Moonflower Madness

by Margaret Pemberton

  ‘But I don’t hate Chung King!’ Gianetta cried passionately. ‘I love it. I love the temples and pagodas and the plum blossom and the junks on the river. What I hate is only being able to see these things from a distance. I want to visit the temples. I want to walk out on the hills beneath the plum trees. I want to enjoy China, not be protected from it!’

  Dark tendrils of hair had escaped from her upswept hairstyle and clung softly against her cheeks. Serena regarded her affectionately. Her mother had often been heard to say, though not in Gianetta’s hearing, that it was a pity Gianetta was not more English in her colouring, and that she had not Serena’s height and consequent grace. It was true that when they had attended balls together she, Serena, had always attracted the most attention from gentlemen admirers. But she had always modestly assumed that to be because of Gianetta’s well known lack of all inheritance, or any prospect of one.

  Gianetta’s violet-blue, wide-set, black-lashed eyes, met Serena’s. Her full mouth widened in an apologetic smile. ‘I’m sorry, Serena. I’m being an awful bore. It’s just that I find it all so frustrating. It would be the same if we were in Kabul or Delhi. We still wouldn’t be able to leave the house and gardens. There are times when I truly wish I had been born a man.’

  Serena gurgled with delight at her ridiculousness. ‘You sound like one of those ladies who admire Mrs Pankhurst!’

  ‘I am.’ Gianetta retorted darkly.

  Serena’s amusement deepened. If and when they returned to England she could quite imagine Gianetta with cropped hair, proudly marching to win votes for women. ‘When do you intend asking Mama’s permission for our painting expedition?’ she asked, tactfully changing the subject.

  ‘Now,’ Gianetta said resolutely.

  As she moved purposefully towards the door, Serena said musingly, ‘I wonder what time the junks from Ichang will dock? I heard Mama give instructions that they were to be met by every sedan-chair and bearer available. Mr Cartwright and Lord Rendlesham are to travel into parts of China that no European has ever ventured into before. The equipment they have brought with them must be prodigious.’

  Gianetta hesitated at the door, looking at Serena with interest. It had not occurred to her that Mr Cartwright and Lord Rendlesham would be doing anything more than journeying from Shanghai to Chung King by river and, after a short rest, making the return journey in the same manner.

  ‘I don’t see how Lord Rendlesham will be able to travel further than the Residency,’ she said candidly. ‘He’s ages old. The only equipment he and Mr Cartwright will have with them will be foot-warmers and bath-chairs.’

  Serena had burst out laughing and Gianetta had left her and gone in search of her aunt. Her aunt had not been available. She was at her desk, writing copious letters to acquaintances in Peking and friends in England, and had given instructions that she was not to be disturbed.

  The long afternoon wore on. Shortly after three o’clock, Gianetta heard the sedan-chairs and bearers leaving the rear of the Residency on their way down to the river. The level of the Yang-tze changed dramatically according to the seasons, and long stone staircases led down from the bank to the present level of the water. If, as Serena had said, Mr Cartwright and Lord Rendlesham had brought extensive equipment with them, then unloading and then transferring it up the steep stone steps would take a long while.

  She wandered out into the garden with her sketch-pad, and was absorbed in capturing the lines of a delicately shaped terracotta pot with peonies spilling down from it, when she heard the noise of the sedan-chairs returning. She ignored the commotion, having no curiosity at all about either Lord Rendlesham or his companion. It seemed to her that every Englishman who visited China did so only in order to find fault with it. Lord Rendlesham and Mr Zachary Cartwright would be no different. She didn’t care if she met them at all.

  She looked down at her sketch-pad with satisfaction. She had captured the clean, pure lines of the flowers and the jar. The next thing she was going to do was to approach her aunt again. If she could look forward to an escape from the Residency, however temporary, then she would be able to survive the boredom of dinner that evening with her uncle’s guests.

  Her aunt looked at her coldly. ‘No, Gianetta. You most certainly can not indulge in an unnecessary expedition into the countryside. Mr Li has been engaged to instruct yourself and Serena in the art of Chinese flower painting. There are plenty of flowers in the garden which can be painted. The kind of venture that you are suggesting is quite out of the question.’

