Moonflower Madness (6 page)

‘I want the servant's linen-room,' she said breathlessly to a startled house-boy. ‘Can you tell me where it is?'

‘Nothing for missy in se'vant's linen'oom,' he said, backing away from her as if she had taken leave of her senses.

‘That is for me to decide,' Gianetta said with school-ma'am crispness. ‘Now come along, show me where it is.'

She had no way of knowing whether she would find clean garments as well as dirty ones in the linen room, but knowing how particular her aunt was about the cleanliness and neatness of her household staff, she was reasonably optimistic.

The house-boy, certain that this lightning inspection of the linen-room meant trouble, stood apprehensively to one side as she opened the door he indicated.

‘Thank you,' she said, stepping inside and giving thanks for her aunt's meticulous housekeeping. Large baskets held dirty linen. Shelf upon shelf held newly-washed and freshly-pressed clean linen. She scrambled out of her skirt and into a pair of surprisingly comfortable trousers. Then, aware that she could never hope to make her way back to the stables without being seen, she pulled her ankle-length skirt over the top of her trousers and donned one of the Chinese jackets.

It was now after eight-thirty and she knew that, with every passing minute, the chances of running into her uncle or aunt were increasing. Quickly she hurried once more out of the Residency and across the courtyard to the stables. There was no-one about, not even the stable-boy. Even so, she was going to take no chances. She would lead the pony by the rein until they were clear of the Residency grounds. Then, in a suitable place where she would not attract attention, she would discard her skirt.

‘Are you ready?' she said to the impatient pony. ‘I'm not going to mount you yet. I'm going to lead you out of the courtyard and into the street.'

He hurrumphed agreeably and she wondered what his name was. There was no name on the door of his stall and she had to be able to call him something.

‘Would you mind being called Ben?' she asked him.

He looked like a Ben. Friendly and dependable. He hurrumphed again, brown eyes gleaming, and with a furiously beating heart she led him out of his stall and toward the Residency gates and the road beyond.

The gates leading from the Residency into the street were flanked by thick bushes and banyan trees, and it was here that Gianetta quickly took off her skirt, rolling it up and stuffing it into her already full carpet-bag. She felt strange in the trousers and mandarin-necked jacket, as if she were about to go to a fancy dress party. A little soft round hat, the kind that most Chinese wore, bulged in the pocket of the jacket. She took it out, hesitating. Until she changed her hair style, no matter how Chinese her dress, she would still never be mistaken for a Chinese. Hesitating no longer, she hurriedly took the pins from her hair, shaking her head so that her heavy, waist-length hair tumbled loose and free. Then, with nimble dexterity, she plaited it into a long, single pigtail, securing it with a piece of thread from her jacket.

‘Right,' she said exultantly to Ben, placing the little blue cap on top of her head. ‘Now we really are ready to go.'

She swung herself up into the wooden saddle, anchoring her carpet-bag firmly to the pommel. Ben tossed his head, gave himself a little shake and then, as she touched him lightly with her heels, set off down the dust-blown road at a purposeful trot.

It was a strange experience to be outside the Residency grounds without the protection of sedan-chair and servants. For a fleeting moment, panic assailed her and then was banished, never to return. This was what she had longed for from the moment she had set foot on Chinese soil. The noise and clamour and colour assailing her were the
real
China. The China she had been protected from for far too long.

Chung King was built on a high, rocky peninsula and the Upper Town, where the Residency was situated, was the highest point of all, standing on a sandstone plateau with breathtaking views of the broadly flowing Yang-tze and the pale, tawny hills beyond.

As the homes of the rich were left behind, the streets grew narrower and even more crowded. Families squatted by the roadside, pecking at their morning meal with chopsticks; lacquered ducks as flat as pancakes hung from shops that were little more than holes in the walls; hawkers cried their wares, loping along with heavy containers of food dangling at both ends of bending bamboo poles that arched across their shoulders; elderly women hobbled on feet that had once been cruelly bound; pedlars shouted their wares; donkeys and mules jostled for right of way with sedan-chairs.

