The talented mrs greenwa.., p.1
The Talented Mrs Greenway, page 1
‘A strength of Tea Cooper’s novels is the historical authenticity which comes from thorough research, but which never intrudes … the protagonists are women with intelligence, agency and courage. The Butterfly Collector will be enjoyed by those who like well-researched historical fiction with a mystery to solve.’ —Denise Newton Writes
‘Fans of Natasha Lester and Kate Morton will absolutely devour The Fossil Hunter. It is the kind of story you can easily get swept up in. Readers interested in Australian history, museums, and the fascinating world of fossils will be especially delighted with Cooper’s stunning new historical novel.’ —Better Reading
‘Cooper fills the page with strong and intriguing female characters. There is a soupçon of romance but the real focus is on these trailblazing women. Highly recommended.’ —Booklist
‘Elegant … Cooper’s confident prose and deep empathy for her characters will keep readers hooked as she unspools her intrigue-filled mystery. Historical fans will want to dig this one up.’ —Publishers Weekly on The Fossil Hunter
‘Cooper again indulges her love of museums and historical relics to produce a fascinating tale.’ —The Australian on The Fossil Hunter
‘Tea Cooper’s meticulous prose and deft phrasing delight the reader.’ —Historical Novel Society (US) on The Cartographer’s Secret
‘Cooper gets to the heart of a family’s old wounds, puzzles, and obsessions, while providing a luscious historical rendering of the landscape. This layered family saga will keep readers turning the pages.’ —Publishers Weekly on The Cartographer’s Secret
‘Weaving together historical facts with fabulous fiction, Tea delivers a richly imagined world. Her research is impeccable and the era vividly drawn … [she] excels at writing complex, strong female characters. Evie and Lettie, and their dual timelines and tales, are completely mesmerising. I devoured this novel over the weekend and haven’t stopped thinking about it since. The Cartographer’s Secret is an excellent Australian historical.’ —Better Reading
‘A new Australian historical fiction book by Tea Cooper always gives reason to celebrate. So many of her previous works are both engaging and masterfully crafted tales of mystery and intrigue that allow her readers to journey alongside strong heroines and enticing tales. In her latest, Tea once again provides the perfect blend of fact and fiction in this riveting historical mystery.’ —Great Reads and Tea Leaves on The Cartographer’s Secret
‘… a delicate union between historical fact and compelling fiction. The Cartographer’s Secret presents a remarkable voyage of adventure, exploration, mystery and family secrets … a delightful tale that historical fiction fans will not want to miss. … Take a trek back into Australia’s stimulating past, thanks to the masterful writing of Tea Cooper.’ —Mrs B’s Book Reviews
‘… a mesmerising historical mystery.’ —Herald Sun on The Cartographer’s Secret
‘Take a journey into the heart of Australia’s past, in the company of the strong and inspirational characters in Tea Cooper’s latest triumph, The Girl in the Painting. A stunning historical timepiece … one of Australia’s leading historical fiction specialists.’ —Mrs B’s Book Reviews
‘Refreshing and unique, The Woman in the Green Dress sweeps you across the wild lands of Australia in a thrilling whirl of mystery, romance, and danger. This magical tale weaves together two storylines with a heart-pounding finish that is drop-dead gorgeous.’ —J’nell Ciesielski, author of The Socialite
‘Readers of Kate Morton and Beatriz Williams will be dazzled. The Woman in the Green Dress spins readers into an evocative world of mystery and romance in this deeply researched book … One of the most intelligent, visceral and vibrant historical reads I have had the privilege of visiting in an age.’ —Rachel McMillan, author of The London Restoration
‘… boasts strong female protagonists, an infectious fascination with the past, and the narrative skill to weave multiple timelines into a satisfying whole … easy to devour.’ —Sydney Morning Herald on The Woman in the Green Dress
‘… weaves a seductive narrative of secrets, memories, lost love and mystery … a freshly drawn bittersweet saga that draws nuggets of “truth” with timeless magic and might-have-beens.’ —North & South Magazine (NZ) on The Woman in the Green Dress
‘Cooper weaves historical fact and creative fiction through the two periods with success. The plot … contains Cooper’s signature mix of colonial and indigenous social history, scientific discovery, mystery and a hint of romance.’ —Historical Novel Society on The Woman in the Green Dress
‘Cooper is a welcome inclusion to the rising ranks of female-centred historical Australian novels.’ —Herald Sun on The Naturalist’s Daughter
TEA COOPER is an established Australian author of historical fiction. In a past life she was a teacher, a journalist and a farmer. These days she haunts museums and indulges her passion for storytelling. She is the internationally bestselling author of several novels, including The Butterfly Collector; The Naturalist’s Daughter; the USA Today–bestselling The Woman in the Green Dress; The Girl in the Painting; The Cartographer’s Secret, winner of the prestigious Daphne du Maurier Award; and The Fossil Hunter.
