The House of Hardie (28 page)

She had told Will that her decision had nothing to do with him. Was that true, she asked herself suddenly; and the answer came as a surprise. If she succeeded in finding happiness in the life of a spinster – she faced the word boldly, knowing that amongst her friends it was the one to be dreaded, the one which carried the most contemptuous meaning – it would be because she had chosen it so deliberately: and the proof of that lay in the knowledge that for her there
had
been a choice. It was Will's proposal which had strengthened her confidence. Sometime, when the hurt had faded and he was happily married to someone else, she must tell him that.

In the meantime, there was bound to be some embarrassment, she reflected, as she set about her preparations for the party. Even if Will ceased to lodge with the
Hardies and found a home of his own, they were certain to meet frequently. She must think of a way to make their first encounter as friendly as possible – light-hearted without being heartless.

In the event, her father set up the occasion without realizing that there was a problem to be resolved. Later that night Midge was delivered home in her host's chaise, in high spirits after a party which had reunited many of her friends from school and university days. She found her parents and Will waiting up, with bottles and glasses to show that they, like herself, had begun their celebration as all the bells of Oxford chimed in the new year. But one bottle was unopened. Mr Hardie eased out the cork even before she had time to take off her evening cloak.

‘We needed you here for one last toast,' he said. ‘To Gordon!'

‘To Gordon!' But that was not enough, Midge thought as she lifted the champagne glass to her lips. ‘There may be another Mrs Hardie by now, for all we know,' she reminded them. When, after Archie's visit, she had discussed his information with her father and mother, they felt it as certain as she did that Lucy Yates's disappearance must be linked to Gordon's departure. And although Midge still believed that Gordon had not expected it, he must have found pleasure in such proof of Lucy's devotion. He might leave her in Shanghai for her own safety rather than allow her to travel to the wild mountain country, but he would surely have married her first – and not only for the sake of protecting her reputation. Lucy was beautiful and spirited and adoring: what more could any husband ask?

‘You're right,' said Mr Hardie. ‘I'll amend the toast. To absent friends, and all those we love, wherever in the world they may be.'

Once again all four of them raised their glasses, murmuring the words of the toast. It was easy to tell how Will was interpreting those words. When he looked longingly at Midge, she responded with an open, unaffected smile. Her thoughts and love, like those of her parents, were projected over a far greater distance. Where was Gordon now? Was he alone? Was he happy? Was his expedition going well? They must still wait a long time before they could expect to hear.

‘Happy New Year, Gordon!' they wished him in unison.

‘It's surely not possible!'

Had the words which sprang to his mind reached Gordon's lips, they would still have gone unheard above the crashing tumult of white water. On either side of the gorge, black rocks rose as sheer as pillars for a thousand feet or more, cutting out all sunshine and allowing no trace of life except for an occasional fern precariously rooted in a crevice. Through this narrow gorge the Yangtze River tumbled down in a mile-long cataract. The agent in Shanghai had talked of ‘rapids', but it seemed to Gordon that what he saw ahead could only be described as a gigantic waterfall. And yet the heavy junk, travelling against the current, was expected to reach the top of it.

The first part of the journey from Shanghai had proceeded smoothly enough. Two steamers in turn had taken Gordon and Lucy up the Yangtze as far as Ichang. It was easy to accept the fact that the higher reaches of the river were not navigable by steamers – but more difficult to believe that even a junk could traverse the next four hundred miles to Chungking in safety. Some inkling of the problems ahead was revealed in the information that the junk would take at least thirty days to make the journey upstream, but no more than three to return.

One such returning junk was rushing towards them at that moment, careering from side to side as the pilot shouted orders and the hundred oarsmen struggled to control its direction. At any minute, it seemed to Gordon, the unwieldy vessel might hit one of the huge boulders
which littered the edges of the gorge, narrowing the channel still further, and made invisible by the constant spray. The wooden carcasses of earlier casualties, caught briefly between the boulders before being battered to pieces, made it clear that the dangers were not imaginary – and the presence of a bright red official lifeboat, fully crewed, was only partly reassuring.

