Westman read the signboard outside the science academy hall.

The Ladies Natural History Club, from 9 to 10 o'clock, presents an educational and diverting talk on The Natural Perils of the African Congo, with guest speaker and celebrated female explorer Miss Penelope Trotter.

He slipped out his pocket watch and consulted the face. Twenty minutes past ten. The talk would be finished by now. Sure enough, when he opened the double doors and strode into the auditorium, he stepped into a whirlwind of ladies gossiping and drinking tea. His arrival didn't go unnoticed. No sooner had he crossed the threshold, a woman in tweed bloomers shouted across the room.

"I say, this event is for ladies only. Can't you read the sign?" There was a gleam of sport in her eyes, and she marched over, followed by a swarm of other young women. "Truly, sir, it is a breach of the rules to allow a gentleman in here."

She stopped in front of him and Westman's eyebrows journeyed skyward.

Good lord.

He considered himself tall, but this woman was a tower. His gaze took in the rough woollen bloomers that ballooned at her thighs and disappeared into heeled lace-up boots. He'd heard that ladies had started wearing trousers, but he'd never seen it for himself. She must have noticed his wandering gaze because she promptly squared her hands on her waist. A thick mass of bronze-gold curls sat around her face, and she lifted one matching eyebrow.

"I beg your pardon," said Westman. "I'm looking for a young lady."

"Well, you've come to the right place." Her voice brimmed with confidence, and she gestured around the room. "Take your pick. Though, I must warn you most are already spoken for."

Her laughter boomed, attracting disapproving stares from the older women in the club.

Caught at the centre of the commotion, a wave of embarrassment washed over him. "Thank you, madam, but I seek Miss Sophie Penderry. Is she here?"

The woman smiled. "What say you, ladies? All those in favour of letting him pass, say 'aye'?"

At that moment, he heard his name called over the murmurs and giggles.

"Mr Westman." Sophie hurried through the group. A coil of dark, silky hair bobbed atop her head and concern filled her pretty face. "Oh, Mr Westman, what are you doing here?"

He couldn't hide his relief at the sight of her. "Your brother sent me. I thought you knew I was coming?"

"Yes, I did. But I wish you'd waited outside."

"I rather wish that myself."

Sophie peered up at him, her blue eyes gentle and understanding. "Not to worry. Tea is almost finished. Let me introduce you to Miss Trotter." She gestured to the lady in bloomers. "Miss Trotter, this is Mr Westman, the journalist I told you about."

Damnation.

Westman offered a polite tip of his head. "How do you do?"

"This is him?" With a grin, Miss Trotter grabbed his hand and shook it. "Wonderful to meet you, Westman. I hope you didn't mind my little joke just now."

He salvaged his fingers from her vice-like grip. "Not at all. Very amusing. Is there somewhere we could talk?"

Sophie beckoned them to follow. "Yes, of course. Just over here."

Miss Trotter collected a cake and refreshment on her way to a quiet corner. "Tell me about this magazine, sir."

"Penderry's Bizarre. We're investigators of myths and the supernatural. Miss Penderry's great uncle runs the business."

"A rather unusual occupation, isn't it?"

"No more so than trekking into the African Congo, I dare say."

She gave a short stab of laughter. "Quite right."

The hall soon emptied, and Westman conducted the interview in the echoing auditorium.

"I'm told you can tell me about the carnivorous plant recently installed at Kew Gardens."

Miss Trotter dusted cake crumbs from her hands. "Indeed I can. It's a species I came across during an expedition to the Congo. But I should tell you, it's not a pleasant tale."

"I expected nothing less. Do continue."

"I had set out to meet a primitive tribe of natives. They seemed friendly enough and allowed me to dine with them and document their customs. But one afternoon, a small group of them wanted me to follow them into the rainforest."

"And you went with them, alone?"

"Any explorer with an ounce of sense doesn't travel without a big knife and a hunting rifle, sir. I felt well protected. But as it happens, I was one of two western explorers on the expedition. My travelling companion was a botanist by the name of Dr Dingley."

"So, you and Dr Dingley followed the tribe into the forest?"

"Yes. They led us to a clearing where they showed us the most hideous tree. I say tree because it had a trunk like an enormous pinecone, covered in hairy vines, and huge leaves edged with thorns. The flowering crown was a strange affair."

