She had hidden herself away in the summerhouse, for she and Thomas were more at odds than ever, like mismatched horses in double harness. She busied herself with her nature study pursuits and her paints, and hoped this particular bout of bad weather would pass. The lady’s slipper flower had bloomed and faded, the petals had dropped away to reveal a green swelling. She had been observing the plant closely for any further signs of distress, and to watch with fascination the seed pod come, now that the flower had gone. She was anxious to collect the minuscule dots of new life from the precious plant and to treat and sow them. In her mind she saw a field full of nodding orchids, their delicate buttercream bowls lit up by the morning sun. She hummed a little tune as she got out the blotting paper and tweezers. Once divested of flower and seed, the orchid would be hardly noticed amongst her other specimens, she thought. The leaves looked like wild garlic, and unless you knew the plant intimately, it would be hard to distinguish one from the other.