www.teacooperauthor.com
Also by Tea Cooper
The Horse Thief
The Cedar Cutter
The Currency Lass
The Naturalist’s Daughter
The Woman in the Green Dress
The Girl in the Painting
The Cartographer’s Secret
The Fossil Hunter
The Butterfly Collector
(Available in ebook)
Matilda’s Freedom
Lily’s Leap
Forgotten Fragrance
The House on Boundary Street
www.harpercollins.com.au/hq
To all women whose stories remain hidden, we hear you, and we acknowledge you.
Contents
Also by Tea Cooper
One
Two
Three
Four
Five
Six
Seven
Eight
Nine
Ten
Eleven
Twelve
Thirteen
Fourteen
Fifteen
Sixteen
Seventeen
Eighteen
Nineteen
Twenty
Twenty-One
Twenty-Two
Twenty-Three
Twenty-Four
Twenty-Five
Twenty-Six
Twenty-Seven
Twenty-Eight
Twenty-Nine
Thirty
Thirty-One
Thirty-Two
Thirty-Three
Epilogue
The Sydney Monitor
Historical Notes
Acknowledgements
Book Club Discussion Questions
One
1806
Manali House, six miles east of Bath, England
‘Miss Fripp, I was hoping I might find you here.’
The pencil fell to Mary’s lap, and she lifted her gaze to the silhouette, blocking the sun. Miss Fripp? Her husband, James, was her senior by more years than she cared to count. She didn’t correct the gentleman standing before her in the garden—many had made the mistake of believing her to be James’s daughter, not his wife.
Shading her eyes with the flat of her hand, she admired the man’s neatly fitted moss-coloured velvet tailcoat, his brilliant white cravat and, in the sudden change from shadow to light, the planes of his face came into focus—high cheekbones, a long, somewhat sharp nose and startling hazel-green eyes that glinted in the sunlight. His skin wore a healthy glow yet there was a weathered look about him of a man who spent a lot of time out of doors. She detected a musky, very masculine scent.
‘Francis Howard Greenway.’ For some unknown reason he emphasised the name Howard before making a sweeping bow, a heavy lock of his reddish hair falling over his high forehead. ‘At your service, Miss. I’ve been requested by Captain Fripp to quote on repairs and renovations to the house and stables.’
She leapt to her feet. He had? She’d rather hoped James would discuss the proposal with her before he made a move. He was aware of her interest in architecture and her feelings for her home, the house Papa had built. In a surprising mood of bonhomie, spurred no doubt by the quantity of brandy he had consumed, James had told her of his intention to have the house and stables ‘brought up to scratch’. He’d discovered a local architect who had studied under the famous architect John Nash in London and believed he could negotiate a reduced price. He’d failed to mention he’d already made a start. ‘You’ve spoken with my husband?’
A hint of colour stole across Mr Greenway’s cheeks. ‘I beg your pardon, Mrs Fripp. Unfortunately, Captain Fripp appears to have forgotten our appointment and I took it upon myself to appraise the house and its surrounds.’
