As Masson leaned down to inspect a brightly coloured flower set within a cluster of star-shaped, husk-like fruits, he heard the music stop and a polite applause break out from the porch of the Governor’s house. He turned and hurried towards the house just as the Governor, Baron Joachim van Plettenberg, began to address the small crowd. Beside him stood Captain Cook, who looked to Masson like a man who wanted the whole business over and done with so that he could get back to what he knew best. Masson was coming to know that particular feeling all too well.
“As Governor of the Cape Colony and on behalf of the Dutch East India Company, I welcome Captain Cook once again to our good Cape Town. In the past, England and the Dutch Republic have had their differences. It may be called a war in Europe, but here in Africa … we call it a bicker.”
After a stirring of polite laughter from the audience, the Governor continued. “But I am told by a reliable source that Captain Cook will again sail south, braving danger to put to rest once and for all the myth of a Terra Australis. We wish him good luck, and in the meantime, I have assured him during his short sojourn here of our most generous hospitality.”
Masson was surprised to hear the purpose of Cook’s mission broadcast so openly. Even after three months at sea on Cook’s own ship, he had not known that this was their goal. Despite the praise and the cheers of “Bravo!” and “Hear, Hear!” that erupted from the audience, Cook’s face darkened considerably and he no longer looked like a man who wanted to be at sea, but like a man on the verge of murder. But the Governor seemed oblivious to his guest’s sudden change in temper and continued with his speech.
“We were very sorry to hear that Sir Joseph Banks, England’s most esteemed botanist, was not able to join him on this journey as expected. But fortunately for us …”
Masson suddenly stood erect and his mouth grew dry as it occurred to him that the Governor was about to mention his name.
“… our colony’s crops, nurtured by our capable gardeners, have not waited for the arrival of English experts to thrive.”
Masson slumped, relieved and disappointed at the same time, as the crowd enjoyed the Governor’s gentle ribbing of the English.
“The abundance yielded year after year by the lands cultivated within our colony, in sharp contrast with the stubborn sterility of the immense country that surrounds it …”
Masson’s attention began to wander from the speech and as he gazed around him, he did a double take at the most incongruous of sights: about halfway to the menagerie, close to the main path, a man lay prone in a bed of plants with his legs sticking out so as to completely obstruct one of the cross-paths. He did not appear to be moving, and his head and shoulders were buried inside a bush of the same flowers that Masson had been looking at just before the Governor’s speech. One of the garden’s caretakers in the course of making his patrol with his sjambok simply stepped over the man’s legs and continued on his rounds, ignoring him entirely. In the background, van Plettenberg continued. “Our gardens offer the greatest abundance of fruits of different species to the crews of the Dutch East India Company’s vessels …”
Masson grabbed the attention of the individual standing nearest him, a mountain of a man with a grey eyes and a full beard as black as the frock coat and tall, flat-topped hat he wore. He gestured towards the pair of legs lying prostrate in the gravel and asked in a hushed tone, “Excuse me, sir, but shouldn’t someone attend to this gentleman? He doesn’t seem to be well at all.”
The man first turned to Masson with a look of slight annoyance, looking in the direction he was pointing and snorted. “Don’t bother him,” he said with a Dutch accent, “If you do, it’ll only get worse. Trust me.”
“What’s wrong with him?” Masson asked.
“Who knows?” replied the Dutchman. “That’s Doctor Carl Thunberg. Although,” he paused, having spat out the two syllables of the medical title as if they were poison sucked from a snakebite, “for a doctor, he sure doesn’t know what’s good for him.”
The Dutchman seemed to check himself before continuing. “He works for the Company — claims to be some kind of surgeon.” Despite himself, though, he seemed unable to restrain the ill feeling he obviously felt. The man threw in one final comment before turning back to the listen to the speech. “He’s not even Dutch — he’s a Swede.”
Masson turned his attention back to the porch, where van Plettenberg’s speech seemed finally to be coming to an end. “… living proof that the earth is only avaricious for tyrants and slaves and that it yields treasures beyond the imagination when it is cultivated by intelligent men who are governed by wise and invariable laws. Amen.”
