Moonflower Madness

by Margaret Pemberton

  ‘She is being nothing of the kind,’ Sir Arthur interrupted briskly, determined not to be thwarted now that a satisfactory conclusion was so tantalisingly within reach. ‘She has behaved in a manner which ensures she can only feel deep gratitude to Mr Cartwright for his offer …’

  Despite the enormity of the subject under discussion, Gianetta felt a flash of amusement at the speed of her uncle’s new-found politeness where Zachary was concerned.

  ‘… and by marrying her to Mr Cartwright, you will be rendering her a very great service.’

  ‘By marrying her to a man she has no desire to marry I shall be rendering her a very great disservice,’ Lionel Daly retorted crisply.

  Gianetta was still looking towards Zachary. He was wearing the wine-red linen shirt that so enhanced his gypsyish good looks. In the brilliant sunlight his glossy hair was night-black and flecks of gold were clearly discernible in his brandy-dark eyes. She remembered the morning when she had surprised him bathing in the Kialing; the evening at the Viceroy’s when she had been sure that he was going to kiss her; the camaraderie of their day-long rides; the excitement she felt just being in his company.

  ‘Miss Hollis needs to be assured that the pony will not be shot,’ Lionel Daly was saying firmly. ‘It would also be helpful if arrangements concerning her future were made in a spirit of love, not vindictiveness. Convents do not exist to be used as places of punishment, Sir Arthur …’

  As her eyes continued to hold Zachary’s, Gianetta was acutely aware of the quality she found so attractive in him. It was his fearlessness and daring, his unequivocal determination to live life on his own terms. As she wanted to do. Time seemed to waver and halt. As she wanted to do with him.

  ‘… and so I advise that fresh arrangements are made for Gianetta’s future.’

  Gianetta looked away from Zachary and towards Lionel Daly.

  ‘No,’ she said, surprised by the steadiness of her voice. ‘I would like to marry Mr Cartwright.’

  ‘But my dear child! A moment ago you made your objections to such a marriage quite obvious …’

  ‘I have changed my mind.’

  It was impossible for her to explain why she had changed her mind. Zachary would no doubt think his assumptions had been correct all along, and that she had followed him from Chung King with no other intention than marriage. Elizabeth Daly would assume she was agreeing to the marriage in order to save Ben’s life, and her uncle and Lionel Daly would think she was agreeing to it in order to save her reputation.

  ‘That’s it then,’ her uncle said, highly satisfied. ‘I suggest we all meet in the mission church in half an hour.’

  Elizabeth Daly stared at him aghast. ‘Half an hour? But Miss Hollis has no suitable clothing with her!’

  ‘She can be married in what she is wearing,’ her uncle retorted, uncaring of trivialities.

  ‘I think not,’ Zachary said laconically.

  All eyes turned towards the groom-to-be.

  For a heart-stopping moment Gianetta thought he was going to announce he had been having a joke and that not even for Ben’s sake was he prepared to marry her.

  ‘I would prefer my bride to be married in something a little more suitable than a travel-creased blouse and skirt,’ he said, walking over to Bucephalus. ‘I’ll be back in about an hour with a wedding-gown.’

  He mounted with supple ease and for the first time since she had said that she would marry him, his eyes sought hers.

  ‘And flowers,’ he said to her. ‘I think flowers are essential for a plant-hunter’s bride, don’t you?’

  There was amusement in his eyes and something else as well. Something that sent desire coursing through her.

  Her cheeks flushed hotly. ‘Yes,’ she said a trifle unsteadily. ‘Wild white roses and yellow jasmine and honeysuckle.’

  He nodded and at that moment, as their eyes held, Gianetta was certain there were no longer any misunderstandings between them. Whatever he had once believed as to her reasons for following him from Chung King, he believed no longer. And he wasn’t marrying her solely in order to save Ben’s life. He was marrying her for the same reason she was marrying him. Because he was irresistibly drawn towards her, because he couldn’t envisage life without her.

  As he wheeled his pony around and began to gallop away from the mission in the direction of Peng, exhilaration coursed through her. He would teach her all she longed to know about botany, and together they would travel to the most exotic and remote regions of the world, seeking out plants unknown to British gardeners, collecting seeds and cuttings. And he would be more than a husband and a teacher to her, he would also be her lover and her friend.