How unusual. Mudd, stable master and general factotum, rarely approved any unescorted visitor, and since Papa’s death he’d extended his role as groom to that of guardian. He must have taken James into town because Mudd wouldn’t allow anyone to roam the grounds alone.
Mr Greenway lifted his chin and surveyed the vista. ‘I thought perhaps I’d find a vantage spot to survey the house.’
She’d sat and listened to James’s grandiose ideas but when he’d spoken of tacking a new wing on the side of Papa’s simple Palladian country house to accommodate additional reception and gaming rooms, she’d made the foolish mistake of lamenting the resulting loss of symmetry. She’d decided the addition of a portico might balance James’s proposed additions. Her gaze darted to her sketchpad, still lying beneath the tree where it had fallen when she’d jumped up, and she bent to retrieve her drawing but Mr Greenway moved faster. ‘May I?’
She nodded and with damp palms waited while he studied her sketch. ‘It would seem we are of like mind. The house is a delightful example of Palladian architecture, influenced by Inigo Jones, no doubt. It would be a great shame to detract from the classic features, such harmony, clarity and order—and, as you have so rightly shown, perfect symmetry. The addition of the portico is a touch of genius …’ With her sketchpad dangling from his fingers he strolled off, examining the building from various angles.
Mind afire, she scampered after him, skipping steps to match his determined stride.
Finally she caught up when he settled on the grassy knoll overlooking the house, her sketchpad still in hand. He’d pulled out a measuring compass and stubby pencil and with a few deft strokes adjusted the height of the portico.
A feather-light breeze tickled her skin, and she bit back a curl of annoyance. She should be pleased at his interest, but a sense of violation overtook her. Stepping closer, she studied his handiwork.
‘Do you think perhaps …?’ She bit back her words. Who was she to question a man who had studied under John Nash?
‘There!’ He gave a satisfied grunt and held up her sketchpad. ‘I believe that has corrected your errors.’
‘Errors?’ No, simply a different vision. Her skin prickled again—definitely not caused by the breeze.
‘Indeed. There are certain principles which should be adhered to as laid down by Sir William Chambers, architect to their Royal Highnesses the Prince of Wales and Princess Dowager of Wales. Anyone who purports to have an interest in architecture should study his treatise.’
Her shoulders dropped and her foolish pride slipped. Papa’s library contained a great many books on architecture, some of which he’d brought back from India. It was an interest he’d developed over the years, and one they’d shared, but she’d never heard of Chambers. ‘There is a manual?’
‘Not so much a manual, a treatise laying down the basic principles of architecture. I have found it invaluable.’ He pocketed his measuring compass, patting to ensure it was securely lodged.
‘How I wish I could pursue my own interests.’ The words popped out of her mouth before she had time to think. She must have taken him by surprise because he flinched, tipped up his face, and deep in his eyes she caught a momentary flicker of something unexpected—quite what she couldn’t be sure.
‘You have talent, a talent that should be fostered. You should travel, expand your view of the world.’
‘I am a married woman, Mr Greenway. My husband requires that I remain at home.’ Ready to dance to his pipe and drum. Perhaps matters might be different if she had fulfilled her obligations and provided the necessary heir and spare, but in the three years since their marriage she’d failed. She hadn’t managed to conceive, and James was rapidly losing patience.
‘Why should marriage prevent you from furthering your interest in architecture?’ He held her gaze, and her reply flew away with the birds.
He wouldn’t understand. Papa had determined her life: her home, her education and the arrangement of her marriage, and she’d blindly accepted first his authority and, after his passing, that of the husband he had chosen for her.
Mr Greenway’s gaze narrowed, his intense scrutiny making her cheeks burn. ‘There is nothing to prevent a woman displaying an interest in architecture. Besides, this is your home, is it not? And isn’t it a woman’s role to manage the household?’