To a chorus of “Amen”, the audience began to disperse before being hastily called back by the Governor. “And, ladies and gentlemen, I can tell you that this evening we are being treated with first grade Oolong tea from the Company’s factory in Canton, China, and sugar from Indonesia!”
The audience sighed in unison: “Aaah …”
As the music started up again, Cook shook hands with the governor and then walked off, gesturing wildly to his waiting lieutenants, who seemed as dismayed as Cook was furious.
Seemingly from nowhere, Schelling appeared at Masson’s side, greeting him with a familiar limp handshake and slippery smile. “Mr Masson, I am so glad that you could come. I see you have met Mr Willmer. Willmer,” Schelling said, addressing the large Dutchman, “I’d like to introduce Sir Joseph’s man, Mr Masson. The one sent to collect flowers for the Royal Gardens at Kew.”
“So you’re one of the English experts the Governor was talking about?” asked Willmer, a sly twinkle creasing the corners of his eyes. “Good business, that?”
“It depends on what you find, I guess.”
“Forgive Mr Willmer’s pragmatism, Mr Masson,” Schelling interjected. “He is not a man of science, not a collector so much as a trader.”
“Oh, I see. So what do you specialise in, Mr Willmer?” asked Masson.
“I also collect and sell God’s creatures, Mr Masson, not as pretty as flowers I will grant you, but much more profitable, I am sure.”
“So you are in livestock?” Masson offered when nothing more was forthcoming.
“Slaves, Mr Masson,” Schelling interjected on the Dutchman’s behalf. “You can find all the flowers you like, but they won’t pick themselves.”
Before Masson could respond, Reinhold Forster sauntered up to the trio, his head held further back than seemed physically possible as he struggled in vain to look down on the towering Dutchman.
“Well, well, well. It seems you do have a talent for finding a way into places above your station, Mr Masson. Did you know, gentlemen,’ he asked Schelling and Willmer, his teeth shaded a deep purple by the red wine which now slurred his words, “that whilst we have been tasked by the King with expanding the very horizons of our world and furthering man’s understanding of the natural sciences, Mr Masson here has been sent on a very secret mission to dig around in the Cape’s flower beds.”
Schelling turned to Masson with a quizzical look. “A secret mission? You should be careful, Mr Masson. Secrets are frowned upon in this part of the world — they almost always will get you into trouble.”
Masson felt himself being pushed into a corner and was unnerved by the interest that Schelling was showing. “I assure you, Mr Schelling, there is nothing at all secret about my mission here. It might seem trivial to some,” Masson said, casting a bitter look at Forster, “but Sir Joseph has tasked me with finding a certain flower that the King wishes to have named after the Queen.”
“Well, we are blessed to have such esteemed company this evening, wouldn’t you agree, Mr Willmer?” Schelling said expansively. “Mr Forster here is on a quest to expand the King’s domain whilst Mr Masson has been tasked with finding the key to the Queen’s affections.” Masson felt the weight of the same appraising look that Schelling had laid on him in Cook’s quarters aboard the Resolution, only this time it was followed by something
more calculating. “If I were a betting man, I know which horse I would be backing.”
Before Masson could savour the moment, he saw Captain Cook storming towards the group with one of his lieutenants following close behind. He wondered if he had yet again done something to incur the Captain’s wrath, but it was not Masson that Cook was after. “Mr Forster,” Cook hissed. “If I may have a word with you, sir.”
Forster swivelled his head round to look at the captain. Even in his inebriated state, it must have been clear that there was trouble — and yet, here on dry land in gentler company, he was even more reluctant than usual to be ordered around. “I don’t know, Captain, I’m having such a good time as it is. It seems that our Mr Masson here been guarding quite a secret.”
“If only the same could be said of you, sir,” Cook said through clenched teeth. “Now, Mr Forster, I really must insist.” Masson saw Forster’s eyes move from Cook’s furious visage to his lieutenant’s eager hand, planted firmly on the hilt of his sabre.