  ‘But it would be a simple expedition to arrange, and Mr Li thinks it most necessary …’ she persisted desperately.

  Her aunt silenced her with a steely eye. ‘I think you have made a mistake. I am quite sure that Mr Li does not consider it necessary at all. I want to hear no more about it. And now, if you will excuse me, I have an appointment with your uncle.’

  She swept from the room without a backward glance, her lips tightly set, her jawline implacable.

  Gianetta clenched her fists and fought the temptation to pick up the nearest ornament to hand and throw it in her aunt’s wake. As she struggled for self-control she saw Serena descend the last few steps of the staircase and cross the hall towards the study her mother had just entered. The family tête-à-tête was about to begin, and Gianetta was sure she knew what subject was under discussion.

  Filled with a sense of approaching doom, she made her way slowly towards the stairs. Dinner would be served in little over an hour. Her aunt would expect her to fulfil her role as dutiful niece, and to listen with polite interest to the boring ramblings of her guests.

  Gianetta’s Chinese maid was already filling up her bath with enormous jugs of water. She opened her closet doors, wondering which of her gowns, nearly all of them originally Serena’s, she would wear. Listlessly she plucked a lemon Crêpe de Chine dress from a hanger. It had a high-boned neck and long sleeves, tight at the wrist and then flounced so that they extended over her well-shaped hands, drawing attention to them.

  ‘Your bath ready now, Missy,’ the maid said dutifully, and Gianetta thanked her, wondering if she was perhaps drawing too many conclusions from too little evidence. Serena had not actually said that Henry Plaxtol had asked her to marry him, or that she would accept him if he did so. Her aunt had said nothing to indicate that the meeting in the study was about Serena’s marital future. And yet … and yet …

  She sank into the fragrant water.

  What else could the tête-à-tête be about? Two letters had arrived from Henry on the same day, and since their arrival her aunt’s eyes had held an unmistakable gleam. Wedding bells were in the air, and they certainly were not for herself. All the young men she had met so far had seemed far more attracted to Serena’s fair, English-rose prettinesss than they were to her own dark vibrancy.

  So … Henry had asked for Serena’s hand in marriage and, because he was his father’s sole heir, her aunt and uncle had been only too happy to give his request their blessing.

  Gianetta wriggled her toes moodily in the water. Why, oh why, hadn’t her Italian grandparents become reconciled with her mother? If they had done so, her own position would be far different. She would in all likelihood be living with them in Italy, not facing a future as a permanent house guest of Serena’s or a lonely existence in a cold, draughty house in the Lincolnshire fens. She towelled herself dry, hoping vehemently that Serena would have more sense than to accept Henry Plaxtol’s proposal, and knowing that a quiet-spoken vicar with ample independent means was exactly the kind of husband Serena would choose.

  By the time she had dressed and re-done her hair she knew that she was late. Not late for dinner, that would be a faux pas even she would not dare to commit, but late for pre-dinner drinks with her uncle and aunt and their guests in the main drawing-room.

  The Chinese boy her aunt had trained as a footman and who wore a striking livery of her own design, opened the drawing-room doors for her and she stepped inside, registering with immedia
te alarm her aunt’s rare good humour.

  ‘Ah, there you are, Gianetta. Please allow me to introduce Lord Rendlesham to you.’ She turned to the compactly built gentleman standing behind her, half-obliterated from view by her Junoesque proportions. ‘Lord Rendlesham, my niece, Miss Gianetta Hollis. Gianetta, Lord Rendlesham, a very distinguished member of the Royal Geographical Society and the Royal Botanical Society, Kew.’

  Gianetta accepted his proffered hand, her eyes wide with shock. He was in his middle thirties, with thickly curling auburn hair and a smile that was easy and engaging.

  ‘I’m delighted to meet you, Miss Hollis,’ he said. There was a hint of suppressed amusement in his voice, as if he were aware that he was not at all what she had expected.

  ‘Mr Cartwright has been unavoidably detained,’ her aunt was saying to her. ‘Some difficulty with the transport of equipment from the riverside to the Residency. We are delaying dinner until his arrival.

