Moonflower Madness (2 page)

‘I know,' Serena said, with all the serenity of her name, ‘but he is an only son and Sir Archibald is a very old friend of Papa's. I think he and Mama would be quite pleased if … if anything should come of our friendship.'

Gianetta felt the blood drain from her face. If Serena married Henry, then she would return to England. What would happen to her if she did so? She couldn't imagine for a moment that her aunt would invite her to stay on in Chung King, and if she didn't, what were the alternatives? A return to Sutton Hall, this time without the benefit of Serena's companionship? Or even worse, a life as a lovingly tolerated guest in Serena's marital home, for Serena was sure to invite her to live with her. The prospect filled her with horror. Dearly as she loved Serena, she could not bear the thought of living always in her shadow, a voyeur of her happiness, her only practical role that of aunt to Serena's children.

‘Come along,' Serena said good-naturedly, taking no offence at Gianetta's lack of enthusiasm for her news. ‘The Chinese artist Mama has engaged for our art lessons has arrived. He looks terribly nice. Very small and very nimble.'

Gianetta's interest was aroused. The tutor had been engaged to instruct them in the art of Chinese flower painting, and she had already determined to ask him if he would also give them instruction in landscape painting. If he did so, then her aunt would surely have to give permission for them to journey a little way out of Chung King, so that they could study and paint some suitable views.

‘Mr Li is waiting for you in the drawing-room,' her Aunt Honoria said, as they entered the Residency's cool shade.

She was a tall, statuesque woman who possessed none of her daughter's grace or beauty. As if to compensate for these deficiencies, she took great pride in always doing her duty, no matter how disagreeable that duty might be. It was wifely duty that kept her in China, a country she hated, and it was family duty that had obliged her to give a home to Gianetta. She had no sense of humour and seldom smiled. The fact that she was at the moment looking extremely pleased with herself, as if she had just received news which had given her great satisfaction, filled Gianetta with foreboding. On a nearby desk top, an envelope identical to the envelope that Serena had received lay open and empty. Her foreboding deepened. Henry Plaxtol had not only written to Serena, he had written to her parents as well. And if her aunt's demeanour was anything to go by, his communication had been well received.

‘Has Serena told you we are having guests to dine this evening?' her aunt asked, giving Gianetta the rare benefit of her attention. ‘Mr Zachary Cartwright is one of England's leading botanists. Queen Victoria consulted him frequently and I have it on very good authority that, since her death, he has continued in royal favour. He has been a guest of King Edward's at both Sandringham and Balmoral.'

Gianetta strove to look suitably impressed and must have succeeded, for her aunt now turned her attention towards Serena. ‘Papa is at present on a visit to the Chinese consulate, but when he returns, both he and I would like to have a word with you.' She smiled and patted her daughter's arm with maternal tenderness. ‘Alone and in Papa's study if you please, Serena.'

The flush that had touched Serena's cheeks in the garden now coloured them once again.

‘Yes, Mama,' she said, her happiness so transparent that Gianetta hated herself for her own, horrified reaction to her aunt's words.

How on
earth
could Serena be in love with a nonentity like Henry Plaxtol? It didn't seem possible. True, they had spent long periods of time in each other's company aboard the
Eastern Queen
, but she had assumed that that had been mere politeness on Serena's part. She looked across at her cousin and at the hot tide of colour in her cheeks, and was forced to accept that it had
not
been politeness. Unbeknown to her, Serena had fallen in love, and it was a love story that was apparently going to have a happy ending. For Serena, but not for herself. She thought of her own future if Serena married; for Sutton Hall and the damp Lincolnshire fens. She shuddered. Somehow, somewhere, there must be an alternative for her, but as she went into the sun-filled room with Serena to meet Mr Li, try as she might, she could not think of one.

The art class temporarily took her mind off her problem. She had always excelled at drawing and was fascinated by the delicacy and precision of Chinese painting. To enable him to judge their talent, Mr Li asked them to sketch a rose that was standing in a porcelain vase on a small enamelled table. Serena's execution was, as he had imagined it would be, competent but uninspired. Gianetta's filled him with stunned surprise.

In only a few spare lines she had caught the overblown lushness of the rose to perfection, and the anatomical details of petal, leaf and calyx were pleasingly correct.

‘I shall come again,' he said, bowing his head as he took his leave of them, ‘I shall come again at the end of the week.'

‘When you come again, Mr Li, could you instruct us in landscape painting?' Gianetta asked. ‘Something in the style of Kuan T'ung or Wang-Hui?'

Mr Li blinked. He had had the privilege of teaching art to the English daughters of consuls and merchants in Peking and Shanghai as well as Chung King, but he had never before taught anyone who had the slightest knowledge or, he suspected, interest in his country's art or artists.

‘I have seen a copy of Wang-Hui's
The Colours of Mount T'ai-hang
in a book,' Gianetta continued winningly, ‘and I think it very beautiful.'

He beamed at her. ‘Indeed it is, Miss Hollis, very beautiful,' he said warmly.

‘Perhaps we could attempt something similar?' Gianetta continued. ‘From above Chung King there must be many splendid views of the river.'

Mr Li nodded his head. ‘Many, many,' he agreed. ‘Chung King has a number of wonderful views.'

‘Then I will tell Lady Hollis that you recommend we journey out into the hills for our next lesson,' Gianetta said, well satisfied with the results she had achieved. ‘There is no need to worry about bearers, Mr Li. There are plenty here, on the Residency staff.'

Mr Li bowed again. She was unusual, this dark-haired English girl. There was no condescension in her voice when she spoke to him, no superiority in her manner. He had not met such an English girl before, and his heart warmed towards her.

‘We will paint landscapes in the manner of the ancients,' he said in his almost flawless English. ‘Landscapes that will pierce the heart and startle the eye.' With that amazing promise, he took his leave of them.

‘What an incredible little man,' Serena exclaimed, laughing. ‘Do you think Mama will give permission for us to go up into the hills?'

‘I don't know,' Gianetta said truthfully, ‘but we can at least try. Nuns must have more freedom of movement than we do. Do you know that we haven't been
anywhere
, apart from the Anglican Mission, for eight
months
.'

‘But as far as Mama is concerned there is nowhere for us to go,' Serena said with sweet reasonableness. ‘Chung King is the most remote outpost that any consul can be posted to. There are no other diplomats stationed here, no European families in residence, no-one for us to pay visits to. Believe me, Gianetta, Mama and Papa hate it almost as much as you do, but Mama says that it is a posting that has to be endured. It is only until the end of the year. Then Papa will be relieved of his duties and his next posting will be somewhere far more congenial. Kabul perhaps, or Delhi.'

‘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 …