  She would have staked her life on it.

  ‘If you have any doubts, my dear,’ Lionel Daly was saying in deep concern, ‘If you would like to speak to me alone …’

  She turned towards him. ‘No,’ she said, her radiant face reassuring him more than any words could have done. ‘Is there a stable-boy other than Li Po who could groom Ben for me? I want him to look absolutely splendid for the wedding.’

  ‘Of course,’ he said gently, not querying her stipulation that the task of grooming Ben should not be given to someone who had so recently been on the point of killing him.

  ‘For goodness sake, let’s move away from the stink of these stables,’ her uncle said irritably. ‘There are things to do and not much time to do them in.’

  He began to march down the pathway fronting the bungalows, wielding his walking-cane vigorously. ‘I must inform the boatman that I will be departing for Chung King later than I had anticipated, hymns must be chosen for the wedding service, notice that the wedding has taken place must be despatched to The Times.’

  Gianetta walked quickly, keeping up with him with ease, the Dalys following more slowly behind him.

  ‘Lord Rendlesham must be informed, of course,’ he continued, ‘A pity he isn’t here to act as best man.’

  When they reached the covered walkway, Sir Arthur waited for the Dalys to catch up with them and then said peremptorily,

  ‘The wedding will take place the instant Mr Cartwright returns. I shall be in my room until then, and would appreciate being informed of his arrival.’

  ‘It would be much more seemly if there were less haste, Sir Arthur,’ Lionel Daly said stubbornly, disliking his guest’s highhanded manner. ‘In the ordinary way of things, banns would be called on the three Sundays prior to the wedding. I would prefer it if this were done. Mr Cartwright can reside in Peng for the next three weeks and Miss Hollis can remain here.’

  Sir Arthur regarded him with animosity. ‘It is my understanding that the purpose of banns is to proclaim an intended marriage,’ he said witheringly, ‘and to allow any persons who have reason to object to the marriage an opportunity of stating their objection. No-one in this remote corner of China is going to be even vaguely interested in my niece’s marriage to Mr Cartwright, and there is certainly no-one in the vicinity who can have an objection to it. Banns, therefore, are unnecessary. A speedy marriage, on the other hand, is highly necessary.’

  Lionel Daly did not look at all convinced, and Gianetta said quickly, ‘Mr Cartwright is en route to Kansu, in search of blue Moonflowers. A delay of three weeks could mean his not reaching Kansu until the flowering season is over, and then his journey would have been in vain.’

  ‘And if Mr Cartwright decides he cannot wait for the banns to be read and continues his journey without marrying Miss Hollis, it will cause untold distress,’ Elizabeth Daly ventured, envisaging Ben’s corpse floating down the Kialing.

  Her husband misunderstood her. Thinking she was intimating to him that the marriage had perhaps been anticipated and that Gianetta was possibly pregnant, he said reluctantly, ‘Then in that case I shall perform the ceremony as requested. Twelve o’clock would be a suitable time, I think, providing Mr Cartwright has returned from Peng by then.’

  ‘That’s it then. Settled.’ Sir Arthur was highly pleased with himself. He had
always found his guardianship of Gianetta an inconvenience, and now he would be free of it.

  ‘I shall give you away, of course,’ he said magnanimously to her, adding as an afterthought, ‘What your father would have said about today’s arrangements I can’t imagine, though as his own wedding was equally unconventional I think we can assume he wouldn’t have been overly critical.’

  Lionel Daly’s mouth tightened. It seemed to him that Sir Arthur was incapable of saying anything that wasn’t either insensitive or rudely dictatorial.

  ‘I think perhaps Gianetta should get ready for her wedding in our room,’ he said to his wife, determined to give Sir Arthur no opportunity of pursuing the subject of Gianetta’s parents’marriage. ‘It has facilities, such as a hip-bath and mirror, that the bungalows lack.’

  Elizabeth didn’t hesitate. Sir Arthur’s behaviour had been deplorable. The sooner she turned her back on him, the better she would like it.

  ‘Come along, my dear,’ she said to Gianetta. ‘I’m sure Jung-shou will be able to rustle up some hot water.’