Ben trotted on unperturbed by the crush and the noise and Gianetta rode with her eyes firmly downwards, terrified that one of her uncle's envoys would be in the street and would recognise her, that perhaps even her uncle himself would pass her in his sedan-chair.

The steps began and she tightened her grip on Ben's rein. He descended without hesitation, only pricking his ears and checking slightly when he had to confront a camel that was making its way, heavily burdened, up to the town from the riverside wharf.

The walls surrounding the base of the town came into view. The north gate was open, the smell from the river strong and pungent. No-one had challenged her. In a city thronged with dozens of different races; Mongolians, Manchurians, merchants from Turkestan, she had gone unnoticed. The bells on Ben's collar jingled merrily as he trotted out through the gate and on to the broad causeway beyond. The river was on their left-hand side, innumerable eddies, like the curls and whorls of Chinese characters, rippling its glittering smooth surface.

Gianetta leaned forward and patted Ben's neck. The first hurdle had been overcome. They were out of the city and on the open road; soon they would be in the hills. She began to hum to herself and then to sing an Italian folk-song that she had often heard her mother sing. It brought back childhood memories of Italy, of Lake Garda glittering beneath the summer sun, of hillsides dark with cypress trees, of the distant snow-capped peaks of the Alps. No snow-capped peaks confronted her now, only gently rolling golden hills, their upper slopes occasionally wooded with walnut and chestnut trees, their lower slopes thick with honeysuckle and larkspur.

In less than half a mile she had left the Yang-tze and the stone causeway behind her and was following the beaten track north to Fu-tu Kwan. She wondered how far behind Lord Rendlesham and Zachary Carwright she was. There was no sign of them ahead of her. Nothing but the hills and the woods and a bird singing.

At lunchtime she stopped to give Ben a rest and to have a picnic of bread and cheese. She wondered again what Lord Rendlesham would say when she caught up with him. She remembered the way his blue eyes crinkled at the corners when he laughed, the easy-going tolerance in his voice. Her heart began to beat in slow, thick strokes. Every instinct she possessed told her that he would be pleased to see her, that he would be delighted at the prospect of having her as a companion on his journey to Kansu.

With a quick, sharp gesture she brushed breadcrumbs from her Chinese blue jacket. She must not start thinking of how delightful a companion he would be. She wasn't riding in his wake because she had fallen violently in love with him. She was riding in his wake because she was sure that he was kind and honourable and because she wanted to travel far into the heart of China in search of blue Moonflowers.

She coaxed Ben away from the short, sweet grass he was enjoying. Though she had no intention of catching up with them today, she knew that she would feel easier in her mind if she could see them in the distance before nightfall. The sun was high in the sky now, and hot. The little round hat she was wearing offered no shade and very little protection from the heat. She thought longingly of the wide-brimmed sunhat she had left behind her at the Residency. Perhaps Lord Rendlesham or Zachary Cartwright would have a spare hat with them that she could borrow. If not, then she would have to buy one of the broad-brimmed straw hats worn by the peasants in the fields.

The hills closed round her on every side, but the track continued, clear and well-defined. Occasionally other travellers passed her, on their way to Chung King, but she always lowered her head at their approach, keeping her eyes fixed firmly on the pommel of her saddle. Ben had long since settled down to a steady walk and needed so little guidance from her that once or twice she closed her eyes, falling into a light doze.

The sun was just beginning to lose its heat, the vivid blue of the sky smoking towards dusk, when she saw Lord Rendlesham and Zachary Cartwright ahead of her. She had ridden high up the side of one hill and was just cresting it. Down the far side, nearly at the foot, were two well-recognised figures on ponies, a string of mules and a clutch of Chinamen in their wake, the wall of Fu-tu Kwan two miles or so ahead of them.

She reined Ben to a hasty halt. If they saw her from that distance they would automatically assume her to be Chinese, but she knew that Zachary Cartwright carried strong field-glasses amongst his equipment and she didn't want to run the risk of him training them on her.

