The House of Hardie by Anne Melville Page B

such adventures were possible nowadays!’
    â€˜They’re still waiting for anyone who looks for them,’ said Gordon. ‘I myself, as a boy, ran away to sea and found myself in the company of a man who had achieved just such a triumph – and he is still alive today.’
    â€˜You ran away to sea!’ Lucy clapped her hands in excitement. ‘I thought such things only happened in Mudie’s novels. Do tell me how you were able to do it, and where you went.’
    Gordon would willingly have recounted the complete day-by-day history of his voyage in order to remain in her company. But the sound of the stable clock striking the hour made him pause. His father would be seriously displeased if he returned to the cellars and found noone waiting to assist him. Reluctantly, he excused himself.
    â€˜Like Scheherazade!’ exclaimed Lucy. ‘You leave me just when I long to hear more. You must promise to return and continue your story.’
    â€˜I hope … I wish …’ But Gordon, who a moment earlier had been made boastful by his wish to impress, was suddenly aware that he ought not to be talking to any young lady alone in this way, and especially not to the granddaughter of his patron. Fumbling for words, he apologized both for disturbing her and for leaving her, and backed away.
    â€˜Was it interesting?’ asked his father, as he relit their lantern.
    â€˜Was what interesting?’
    Mr Hardie looked at him sharply. ‘The herb garden. Wasn’t that what you were so anxious to see?’
    â€˜Oh yes. Yes. Most unusual.’ Only then did Gordon realize that he had not noticed a single flower, with the exception of the saffron crocus which had provided such a perfect introduction to Lucy Yates’s interest. ‘I’d very much like the chance to inspect it in greater detail. At leisure. Perhaps, when you’ve prepared your suggestions for the coming-of-age gift, I could carry them here in person instead of entrusting them to the post, and then –’ The enthusiasm in his voice faded away, and he did not finish the suggestion. If he returned to Castlemere without warning, he could not expect a repetition of today’s encounter. Lucy Yates would be riding in the park, or paying a call, or playing the piano in the music room. And even were she once again to be found in the herb garden, she was not for him. Gordon shook his head vigorously, like a dog throwing off water, as he tried to free himself from the memory of that young, beautiful face. He opened his book and prepared to set down hisfather’s comments. For the remainder of his time in Castlemere, and during the journey back to Oxford, he did not allow himself to think of Lucy Yates again.
    Every night for almost nine years Gordon Hardie had set aside an hour before he went to sleep in which to further his dream of a future in which he was an explorer and not a vintner: this was in addition to the time he spent, whenever he could spare it, assisting in the Oxford Botanic Garden. By now, his knowledge of botany – which neither his school nor his father had thought important – was scholarly as well as practical. He had acquired a shelf of second-hand books on the subject, and every night he committed to memory a page of text and illustration so that later, lying in bed, he could summon the information before his mind’s eye.
    Tonight’s subject was
Abelia chinensis
, of special interest to Gordon because it had been discovered in China, the country which he was determined to visit one day. As he studied its characteristics, he tried to imagine the feeling of Clarke Abel when he first set eyes on the delicate pink and white flowers, as pale and perfect as Lucy Yates’s complexion. If Gordon ever met her again, he could recount the story of Abel, who collected thousands of seeds and plants, only to lose almost all of them to shipwreck, fire or pirates; but who nevertheless