Lucy came to stand beside him on the deck. She slipped her hand into his – but only out of companionship, not in fear. With the boat tied fast in the comparatively calm water at the foot of the cataract, they watched the preparations being made for the ascent. On board, the crew were sacrificing a fowl, whose blood was smeared over the bow of the junk. Meanwhile, a hundred or more barefooted coolies appeared, scrambling down over the boulders from the top of the cataract, ready to fasten their tow-ropes and help the crew to haul the boat up.

After a great deal of shouting, everything was ready. With the couplings of the thick tow-ropes over their shoulders, the coolies moved off, singing a raucous chorus which helped them to keep a steady pace as they clambered over the slippery rocks. Several minutes passed while the long lines were paid out. When at last the junk was untied, the towing gangs were almost a quarter of a mile ahead.

Gordon thought it unlikely that safety could be guaranteed in any part of the boat, but the high half-deck was as good a place as any. If any calamity were to occur, the passengers' quarters below the deck would become a death trap. Still holding Lucy's hand, he felt through his body every movement of the vessel as it first fell back a little, then checked, and at last began to move steadily forward. There was a band of coolies on each bank, taking and releasing the strain so that the junk could
zigzag past pointed rocks on the river bottom. But then the river bed narrowed still further, the long bowsprit pointed more sharply upwards and all the coolies pulled together, gaining a yard and holding it, and pulling again.

Suddenly a shout went up from one of the crew who remained on board. Thick and strong though the tow-ropes were, they were being rubbed against the boulders, and one of them had frayed more than half-way through. Gordon could not judge what the effect of a breakage would be, but the anxiety of the Chinese sailors was infectious. His eyes and the whole of his concentration were on the rope. For that reason he was not alert to the moment when they came to the foot of the last and highest torrent.

A fall of water cascaded on to the junk with such weight that its bow was briefly submerged. The tow-ropes continued to tug upwards and, as the front of the deck rose to the surface again, the water rushed towards the stern. Gordon was knocked off balance by its power. Struggling to keep his head above water, he came to rest, bruised but safe, against the wooden rail. He pulled himself to his feet again, spluttering and staggering, and looked round anxiously. Where was Lucy?

The scene on the deck was chaotic. Sailors shouted urgently to each other whilst passengers, dripping wet, scrambled up from flooded cabins. A mist of spray blinded him, and the tilt of the ship and buffeting of the water made it hard to maintain balance on the wet deck. All the time that he was searching, the junk was continuing its creaking journey up the cataract. Gordon called his wife's name, but knew that the word would be blown away before anyone could hear it.

He found her at last, prone on the deck, clutching a rope whose other end was secured to a mast. As she
struggled to regain her feet without letting go of the rope, a new surge of water sent her slipping back again and she lay still for a moment, regathering her strength. Then, as Gordon slithered towards her, she raised her head and with great determination began to pull herself hand over hand by the rope until she could grasp the mast.

‘Lucy! Lucy, my darling!' Gordon helped her to stand and pressed her back against the mast, encircling her with his arms to hold her close to it. How beautiful she was! Her sodden clothing clung to the shape of her slender body and the flattening of her long golden hair by the water served only to reveal the perfection of her features. ‘I love you so much!'

‘I know.' Her smile, free of any anxiety on her own account, took his love for granted. She had never doubted it.

Yet she should have doubted it. Even while Gordon continued to press his body against his wife's, pinioning her to the safety of the mast, his desire was compounded by shame. Although he had been swept off his feet by his first sight of her youthful loveliness, it was not so much love as anger which, a year later, had prompted his first proposal of marriage. He had released her from her engagement only partly out of concern for her future, and had married her in the end because by her actions she had left him no choice. However brave a face she put on her situation during the voyage to India, the fact remained that she had to be rescued. Recognizing his responsibility, he had shouldered the obligation. The service conducted by the captain of the
Parramatta
might almost be described – although not in the usual sense – as a shotgun marriage.

