. A fall from this height might kill you."

Seeing Sophie chastised soured Westman's mood. He folded his arms. "And who might you be?"

The man's steely eyes flicked to him. "Professor Andrews. I'm the botanist responsible for this exhibition."

Ah, the man in charge.

"With respect, professor, we came here to study the plant."

"Did you, indeed? Well, there are proper channels to go through, young man. What is your name?"

"Westman. I'm a journalist."

"The press?"

"In a manner of speaking." He reached into his coat pocket for his pencil and notebook. "Perhaps you wouldn't mind answering a few questions?"

Andrews heaved a deep breath. "You're rather late. I addressed the press earlier this morning. But I suppose I can spare you a few minutes. Go on. What do wish to know?"

"Do you consider the plant dangerous, sir?"

The corner of Andrews' mouth twitched. "I see. You're referring to the unfortunate deaths on the passage from Africa. Accidents, I can assure you. We encountered rough weather. Passengers were warned not to venture out on deck."

"What about the pocket watch recovered in the hold with the plant? Did it not belong to one of the missing men?"

"It did. The man had obviously been in the hold at some point and misplaced his watch. Mr Westman, let me make one thing clear right away. The notion that this wonderful plant has the ability to catch, trap and digest fully grown men is preposterous. Its diet comprises insects and small rodents. I won't deny the publicity has been to our advantage. Crowds have flocked to see its exotic beauty. But the rumours are nothing but balderdash."

Westman scrawled notes on the page. "Are you acquainted with Miss Penelope Trotter?"

Andrews' expression dropped. "That lunatic woman from the Natural History Society?"

Sophie knitted her eyebrows. "Miss Trotter is a well-respected explorer, sir."

"She's a blasted maniac, that's what she is. No doubt she's told you all about her experience in the Congo."

"Should we have reason to doubt her story?" asked Westman.

"Yes. Her tale of tribal rituals and human sacrifice to this inoffensive plant are pure fantasy."

"You are certain?"

"I'm well acquainted with her work. The tribe she stayed with are renowned for drinking the nectar of the Goliath trap."

"Goliath trap?"

Andrews gestured at the plant. "Aptly named, as you see. We now know the nectar is highly hallucinogenic. A few sips and you might very well see Her Majesty Queen Victoria riding a flying elephant across Kew. Miss Trotter's word cannot be trusted."

Intoxicating nectar?

Westman exchanged a look with Sophie. "Well, that does indeed cast doubt on Miss Trotter's account."

Sophie breathed a small sigh. "I should still like to take a close look at the plant."

Andrews raised a bushy eyebrow. "Certainly. If you fill in the necessary forms at head office, your application could be reviewed in as little as six weeks."

Her mouth popped open. "Six weeks? But that's such a long time."

Andrews clasped his hands in front of him and shrugged. "I'm afraid that's how we do things. Now, if you'll excuse me?"

***

Sophie kneeled on the blanket to open the picnic hamper. "Do you think Miss Trotter really imagined those things?"

Westman stretched out his legs and crossed his ankles. Across the tea lawn, tourists still filed in and out of the Palm House.

"It's difficult to say," he said.

"Lemonade?" She rooted around in the basket and produced two glasses.

"Yes, thank you." He took a glass, and she poured their drinks.

What were they to think of the plant now? Did it pose a threat to the public, or were the disappearances onboard the ship a mere coincidence? Was Miss Trotter delusional? So many unanswered questions, and his conclusions were as cloudy as the fresh lemonade in his glass. They needed to dig deeper.

Sophie unpacked the hamper. "I brought cold meats, bread, cheese, apples, strawberries. Oh, poor Blinks. Should we take him something to eat? Jack might like a slice of chicken."

His thoughts preoccupied him, and he recalled the cloaked stranger in the glasshouse. Who was he? A person who covers their face with a hood in a crowd must have something to hide. Westman drank his lemonade, grateful after the heat of the glasshouse.

"Freddie?" Sophie peered over at him enquiringly.

"Sorry, my thoughts were elsewhere."

"A penny for them."

He sat up straight, crossing his legs. "If Professor Andrews is right, we may not have a case at all. His Goliath trap could be no more dangerous than a Venus fly trap. And yet I have a feeling there is truth in the rumours."

"A feeling?"

"Didn't you sense it in there?" He nodded towards the Palm House.

She tilted her head in thought. "No. What did you feel?"

"Something ominous. I don't know." He lifted his shoulders and exhaled.

She set down a plate of fruit and looked at him. "If only we could examine the plant sooner, to rule out any danger. Six weeks is an awfully long time to wait."

"It is. And more deaths could occur between now and then." He downed the rest of his lemonade. "I can see only one solution."

Curiosity sparked in her eyes. "Yes?"

"We must come back." His gaze slid to the glinting Palm House, hazy in the afternoon light. "Tonight after the park closes."