The Secret Mandarin (31 page)

Meanwhile I resolved as Robert slept to keep his journal up to date and make pencil sketches of the countryside
around the inn. It had been some time since I had paid any attention to the notebooks. Leafing through the pages I could see his mind had wandered of late and I was flattered to read that he had taken notice not of the properties of the soil or the acidity of the water, but of me. The flowers by our bed at Wuyi Mountain had been pressed dry and kept between the pages, and Robert had written of our lovemaking, the taste of my mouth and the softness of my skin. I was touched. He had drawn me naked as I slept and written wistful lines of our chase across country one day when the horses had taken off and we had wheeled towards the hilly ground to the south of the Great Imperial Road. He had written my name over and over and then: ‘What will I do without her?’ And here I stopped. Without me? What horrors was he planning?

I furiously flung the book down and then bundled it back in its box and thrust the whole caboodle beside the door, eyeing it angrily from my chair across the room as my mind raced. How dare he? For my part I was not naïve but I simply had ceased to think so far ahead. My whole world was in our summer caravan, with no thought to its destination. We had promised each other that. No choices, no decisions, he had said. And when it came time we would do so together. And yet, here was Robert, in advance of me, wishing our time away. Worse, coming to a conclusion alone. He had decided on rejecting me, it seemed. Of course, from our situation, some things were clear—after all, how could I return to London now? But then again, how could he? Still, it was unforgivable. It was like William all over again. By Hong Kong I would be inconvenient and Robert would slip back to London alone.

When Robert woke I was sitting cross-legged on the chair with my arms also crossed before me.

‘Oh, dear,’ he said, for it was clear all was not well. He sat up with some effort.

‘You are for leaving me behind, I read in your journal,’ I said coolly.

He did not berate me for reading his private papers, but sat up squarely.

‘What do you mean?’

I tramped over to the box and pulled out the pages.

‘What will you do without me, Robert?’ I said, throwing them haphazardly on the bed. ‘Without me?’

He lifted the page.

‘I don’t know what I will do,’ he said sadly, ‘for I love you completely. But what else is there? I am contracted from here to India and then to London. Will you come with me and kiss your sister hello?’

I kicked the chair so hard it buckled. I knew I could not go home again.

‘And must you go back?’ I asked, tears welling in my eyes. ‘You cannot avoid it? What of all your promises, Robert? This love of ours? Your intention is to abandon me, is it not? I am convenient here—a bit of fun for you—but come Hong Kong you will head west and scarce look over your shoulder.’

‘The last part of the money is due on return,’ he said. ‘I must collect it for the children. For Jane too, if it comes to that, Mary. I must go home and see to my duties. The Company will pay me over a hundred and fifty pounds in London. I cannot set that aside.’

It was a huge sum of money.

I nodded sadly. ‘It seems too easy for you,’ I said, the tears welling. This felt horribly familiar. A man returning to his wife, abandoning his promises. I had no doubt that I had uncovered Robert’s secret intentions. The truth was he had everything on his side. He could do whatever he wanted.

The patient picked up the papers on his cover.

‘Easy for me?’ he retorted, casting his eyes on the sheets before him. ‘How could it be easy for me?’

I followed his gaze. The page or two I had not read, the last entry, was before me.

‘And I had rather die,’ he had written. ‘It will be agony. But I swear I will return three thousand miles to her. I will come back. Whatever it takes.’

I picked up the page, my heart quickening, ‘And if I stay here and wait then, you will return?’

‘How could I not?’ he said and reached out to touch my arm. ‘How can you even think it?’

I knelt down. It was as if China had healed me of all my hurts from before. In that moment my faith was truly restored and I knew, absolutely, that I was loved. Robert might be rushing towards London but it was only so he could settle his business there and return to me the quicker. We had a month till we reached the coast and a few weeks more until Hong Kong. But we would be together no matter what, and that was all that was important.

‘Then I will wait for you, wherever you leave me, however long,’ I promised.

Robert reached out, putting his arm around me.

‘We are home to each other now,’ he said. ‘There is no other way.’

Foo Chow Soo is Britain’s most southerly port in China, but it is a small place and not at all popular. In good health and set on each other for life, Robert and I approached the settlement in the middle of the day, dirty from the road and with a full three tonnes of luggage. It was four weeks since we had left the inn and the journey had been glorious. Now, as our party crested the hill leading to the little town, the tea gardeners caught their first, bright glimpse of the sea and a wild wail started. The strangeness of the shimmering water shocked them beyond all belief. Two men burst into tears. Another fell on his knees and begged Wang to send him home again for he was too afraid. Robert looked down amused at this commotion from the sedan chair he had adopted for our arrival in the town. It had not occurred to either of us that the sea would be such a shock.

