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drawings and plants.
    Soon after arriving in Hollingbourne, Masson had been put to work as a garden boy at nearby Leeds Castle. He was serious and, unlike the other lads, did not look for any excuse to be off playing at pirates or soldiers in the forest. He worked well and was later apprenticed to the master gardener himself.
    The fields and woods that Masson had traversed every day between the cottage and the castle, six days a week, served as his classroom. His natural curiosity led him to ask questions about the flowers and plants that he saw as well as the earth that succoured them and the insects that helped to propagate them. On the one day a week when he was not working at the Castle, he attended the parish Sunday school, where he learned numbers and Latin.
    Although his master was harsh and lazy, he was not stupid, and he was quick to see the benefits of an apprentice to whom he could delegate. Soon Masson was able to read from any of the texts in his master’s library and could identify any plant on the castle grounds and quote its reference. He was sent to nurseries to negotiate for plants and trees, and it was not long before it became clear to everyone that Masson was the apprentice by title only.
    Word of the esteem and confidence that was bestowed on the young Masson soon reached his master, and he was not pleased. With Masson’s twenty-first birthday on the horizon, his apprenticeship would be completed, and Masson would be at liberty to strike out on his own. With the skill and knowledge that he had so clearly demonstrated, who knew where a precocious talent like that might lead.
    In an act that was cloaked in magnanimous generosity, but in reality was spurred by self-preservation, his master wrote a letter of recommendation to William Aiton, the Director of the Royal Gardens at Kew and a fellow Scotsman, insisting that there was no one better qualified for the position of under-gardener than the young Masson.
    Kew was at least a full day’s journey away by stagecoach, and although Masson was reluctant to leave his mother, the salary was decent and included food and lodging, which meant that the bulk of his earnings could be sent home. His master at Leeds Castle also made sure that there was a scarcity of reasonable alternatives and so, with little choice other than to accept the position, Masson left his mother’s house and spent the next nine years working in the King’s gardens.
    The work suited him well: his position was assured and his life was neatly mapped out. All he needed to do was work hard and remain on Mr Aiton’s good side and he could look forward to a solid, if unspectacular, career.
    And yet, here he was, back in his childhood home, packing up his only possessions, with his life changed beyond all recognition. In less than a month he would set foot on a ship, something he had promised himself he would never do, and embark on an even more preposterous adventure than the one that had killed his father.
    A sharp knock at the door snapped Masson back to the present as his mother barged in without waiting for his reply.
    “Are you finished, Francis? You mustn’t keep them waiting too long.”
    Masson hid the box of drawing tools under his coat before turning and smiling at her. He knew she would not approve of his drawing and would see it as a wasteful distraction. He could almost hear her say, “If not a trade, then what use is it?”
    “I’ll be down in a just moment,” he replied.
    “This is important, Francis, you won’t disappoint me, will you?”
    Without waiting for an answer, she turned and left the door half open before returning downstairs, where Masson could hear the forced tones of polite chatter start up again.
    He took a deep breath before closing the lid of the chest containing his collection of botanical books. Of all his possessions, these were the only things of any value and would also fetch his mother a not insignificant sum in the event that something happened to