“Well, I suppose I could spare a moment. Please excuse me, gentlemen.” Cook’s lieutenant took Forster by the elbow and marched him out of earshot in the direction of the menagerie as Schelling and Willmer looked on with interest.
“Mr Masson,” said Cook, suppressed rage radiating from him like a furnace, “I wonder if you would be kind enough to join us for another little talk with Mr Forster, only this time I would prefer if it were done without an audience.”
Masson excused himself and followed Cook in the direction of the menagerie as the cries of the caged beasts resounded across the gardens beneath the settling twilight.
CHAPTER 15
“Am I correct, Mr Forster, in understanding that it was you who discussed the objective of our expedition with the Governor, even though it was made abundantly clear that it was of the upmost importance that it remain secret until after we had left the Cape?” Cook’s face was masked by the failing light, but the menace in his voice was unmistakeable.
“I … I may have mentioned something in passing, but only that it was a possibility. When he asked me outright, I couldn’t very well lie, could I? It would have been most improper!”
“Improper?” Cook’s tone went from menacing to murderous. “Let me tell you about ‘improper’! You have betrayed the confidence of his Majesty’s Admiralty, by whose favour you are here in the first place. What is also improper is that once news of this reaches the crew, they will almost certainly desert en masse, heading for the nearest ship that will take them home!”
“Surely, you can’t hold me responsible for the cowardice of your crew, Captain?”
Cook grabbed Forster by his lapels and pushed him so that he fell backwards into the dirt onto his rump, an indignant shriek escaping his lips as Cook pounced forward and held him by the throat. “Do not make matters worse, Forster. I and my crew have borne more than our fair share of you and your pompous strutting. You should count yourself lucky that I am only disembarking you and not leaving you to swim back to England from the farthest reaches of the Southern Ocean.”
Cook stepped back and wiped his hands on a handkerchief. “I will give Mr Masson here a copy of my report so that he can send it on to the Admiralty on the next available ship headed for England.”
Forster stared at Cook. “You can’t do that! I’m the chief scientist!” he screeched.
“As Captain and leader of the expedition, I think you will find that I can. Your son seems perfectly well qualified and he is much preferred amongst the crew, so I am happy for him to remain, unless, of course, you would like to scuttle his career as well as your own?”
Forster remained silent, allowing Cook to continue. “I didn’t think so. I have already ordered your belongings to be offloaded from the ship; I expect that you will be able to collect them from the Customs House within the hour.”
“But I have no letters of credit. How do you propose I pay for my passage back to England?” Forster pleaded.
“I am sure that with your resources, you will be able to come up with something. Perhaps you could ask your new friend the Governor for a loan? What I can tell you is that if you so much as set foot near my ship, I will have you shot.”
Cook then turned to Masson and pulled him aside. “I had hoped to stay a while in the Cape, but with the news of our destination in the open, we must make haste and so will leave on the outgoing tide tomorrow. I will have the report delivered to your lodgings this evening and I trust that you can pass it to the captain of the next homebound ship?”
“Yes, sir. Of course,” replied Masson.
Masson and Cook shook hands and bid each other farewell. A savage wail that was first whooping and then staccato cries echoed from one of the enclosures in the menagerie as Cook and the lieutenant left, leaving Masson alone with Forster. The shaken man got up off the ground and brushed himself down in a vain attempt at retaining some semblance of dignity.
“Well, Masson,” Forster said, standing erect with his head tilted back, that old condescending tone creeping its way back into his voice, “you saw what happened: he assaulted me! I will be writing a letter of protest to Lord Sandwich and I fully expect you to back me up.”
“I beg your pardon?” asked Masson, flabbergasted.
“Well, I’m sure that even a man of your background can appreciate what a scandal this little misunderstanding would cause, not to mention the damage to the cause of science and even to Sir Joseph’s reputation if you were somehow to be implicated. Naturally, I would compensate you for your assistance—”
“A man of my background? Compensate?” Masson was stunned.
“Come now, Masson, there’s no need to be prudish. I am well aware of the tight purse that Sir Joseph has given you. I am not without some means, and I am sure that I could make your life, and that of your family back home, much more comfortable if you were to simply misplace that report. In any case, these things get lost all the time — ships flounder in storms, or get raided by pirates — you probably wouldn’t be doing anything that fate wouldn’t do herself.”
