CHAPTER 5

With no time left to lose, Simmons and Bolton frogmarched a still-protesting Masson through the front door and down panelled corridors that smelled of tobacco and old books.

Sir Christopher Wren, Samuel Pepys, the Earl of Halifax, Isaac Newton — not a smile amongst the bunch of them as they peered mirthlessly down from beneath flowing wigs, captured for posterity on canvases that lined the walls of the corridors along which the three men now raced. Through the efforts of these men, the Society had claimed a place at the forefront of the enlightened world and as Masson was dragged beneath their eminent gazes, he couldn’t help but feel that the only emotion their unblinking stares conveyed was one of undisguised disdain.

But Boulton was in no mood for giving sightseeing tours or for appeasing the spirits of deceased fellows. Neither was he too concerned by the Society members who were still alive but were either too slow or too preoccupied with ruminations of greatness to mind their backs so that they were pushed aside as the trio scrambled to get to Sir Joseph’s rooms on the second floor.

“Flowers are the new gold, Mr Masson,” Boulton wheezed as his silver buckled shoes thumped up the solid oak treads. “Scientists want to study them, merchants want to trade them and no stately home can be considered complete without its own collection of exotics. We need bold men to search out these treasures, and Sir Joseph will reward you handsomely for your brave decision to volunteer.”

At the top of the stairs, Boulton tried, with the little breath he had left in his lungs, to prepare Masson for his interview. “Now, just remember,” he wheezed, “Sir Joseph is a man just like the rest of us. He breathes the same air and is as fond of a joke as the next man. So just answer whatever questions he has for you, and as long as you don’t ramble, stutter or hesitate, you will be fine. There is absolutely no need what so ever to be nervous. Is that clear, Mr MacMasterton?”

“It’s Masson, sir, Francis Masson,” corrected Simmons as Boulton wrapped twice on the large oak-panelled door.

Upon hearing a single, bellowed “Come!” from the other side of the door, Boulton pulled down on his waistcoat, loosened the stock around his neck and, with a silent appeal to the heavens, opened the double doors.

“No, wait,” whispered Masson, urgently trying to grab at Boulton’s arm, but it was too late.

They walked into a large, well-lit office. The sash windows were open on both sides, allowing what little breeze there was to cool the space. To prevent the numerous stacks of documents arrayed around the room from being scattered, fossilised crustacea, stuffed animals, multi-coloured crystals and many other strange and wonderful objects had been brought into service as paperweights.

At the centre of the room was Sir Joseph Banks: naturalist, explorer, knight of the realm and, at just thirty years of age, a legend in his own time.

Masson had heard how, upon meeting a person of great stature, people were often disappointed or surprised that the person was not as large in life as the reputation that preceded them. To Masson, however, Banks did not disappoint.

When Banks discovered that the HMS Endeavour would make a journey around the world to observe the path of Venus, he leveraged the full weight of his inherited fortune and family connections to obtain a place on the boat. When the First Lord of the Admiralty blocked his requests, he bypassed the navy and gained approval for his participation from the government instead. He also contributed to the expedition a sum more than double that provided by the King and one hundred times greater than the annual salary of the ship’s captain, James Cook.

Cook, who now stood slightly behind Banks, had the look of someone who was enjoying a comic play but could not laugh out loud. He was almost two decades older than Banks and was dressed in the uniform of a captain of the Royal Navy.

It might have been Cook who commanded the ship on a circumnavigation of the globe that lasted three-years, but on their triumphant return the previous summer, it was Banks who managed to steer a course through the fickle waters of public opinion and lay claim to the title of hero of the expedition.

Banks had taken with him the eminent botanist Daniel Solander, and together they found and brought back over three thousand plant specimens, most of which had never been formally described. Banks’s success had propelled England to the head of the botanical establishment, greatly increasing the importance of the gardens at Kew as well as adding enormously to the work done there. Although William Aiton was officially the director of the gardens, it was an open secret that Banks had made use of his newly formed friendship with the King to transform Kew from a King’s pleasure garden into a botanical repository. If it hadn’t been for Banks, Masson would very likely still be pruning box hedges rather than helping to catalogue the most diverse botanical collection in the world.