  As they walked away towards the double doors leading into the mission’s drawing-room, she added zestfully, ‘And we must find you something blue to wear, and something old and something new and something borrowed.’

  Gianetta could have hugged her for her kindness. With Elizabeth’s help, her wedding was going to be delightfully traditional, instead of being prosaically make-shift.

  ‘I believe some brides wear blue garters, but I doubt if we’ll find any of those in the mission,’ Elizabeth continued, amusing Gianetta vastly. ‘I do have a blue ribbon though. We could pin it on your underskirt, or tie your bridal bouquet with it.’

  ‘And will you be my matron-of-honour?’ Gianetta asked as Elizabeth began to lead the way up a wide flight of shallow steps.

  Elizabeth was so surprised that she almost lost her footing. ‘But I’m nearly fifty, my dear! Isn’t that a little old to be a matron-of-honour?’

  ‘Matrons-of-honour can be any age.’

  Elizabeth flushed with almost girlish pleasure. ‘Then I would love to be your matron-of-honour. Now, we must choose at least two hymns. Jung-shou’s sister plays the piano for church services. She doesn’t have a very wide repertoire but I’m sure she could manage the Twenty-third Psalm or “The Voice that Breathed O’er Eden”.’

  ‘Then “The Voice that Breathed O’er Eden” it shall be,’ Gianetta said, enjoying herself enormously. ‘And what about the children, Elizabeth? I saw a host of small children yesterday in one of the school-rooms. Could they be guests at my wedding?’

  ‘Of course they can. It’s a wonderful idea. We’ve never had a European wedding here before.’

  They entered a large sunny bedroom and she said in sudden consternation, ‘Oh my goodness! Chinese wedding-dresses are red! You don’t think Mr Cartwright will return with a red wedding dress, do you?’

  Their eyes held in temporary dismay and then Gianetta began to giggle. ‘It won’t matter if he does. As the wife of a plant-hunter I’m going to have to accommodate myself to all kinds of strange experiences. Being married in red will be a symbolic remainder of what I’m letting myself in for.’

  The next couple of hours were a flurry of activity. Jung-shou filled the hip-bath with steamingly hot water. Elizabeth donated a packet of fragrant bath-crystals she had been keeping for a special occasion. Lionel Daly informed the missionary teaching the children that she and her charges were invited to a wedding that was taking place at midday. Then he asked the mission’s cook to prepare a simple wedding breakfast.

  By the time Zachary returned laden with a wedding dress and wild flowers, the atmosphere at the mission was of joyous celebration with no-one, other than himself, remembering the circumstances that had necessitated it.

  With a frown, he handed the flowers and a wrapped package to Elizabeth Daly. For a decisive moment, when he had looked across at Gianetta after being told of her uncle’s plans for her future, he had been suddenly sure he had been wrong and that she hadn’t followed him from Chung King with the intention of ensnaring a husband; that instead she had followed him for reasons he totally sympathised with. She had wanted to explore the wonderful world around her and she had wanted to find blue Moonflowers. And so, rather than allow her to be barbarically boarded in a claustrophobic convent, he had said he would marry her. Now he couldn’t help wondering if he hadn’t been a mite impulsive.

  ‘The wedding-dress is red,’ he said to Elizabeth, unable to quell the growing suspicion that his proposal had been anticipated all along and that he had been manipulated into making it with Machiavellian artisty. ‘Perhaps you will explain to Miss Hollis that red is the customary colour for brides in China.’

  ‘She already knows, and she is more than happy to be married in red,’ Elizabeth said, intending to be reassuring.

  Zachary was anything but reassured. He had made his offer to marry Gianetta in order that she would be free of Sir Arthur and his petty tyranny. She had agreed to the marriage primarily in order that Ben should not be shot. In such circumstances, stoic resignation on her part would have been understandable, perhaps even gratitude. The apparent happy enthusiasm indicated by Elizabeth seemed, however, decidedly out of place.

  His frown deepened. He wasn’t a man who people took liberties with. He certainly wasn’t a man who was easily fooled. Was he being fooled now? More to the point, if he was, did he mind?

  Deep in thought, he turned on his heel and strode out of the room and on to the verandah, leaving a slightly disconcerted Elizabeth Daly behind him.