  Gianetta’s amazement increased. To delay dinner was unprecedented. Lord Rendlesham and his companion were obviously far more important than she had imagined.

  ‘Lady Hollis tells me that Serena and yourself are having lessons in Chinese flower painting,’ Lord Rendlesham was saying to her. ‘As a botanist, I wish I had a little more talent myself in that direction.’

  Gianetta made a polite answering remark but her attention was focused on Serena, who was standing a few feet away from them, next to her father and the Chinese Viceroy. Was she imagining it, or was Serena glowing with an inner radiance? If only she could catch her eye then she would know if her suspicions were correct, but Serena infuriatingly kept her gaze upon her father, who was explaining to her the difference between a botanist and a naturalist.

  ‘I had a very pretty collection of dried flowers when I was a girl,’ her aunt was saying. ‘Such an edifying occupation, I always think.’

  ‘Yes, I am sure it must have been, Lady Hollis,’ Lord Rendlesham murmured. Seeing the good humour in his voice and the laughter in his eyes, Gianetta decided that she liked him very much. The evening was not going to be boring, after all.

  ‘And what is to be your final destination?’ her uncle asked, turning towards Lord Rendlesham. ‘It might just be possible to travel further west by junk to Luchow, but the junk would have to be manually hauled from the river bank, as they have to be through the Ichang gorges.’

  ‘We are going north, Sir Arthur, not west,’ Lord Rendlesham said, and her uncle’s eyebrows flew high in surprise.

  ‘Impossible,’ he said decisively. ‘There are no more consulates to offer protection, and the area is for the most part uncharted.’

  ‘Nevertheless, that is the direction we intend to take,’ Lord Rendlesham said easily. ‘We hope to reach the northern province of Kansu and to search for plants along the western border with Tibet.’

  If he had said he intended searching for plants on the surface of the moon, Gianetta’s uncle could not have looked more astonished.

  ‘But my good man!’ he protested apoplectically, ‘Such a journey is physically impossible! You surely haven’t forgotten what happened to Margery when he made a similar attempt?’

  ‘No, indeed I haven’t,’ Lord Rendlesham said, unruffled. ‘But that was nearly thirty years ago and I don’t anticipate that we shall meet with the same fate.’

  ‘Who was Margery?’ Serena asked her mother in a whisper.

  ‘A gentleman directly responsible for our being in Chung King,’ her mother said, her voice low so that she would not be overheard by the Viceroy. ‘He attempted to cross into one of China’s more remote provinces from Burma. He was most cruelly murdered by the local people, and the British government insisted on an agreement with the Chinese that such a thing would not happen again. It is for that reason that Papa is in Chung King, to ensure that the agreement is kept and that British travellers are not molested.’

  ‘But how on earth can Papa ensure such a thing?’ Serena asked in bewilderment. ‘He never travels out into the countryside …’

  ‘Serena!’ The tone of her mother’s voice silenced Serena instantly.

  Lady Hollis turned to her guest and forced a smile. ‘I think I have just heard someone entering by the main door. Mr Cartwright must have arrived.’

  Gianetta was aware that Serena’s remark had vastly entertained Lord Rendlesham and wondered if his friend, now audibly approaching, was equally good-humoured.

  ‘I was very sorry to hear of your father’s death,’ Lady Hollis was now saying to him. ‘I knew him very well, as you know, and always thought him a most remarkable person.’

  Lord Rendlesham accepted her condolences, and as he did so the drawing-room doors were flung open to admit a tall, broad shouldered young man.

  ‘Mr Ca’t’ight, Ma’am,’ the Chinese footman said, but he went unheard. Mr Cartwright was already making his own introductions.

  Even though she was no longer expecting to see an old man, Gianetta felt a slam of shock at Mr Cartwright’s youth. He was even younger than Lord Rendlesham, no more than twenty-six or twenty-seven. Dazedly, she wondered how such a young man could have earned himself such a prestigious professional reputation. He was shaking hands with Lady Hollis and turning towards Serena, and Gianetta’s second realization was how excessively good looking he was.