The hillside was heavily wooded and she stayed beneath the shade of the trees, watching as Zachary Cartwright led his party towards Fu-tu Kwan. She wondered if they would make camp before the town or beyond it. The countryside was wild and open and she was chillingly aware of how vulnerable a small camp, with little protection, would be. As she faced the prospect of camping out alone, with no protection whatsoever, Gianetta was fiercely tempted to dig her heels into Ben's sides and spur him on so that he would catch up with the riders ahead. She fought back the temptation, knowing what would happen if she did so.

Zachary Cartwright was only a day's ride from Chung King. A lost day would not disrupt his plans irrevocably. He would insist that she was returned to Chung King and would no doubt carry out the task himself. She kept her hands motionless on the reins. No, she would not ride after them and catch up with them just because dusk was approaching. She would follow the plan she had set herself. She would wait another two or three days, until Zachary Cartwright was so far away from Chung King that not even her arrival would tempt him to return.

She didn't move from the trees until the horsemen ahead of her were so far away they were barely visible. Only then did she urge Ben into movement, grateful for the sure-footed way he descended the steep track. Wherever she stopped for the night, before Fu-tu Kwan or beyond, she would need fresh water and grazing for him. She knew that the Kialing river, one of the Yang-tze's largest tributaries, was near at hand. Several times through the day she had caught glimpses of it. Although it wasn't, at the moment, visible she knew that it couldn't be more than half a mile away. If the riders ahead of her made camp at a stream that did not run down towards where she stood, then she would make for the banks of the Kialing.

The light was growing muted as the walls of Fu-tu Kwan drew nearer, the white and dusty glare of day merging into the rose and purple of evening. The small figures ahead of her showed no signs of halting. It was obvious that Zachary Cartwright intended entering the town and, presumably, leaving it before nightfall.

Dusk had fallen by the time she reached the main gate. It was only a small town, not remotely as grand as Chung King, and the stench that reached her nostrils from the overcrowded streets and insanitary housing made her retch.

‘Come along, Ben,' she said to the tired pony. ‘Let's leave these streets behind as soon as we can.'

Ben plodded on stoically, carefully negotiating the rubbish in his way, the open, running sewers. There was no discernible main street through the town, only a maze of alleyways and ginnels, each one dirtier and narrower than the one before.

‘Come on, Ben,' Gianetta repeated, overcome by tiredness. ‘Let's get out of here.'

A tattered beggar leered at her from a doorway and then, with no warning, lunged towards her, grabbing her saddle with black, grimy hands.

‘Go away! Go away!' she shouted furiously, digging her heels hard into Ben's side.

Deformed hands grabbed her jacket, closed on her legs. For a hideous moment she thought that Ben was too exhausted to summon up any remaining strength and make a gallop for it. Then, as she felt herself being pulled from the saddle, he gave a great buck with his hindquarters and, with a snort from his nostrils, surged into a headlong gallop. Pedlars and hawkers scrambled out of his way. Women screamed, hobbling to safety. The beggars gave chase for fifty yards or more and then fell back with high-pitched screams of manic laughter.

Gianetta was half-sprawled over Ben's neck as he charged down first one muddy dirty alleyway and then another. She had lost all sense of direction, but Ben seemed to have no doubt about which way to go. They dodged under poles of washing jutting out like flags from windows, they jumped over pools of stagnant waste, they raced on heedlessly and unhesitatingly, out of the warren of streets, through the town gate that was just about to be closed and into the blessed clean air and relative safety of the countryside beyond.

‘Oh, you angel!' Gianetta panted as soon as she was able to push herself back into a sitting position in the saddle and tug restrainingly on the reins. ‘It's all right now. You can slow down. They won't come after us, the city gate is closing.

Ben slowed to a canter and then to a trot. His flanks were heaving, his nostrils foam-flecked. She reined him in, patting his side, looking around her in the rapidly deepening twilight. There was no sign of Lord Rendlesham or Zachary Cartwright. She had no way of knowing if they were on the road ahead of her or if they had remained in the town.

Behind her the city gate had closed. No-one would be allowed in and no-one would be allowed to leave until dawn.

‘If Lord Rendlesham is ahead of us, he won't be far,' she said to Ben. ‘He'll be getting ready to camp for the night, and that's what we have to do.'