Whilst tall and of the same age, where Masson’s looks were unrefined and rough, Banks was remarkably handsome. Where Masson’s class and upbringing had taught him a reflex for deference, Banks deferred to no one, least of all Lord Sandwich, who stood opposite him. The corpulent First Lord of the Admiralty, who constantly dabbed at his forehead and upper lip with a silk handkerchief, was poured over the numerous technical drawings and plans that lay spread out on the desk between them.

Boulton cleared his throat. “My Lord, Sir Joseph, Captain Cook, may I intro—”

“Ah, Mr Boulton!” interrupted Banks. “Just in time! This must be our man.” Banks squared up from behind the table, addressing Masson directly. “Tell me, sir, do you travel light?”

Masson looked searchingly at Boulton for an answer, but the rotund assistant simply closed his eyes and continued to perspire.

“Well?” repeated Banks. “If you were to go on a rather long and arduous sea voyage, would you pack, you know, sparingly?” A wry smile had creased across Cook’s face, but the old Lord was either deaf or did not deign to react, choosing instead to continue poring over the documents before him.

“I … I suppose I would endeavour to, sir, yes,” answered Masson.

“Splendid!” roared Banks, so loudly that the old Lord next to him flinched.

So, not deaf then, thought Masson.

“Congratulations, the job is yours!” roared Banks before continuing in a voice thick with exaggerated ceremony. “Through this thorough examination, you have officially met the exceedingly taxing criteria for selection as set out by the Admiralty Board.”

The Old Lord had put down his magnifying glass with a pained look as Cook cupped his chin in his hand, visibly struggling to contain his laughter.

“On the basis of your ability to travel with the minimum of luggage,” Banks continued, “and on this basis only, you will now take part in this crucial and monumental voyage of discovery, sailing with Captain Cook to the Cape of Good Hope. You will then, at no small expense to myself, spend a few years in the Dutch colony at Cape Town, exploring wild and as yet unmapped territory. You will identify and collect thousands of plant species never before seen by science, in the process increasing the splendour and importance of our King’s Botanical Garden at Kew. In addition to helping to make us the envy of the world’s scientific community, your work will almost certainly help to secure new revenues for the Crown at a time when they are so clearly needed.”

“Excuse me, sir, but did you say the Cape of Good Hope?” Masson asked when Banks paused for breath, an edge of panic creeping into in his voice.

“That is quite enough, Sir Joseph,” blurted the old Lord, his practised look of annoyance beginning to make way for something much darker.

“Mr Boulton, no doubt,” continued Banks, ignoring both Masson and Lord Sandwich, “will have chosen you for your profound knowledge of the natural sciences, the excellence of your craft as a botanist and your proven record in foreign exploration. Such are the standards upon which I am willing to rest my reputation.” Masson looked to Boulton once again, trying to gain confirmation that this was some kind of practical joke. But all he saw was that Boulton appeared on the verge of fainting.

“For the Admiralty Board, however, all this pales into insignificance in comparison to this most extraordinary of talents, and which, in their vaulted estimation, I have found to be so wanting: the ability to travel light!”

“Really, Sir Joseph,” the old Lord huffed, picking up from where he was cut off. “This is an Admiralty expedition undertaken at considerable expense to the Crown and no small amount of risk. You were always our first choice as leader, particularly given your past success, but we simply cannot afford you. We are prepared to make the necessary modifications to the ship’s layout to allow for a reasonable amount of space for tools, equipment and personnel, but not when it requires the building of an additional upper deck!”

“If we are to bring back the world, we cannot bring it back in the carpenter’s storeroom, my Lord. But then I suppose you would need to be a man of science to understand,” Banks replied witheringly.

“A...