None of that meant that he found her anything but lovable. Someone so young and trusting and open in her
affections could hardly fail to rouse a man's protective instincts. She was the most beautiful woman in the world, and she was his! Yet he had agreed to let her face three years of danger in his company. ‘I should never have allowed you to come on such a journey,' he said, between kisses.

Lucy's eyes twinkled with a mischief as calm as though she were sitting on a sofa in Castlemere instead of being buffeted by a torrent which threatened to rush their vessel back down over the rocks.

‘My memory is that you
didn't
allow me to come,' she said. ‘I have only myself to blame for an unwanted cold bath.' The smile died from her face, and her expression became troubled. ‘You made it plain to me that you considered the journey too hazardous. And it was later in the expedition that you expected the dangers to begin, so I suppose today must be considered one of the safe and easy days. I've been selfish – not realizing what an encumbrance I might be to you. I determined from the very beginning that I would never complain and never hold you back. But I realize now that there could be accidents – events which might not be my fault, but which mean that all your risks are doubled. You were right to think that I could have no understanding of the handicap I might be to you. I'm sorry.'

‘Sorry? Oh, my dearest, how could I have been happy apart from you for three years? How can I thank you enough for taking a step that I had no right either to ask or to expect? All the happiness I can ever hope for is bound up in my love for you and yours for me.'

What he said had not always been true, but it was true as he spoke the words. He kissed her again, pressing her head back against the mast. His heart and his breathing both stood still; and so, briefly, did the junk. They had
reached the top of the cataract. For a moment or two longer the bowsprit continued to point upwards, until the stern too was hauled clear. Then the bow crashed down into the level water. Its shuddering vibrated through every timber until, for the first time in six hours, there was calm.

The stillness brought with it a kind of silence. The waters of the Yangtze were still hurling themselves down the cataracts not far away, but the sound was distanced by the knowledge that all danger was past, at least for today. The coolies ceased to sing as they tied the mooring ropes and released the tows; and the crew, who had been shouting at each other without pause all day, collapsed into exhaustion.

They had reached a wide, calm stretch of water, whose smooth surface showed no sign of the racing current deep below. Instead of the bare cliffs which walled the narrow gorge, the river banks were flat and green. There was space for a village, the home of the towing gangs. In the distance, though, the land rose again, first in a vista of jagged black mountains and then, more distantly, to a range of high, snow-covered peaks.

As Gordon and Lucy walked hand in hand to the front of the junk, Gordon gave a sigh of expectation and pointed to the far mountains.

‘That's where we're going,' he said. ‘To the land of the lily.'

‘The lily? I thought –'

‘You thought we had a list of plants to search out and collect. Azaleas, clematis, primulas, alpines, rhododendrons. And a hope of finding plants which still have no name because they have never been brought to Europe. All that's true. But there's one thing I've set my heart on finding for my own sake, not for my patrons.' He
described Merlot's lily to her, as many years earlier Sir Desmond Langton had described it to him. ‘Over there, in the high mountain valleys near the frontier with Tibet – that's where we shall hunt for it.'

Together they looked westward, gazing at the mountains. The sun was setting, flooding the dark Yangtze water with crimson and purple. Gordon became aware that Lucy was shivering, and put his arm round her shoulders.

‘We must change our clothes,' he said. ‘After emerging unscathed from a waterfall, it would be humiliating to die of a common cold.'

Lucy nodded and began to move towards the lower deck. Gordon himself lingered for a moment longer. He felt physically and emotionally exhausted by the excitements of the past few hours, and yet, strangely, a warm glow of satisfaction was invading his body. In the course of the day he had recognized a new love, but without needing to surrender his old one. Lucy had become part of his life in a way which he had not earlier believed possible. But the ambition which had driven him for so long was not destroyed by the discovery. Very soon now, all his plans and hopes would be put to the test. For ten years he had dreamed of the moment when he would catch a first glimpse of the mountains of western China. It was a moment to be savoured. They were still many miles away, but the mountains were there, waiting.