  A hundred yards or so away the Kialing surged inexorably southwards. The junk in which Sir Arthur intended sailing to Chung King lay at anchor, a boat-man and a large black dog asleep together near the prow. On a hill on the far bank a small pagoda emerged from a cluster of pine trees. The heat was intense. The silence profound.

  Common sense told him that with the doubts he now had, his only sensible course of action was to call the wedding off. With his hands pushed deep in his breeches pockets, he continued to stare out over Elizabeth Daly’s carefully tended garden to where a cluster of small boys were playing on the bank of the river.

  He didn’t want to call it off. He wanted to marry her, God help him. He wanted a future where he no longer travelled alone, but where she travelled at his side. He wanted to sleep with her by the banks of the Kialing and by the banks of a hundred other yet-to-be-visited rivers in a score of other, yet-to-be-visited countries.

  From somewhere a little distance away, a piano began to play. After a few bars the pianist stopped, going back to the beginning again, repeating and practising assiduously. The tune was Handel’s ‘Wedding March’.

  With a slight, wondering shake of his head, still unable to believe what he was about to do, Zachary turned and reentered the mission, intent on finding a room in which he could change into clothes more suitable for a bridegroom.

  Chapter Ten

  At twelve-o-clock Gianetta walked across the verandah and down the steps, one hand lightly resting in the crook of her uncle’s arm, the other holding a posy of white roses, jasmine and honeysuckle. Her glossy dark hair was swept into a chignon decorated with white rosebuds. Her dress was of crimson silk, the high mandarin-neck emphasising the long, lovely line of her throat, the ankle-length skirt seductively narrow, exquisite gold embroidery edging the short side-splits and hem.

  Elizabeth Daly was a step or two behind her, dressed in a becoming gown of dove-grey silk, and carrying a posy of roses and larkspur and gardenias.

  At the foot of the steps, Jung-shou and a flower-garlanded Ben were waiting for them. As Sir Arthur led Gianetta the short distance to the mission chapel, girl and pony fell into step behind Elizabeth.

  Sir Arthur contained his distaste at leading a procession which had, at its rear, a pony of indiscriminate breed, deeply thankful that no-one of note was there to witness the indignity.

  Elizabeth wondered why more European brides, marrying in Ch
ina, didn’t follow Chinese custom and marry in red. Gianetta looked absolutely wonderful; petite, vibrant and exotic. She was glad that when Zachary Cartwright had asked Sir Arthur what his plans were for Gianetta, she had not waited for Sir Arthur to answer but had answered for him. Lionel had afterwards chided her for behaving so improperly, but she wasn’t even slightly repentant. If she hadn’t spoken out, Sir Arthur would have given a prevaricating answer and Zachary Cartwright would never have known of the future Gianetta was facing. If that had been the case, he might very well not have insisted on marrying her.

  Gianetta was aware that she was living through moments she would never ever forget. Beneath the brassy blue bowl of the sky, the small stone-built chapel was a pristine as a child’s toy; the only sound in the still, heat-filled air the evocative chords of Handel’s ‘Wedding March’. For the hundredth time, she marvelled at the speed with which she had become a bride. Only days ago she had thought Zachary Cartwright the most aggravating and objectionable man she had ever met. Even now she wasn’t sure of the exact moment when she had fallen in love with him.

  She wondered when he had fallen in love with her. That he had done so she hadn’t a shadow of a doubt. His suggesting they marry in order that Ben should not be shot had been a pretext, nothing more. If he had really wanted to, he could have somehow secured Ben’s safety without going to such extravagant lengths. He had suggested marrying her, not because of Ben, but because he wanted to marry her. Just as she wanted to marry him.

  As she neared the open chapel door she could see the children in the pews and edging the aisle, large terra-cotta vases full of roses and irises and camelias. Zachary was standing alone, facing the altar and a grave-faced Lionel Daly. Just for one moment she was aware of a pang; she wished that Charles was acting as Zachary’s best-man and that Serena, as well as Elizabeth, were her matron-of-honour.

  With butterflies fluttering in her stomach she stepped into the chapel’s cool shade. Zachary’s head didn’t turn, though a score of smaller ones did so, button-black eyes wide with wonder. Jung-shou and Ben remained in the tiny entrance porch and Gianetta walked down the aisle to Handel’s timeless music.