‘The internal functioning perhaps.’ Truth be told, not even that. Mrs Rudge, the housekeeper and cook James had employed, ruled the house with her wooden spoon and barely tolerated any interference. ‘Not the building or repairs to the house. That’s why Captain Fripp has engaged you.’
‘Tosh and nonsense. There are plenty of women who have an interest in architecture.’ Her cheeks grew warm as his face broke into the most engaging smile. ‘Lady Elizabeth Wilbraham is but one example—the first to pave the way. She was responsible for the design and fit-out of her own home, Wotton House, in Buckinghamshire.’
Mary’s heart leapt. How could she have forgotten? Papa had attributed the beautiful sash windows he’d installed in the library to Lady Wilbraham’s designs. ‘I wish I could have met her.’
She shook her head at her stupidity. A peeress wouldn’t have entertained a woman of her standing, the country daughter of a retired sea captain. And it was beside the point.
‘She passed away almost one hundred years ago,’ she added.
‘But her genius remains—Wotton House is a perpetual reminder of the lasting value of classical architecture. Have you not visited London and seen the work of Sir Christopher Wren? Lady Wilbraham was his sponsor.’
‘I have never travelled beyond Gloucestershire.’
‘A matter that should be remedied. Your husband may have mentioned that I spent several years in London studying under Nash—my designs have been exhibited at the Royal Academy. I, too, prefer the neoclassical style.’
‘Neoclassical …’
‘Grand scale and simple geometric forms, the use of Greco-Roman motifs and proportions, a dramatic use of columns, rather as you have here.’ He tapped the page in her sketchbook then handed it back. ‘I must take my leave. I will submit my designs to Captain Fripp. My brothers, John and Olive, will undertake the necessary repairs and structural improvements required before work can progress. In the meantime, work on your drawings and we can compare our thoughts. Good afternoon, ma’am.’ He replaced his hat, straightened his moss-green coat and with a long, loping gait disappeared down the carriageway.
The days passed in a haze as Mary scoured the shelves holding Papa’s architectural books and found references to Christopher Wren, another west countryman as it turned out, but no mention of Lady Wilbraham. She found plenty of tomes revealing the splendours of Ancient Rome, Athens and the Mughal Empire, but nothing like the book by Chambers that Mr Greenway had mentioned. She thought of little else in the intervening days, while she worked on her plan for the house, filled with a longing for Mr Greenway’s opinion. James remained absent, in London according to Mudd, and the Greenway brothers did not appear to begin the repairs.
Summer had come early to the hills and the cerulean sky played host to scudding clouds that sent shadows skittering across the grassy slopes. Knowing James was away, Mary made no effort and simply pulled on a faded Indian muslin day dress and tucked her heavy hair into a sloppily wound chignon then snatched up her sketchpad and headed for the knoll above the house, the scent of the grass sweet beneath her slippered feet.
She threw herself down, her back against the gnarled oak tree, and opened her sketchpad. Mr Greenway’s corrections had thrown her design into a completely different light, changed not only the perspective of her drawing but also her vision. With the addition of four columns the symmetry was restored. She squinted into the distance, holding her pencil up to the gauge the proportions. A bubble of happiness swelled in her breast as she imagined the reality of her design. How she wished she could share it with Mr Greenway.
‘It seems my suggestions appealed.’
As if conjured from her imagination, Mr Greenway stood before her once again. Cheeks burning, she shot to her feet. ‘Good morning, Mr Greenway.’ She made a fumbled attempt at a curtsy and managed to tangle her foot in her hem and lurched away, leaning heavily against the tree to restore her balance.
‘I had no intention of taking you by surprise. I called out but you were engrossed in your drawing.’ He bent and picked up her sketchpad, and his long finger traced her redrawn lines of the columns. ‘A masterful move. The contract I have agreed with Captain Fripp is for a new reception room but the repairs to the structural damage and undermining of the foundations could well be combined with some new features. A portico such as this would give the building a greater presence.’