"How so?"

"Well, the giant dangling flower was more like a pouch, wide enough for a person to climb inside - not that any rational individual would want to. The walls are coated in a slippery wax, and the bottom this pitfall trap is filled with digestive fluid. Of course, the worst part about the monstrous plant is the tentacles."

Westman, who'd been scribbling notes, paused, his pencil hovering over the notepad. "Did you say tentacles?"

"I did, sir. Tentacles. Translucent tendrils. They emerged from the flower and writhed in the air with a life of their own."

"That sounds horrible," said Sophie. "And quite impossible. A plant cannot possess tentacles."

"Oh, but it did. Our party had made camp just outside the village, and one evening I awoke to the sound of drums and voices. When I went to investigate, I discovered the natives gathered around the tree for some kind of ritual. They'd lit a circle of burning torches and were singing prayers into the night sky. Then they passed around a bowl of sticky black liquid - the nectar from the plant."

"It secretes nectar?" asked Sophie.

"Yes, a sweet syrup that lures in its prey. From time to time, they would drink this nectar or use it in their cooking. They claim it gives them supernatural abilities."

Westman's eyebrows cinched. "What sort of supernatural abilities?"

"They wouldn't tell me. Many of their traditions are kept a secret from outsiders, like the ritual I stumbled upon. I hid in the trees that night and watched them dancing wildly in the torch light. Then they turned their spears on one poor member of the tribe and forced him to climb the tree. All I could do was stare in horror as the tentacles grabbed him and pulled him into the flower. The poor chap screamed over and over again until the lid of the flower closed, sealing off his cries."

Sophie listened, her expression wavering between amazement and revulsion. "What became of him?"

"Digested, I presume. But I didn't wait long enough to find out. Having witnessed such an atrocious event, I rounded up our servants and guides and ordered the camp to pack up. We left that night."

"What did Dr Dingley make of all this?" asked Westman.

"I was the only one who went to investigate the noises."

"You were the only eyewitness? Did no one else from your party go to confirm what you'd seen?"

Miss Trotter laughed. "Goodness gracious, no! Nobody dared venture back to the tree when I told them what was going on. You can hardly blame them."

He finished taking notes and slipped the pad into his coat pocket. "And now the plant is here in London."

Miss Trotter nodded and downed the rest of her tea.

"If what you say is true-"

"Of course it's true. I have no reason to make up such a tale of horror." Her cup rattled on the saucer. "And it's madness I tell you. Moving that plant and bringing it here, and displaying it in a public place! Utter madness."

"Well, you know what the royal family are like. What they want, they usually get."

Sophie sighed. "I'm afraid very few scientists will believe one eyewitness account with no evidence to back up the claim."

"They'll soon regret it," said Miss Trotter.

"I hope it doesn't come to that," said Westman, glancing at Sophie. "Miss Penderry and I are going to see the plant this afternoon."

"Very brave."

"We'll try to avoid becoming supper."

Miss Trotter grinned and cuffed him on the arm. "Well it's been jolly nice knowing you, but I should take my leave. If you'll excuse me?"

Sophie bid Miss Trotter good day, and once she'd left, Westman rubbed his bruised arm.

The skin between his eyebrows creased deeply. "Where on earth did you find that..."

"Bluestocking?"

Westman offered a wry smile. He'd called Sophie a bluestocking in the past, and by the way she now lifted her brow, it seemed his sense of humour was still underappreciated.

"Miss Trotter is a pioneer in the field of exploration," she said.

"So I gathered."

"Did you know she was the first Englishwoman to swim with a platypus in Tasmania?"

"I confess, I never would have guessed it."

With a glance at the wall clock, she picked up her chatelaine bag. "My stars, the time. We should leave."

He turned his focus to the magazine report. "Yes, alright. Blinks is waiting outside with the carriage."

She put on her white summer gloves. "I'm rather excited."

Of course she was. Botany was her passion. Kew Gardens would be paradise to Sophie with its exotic blooms and Amazonian lily pond. It was also the sort of place where couples linked arms and walked amongst the roses. But given the situation, studying a sinister man-eating plant couldn't possibly lead to romance.