  His colouring was as dark as her own. Blue-black hair tumbled low over strongly marked brows. His nose was straight, his jaw firm, his mouth finely chiselled, and when he moved, he did so with the ease and grace of an athlete.

  Her uncle was introducing him. ‘Mr Cartwright, my niece, Miss Gianetta Hollis.’

  The eyes beneath the demonically winged brows were as dark as she had expected them to be, the deep brown irises flecked with gold. His well-shaped mouth was not softened by laughterlines as Lord Rendlesham’s was. Instead there was an abrasive, uncompromising look to his handsome features that indicated he was not a man it would be wise to trifle with.

  His eyes were preoccupied as they were introduced and then his attention returned immediately to Serena. Gianetta knew, with amusement, that Serena’s fairytale blonde beauty had worked its magic yet again.

  ‘Let us go in to dinner,’ her aunt said, determined that it should be delayed no longer. ‘Lord Rendlesham, would you be so kind as to escort Serena? And Mr Cartwright, if you would escort Gianetta. We are only a small party but I’m sure you will find the Viceroy’s comments on your proposed expedition extremely interesting.’

  The Viceroy had already made it known that he had given permission for Lord Rendlesham and his companion to journey through his province. Gianetta had a shrewd idea that, even if he had refused, it would have made no difference to Mr Cartwright. He was a man who would not take no for an answer, even from a Viceroy.

  Conversation at dinner, as Lord Rendlesham explained to his host exactly what it was he and Mr Cartwright hoped to achieve on their expedition, was so fascinating that Gianetta forgot about her fear that Serena had become engaged to Henry Plaxtol.

  It transpired that Lord Rendlesham had never been to China before but that Zachary Cartwright had previously travelled in Western Hupeh. There he had heard rumours of blue Moonflowers growing in the more northerly province of Kansu.

  ‘Oh!’ Serena breathed. ‘How romantic! Is that why you are in China, Mr Cartwright? To find a blue Moonflower?’

  Zachary Cartwright had taken little part in the conversation so far, allowing Lord Rendlesham to answer most of his host’s questions. Now, as Serena fixed her gaze wonderingly upon him, he leaned forward slightly, saying with a depth of feeling that sent a tingle down Gianetta’s spine, ‘To find the blue Moonflower and to find hundreds of other plants that are, as yet, unknown in Europe.’

  ‘But why do you do it?’ Serena’s father asked in bewilderment. ‘What sense is there in risking life and limb, and suffering untold hardship, all for the sake of a flower?’

  Zachary Cartwright’s eyes blazed. ‘I do it because my search takes me into country where
no Englishman has ever ventured. I do it because the beauty and majesty of the mountains and valleys that I explore have not yet been violated by civilisation. I do it because I can imagine nothing more wonderful than discovering an unknown flower and bringing the seed of that flower back to England, enabling hundreds of thousands of people to enjoy its beauty.’

  Sir Arthur cleared his throat, embarrassed by his guest’s intensity. ‘Yes, I can see that that might be a jolly fine thing to do,’ he said, quite obviously not seeing at all.

  Gianetta’s fingers curled into her palms. It was not a jolly fine thing to do. It was a wonderful thing to do. A magical thing to do. To search for flowers that no European had ever seen! To journey into valleys into which no European had ever ventured! The blood pounded in her temples at the very thought.

  Lady Hollis was rising to her feet, indicating that the gentlemen should be left with their port. Gianetta and Serena followed her out of the dining-room and into the lamp-lit drawing-room.

  ‘And now, Gianetta,’ her aunt said with unconcealed satisfaction as the footman closed the portières behind them. ‘I have news which I am sure will please you as much as it does me.’

  Gianetta’s eyes flew from her aunt’s to Serena’s. Serena smiled radiantly and slipped her hand into hers.

  ‘Henry has written to Papa, requesting permission to ask for my hand in marriage,’ she said happily, ‘and Mama and Papa have given his request their blessing.’

  Gianetta knew that instead of looking overjoyed at the news, she looked horrified. She struggled to alter the expression on her face, saying, in a strangled voice, ‘I hope you will be very happy, Serena.’