Masson started to say something but then stopped, realising that there was no point. Instead, he just turned and walked back towards the party.
“Don’t you walk away from me, Masson. I am a member of the Royal Society! I demand that you do your duty as a servant to science! Masson!”
Masson kept walking, and gradually Forster’s shouts were drowned out by the night sounds of the Gardens, the music that came from the Governor’s house and that haunting, whooping laugh that came from the menagerie.
CHAPTER 16
CANADA, 21 NOVEMBER, 1805
“Forster was lucky,” the old man said with a wry smile. “As he stormed off, the last thing I heard Captain Cook say was that if it weren’t for all the witnesses, he would have fed the scientist to whatever creatures were making that baleful noise.
“But I think in truth that he was happy to be given an excuse to be on his way. It was chilling to think that even there, at the Governor’s own house, surrounded by all that finery and gentility, animal savagery seemed to lurk constantly on the periphery, just out of sight.”
“I know just what you mean,” Robert whispered conspiratorially.
The old man leaned closer to the boy, a quizzical look on his creased features. “You do?”
“Yes, sir. When I was little, we used to go to Grandmamma and Grandpa’s house, and it was enormous. I even had my own bedroom. But they said that I was not to go out into the garden by myself because there wild animals in the woods.”
The old man looked across and saw that the old woman had not even paused in her needlework as her grandson continued his tale.
“One time I heard Grandpa tell a story about how, before they were married, Grandmamma saved his life when she shot a bear that had wondered into the garden, but Grandmamma said that he was just making up stories to stop us children from going out alone.”
“Well, I suppose sometimes it’s good to be frightened,” the old ma
n said. “Fear can keep you alive.”
“Fear can also stop you from living,” said Jack, puffing out his chest as if getting ready to launch into a well-prepared speech.
“Is that what you were thinking when you went after Mr Masson in the snow?” asked his father, who had appeared in the doorway.
Jack started to reply and then bit back his answer, his cheeks flushed.
“I guess Grandpa didn’t learn his lesson, though, because one day he went out hunting alone and he was killed by a bear. After that, Grandmamma came to live with us, and now I have to share a room with Jack, but I don’t mind because Jack says that soon I will have the room all to myself—” Robert was cut off by his older brother, who cleared his throat at the same time as giving his younger a sharp nudge with the toe of his shoe. The blow was hard enough to make the boy wince but well concealed so that no one seemed to take much notice — except for the old man, who saw everything.
“So, Mr Masson,” Jack said, making a show of checking his notes, “you were telling us about the party at the Governor’s house?”
The old man smiled, happy to be caught in the harmless conspiracy. “So I was. Now, where did I leave off?”
CHAPTER 17
As Masson re-joined the party, he saw Schelling and Willmer deep in conversation. But before he was close enough to hear what was being said, a rustling of bushes off to his left caused him to start. Instead of a wild animal, the only thing to emerge from the foliage was a man bearing a wide and a self-satisfied grin.
It was the same man Masson had seen earlier, and although he was relieved to see that he was not injured or unwell, he could not help but wonder if he had been close enough to hear the words that had been exchanged between Forster and Cook.
The man was a couple of years younger than Masson, with clear blue eyes that didn’t just gather up information but examined with intense fascination every single thing that their gaze fell upon. The velvet ribbon that secured his blond hair in a ponytail was the only lavish touch to a suit of clothes that was practical and yet well made, expensive without appearing ostentatious. He exuded a confidence well beyond his years that stopped short of being a kind of smug superiority. Although he was only of average height, his bearing and demeanour seemed to add six inches to his total. With long, delicate fingers, he extracted a small brush from one of his pockets and used it to remove the dirt and leaves from his clothes with a practised flourish. He also dusted off his hat, adjusting it to make sure that it sat perfectly on his fair and very handsome head. He then replaced the brush in his pocket, squared his shoulders and strode over to Masson’s group, one of the star-shaped fruits held aloft in his outstretched palm.
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