‘The ocean will not be their only surprise in Foo Chow Soo,’ he said lightly.

We, after all, were set to lose our disguises once we were safe on British soil.

To allow the bearers to get used to the scale of the water, we chose a slightly longer route into town that brought the men to a shingle beach about a mile to one side of the port. There we stopped so they could take in the view and, we hoped, compose themselves. Together in a line they walked
hesitantly towards the little waves breaking on the pebbles as if the water might surge forward and engulf them. For me, it was lovely to be near the sound of the surf again and, despite my misgivings about what the coming weeks might hold, I felt exhilarated. This was not only Robert’s achievement, it was mine as well, and I wanted to see the completion of it, even if it meant Robert would be gone a year or more back to Europe. And then, of course, we were anticipating treats—British food, ample wine (French, we hoped), fresh books to read and news of home.

While the bearers moved gingerly up the shale, Wang and Sing Hoo stood beaming. Both had spent much of their lives by the sea and were basking in the cosmopolitan air this now afforded them in the eyes of their compatriots. Also, I expect, our arrival in Foo Chow Soo clearly marked the last stage of our journey and as they reached the sea their promised bonuses drew yet closer. This proximity, however, did not seem to help the rest of the men come to terms with their amazement at the vast expanse of blue water before them. Sing Hoo laughed, mimicking their wide eyes and distraught expressions.

‘Stop that,’ I told him. ‘Look,’ I explained, jumping off my sedan and splashing my hands in the surf to demonstrate. ‘There is nothing to be afraid of. It will not come to you any further up the beach. It’s only water.’

Still, the men clasped onto each other as they moved forwards, though all of them wet their fingers to taste it. Laughter broke out and it wasn’t long before they were splashing like children and eagerly asking questions of Wang and Sing Hoo about the size of this ‘lake’ and why the water tasted of salt.

‘We will leave on a ship,’ I said, pointing towards the port in the bay where a smattering of sampans were moored and only one vessel, I noticed, of a British bent. Robert took a
deep breath of salty air. The breeze off the ocean was certainly stirring.

‘Come,’ he roused the men. ‘Let us get on.’

Inside the city wall, it was strange to see that there were no European-style buildings. Foo Chow Soo did not resemble any other British port we had visited. The Consulate was a small, wooden building with a diplomatic staff of three. Aside from that there were only two British merchants in the town—both opium traders, of course—and a small barracks for the military contingent. This meant that while Foo Chow Soo was nominally British, there were scarcely fifty Europeans stationed there, and they were outnumbered easily a hundred to one by the native Chinese in the area. We had not expected so small a presence or anticipated what it might mean. From the start it was clear that the local Chinese were hostile to anything foreign—even the graffiti down by the docks proclaimed it. Unlike in Hong Kong or Ning-po or Chusan, the British were not welcome here, even on a superficial level for trade, and we passed no shops selling goods for European tastes or even those where allowances had been made for the British market. All in all, there was an unpleasant atmosphere of contention that we had not counted on. The place felt on the very verge of mutiny. This crept up on our own feelings of celebration the minute we entered the settlement and made us wary.

As we picked our way along the main street our entourage caused quite a stir. Not one single merchant tried to sell us goods but many came to ogle as we passed. Our bearers were jostled as they carried our trunks and I heard swear words muttered behind us—not from our own men, but from those who had come to inspect the caravan. Though on our sedans we were untouched, we were certainly noted. Two mandarins, clearly friends
meeting by chance outside a shop, stared and then haltingly followed us at a distance.

‘Lord,’ said Robert, thinking on his feet. ‘Strangers are not welcome here. I had thought it would be busier and there would be more of our soldiers.’

He eyed the mandarins, who were pointing and whispering to each other before he continued. It reminded me of our time in the hills before Chusan where we were attacked by the crowd who had come to inspect us. This time, however, Robert was not for pressing on and ignoring the unfriendly stares.

‘Well, I do not judge it wise to march up to the Consulate and knock on the door, that is for sure,’ he said. ‘I think we might be better advised to stay Chinese for a while until we have assessed this place. It is most odd.’

I agreed.

Warily, we directed the caravan towards the port and when we got there a small phalanx of British soldiers marched towards us and ordered us to halt. This was to be expected. In every settlement it was at the port that the troops had their main presence. Here though, there were perhaps only six men on duty, the first European faces we had seen in two years, or at least since Father Edward had left us. I was excited to see these men, though it struck me that the soldiers seemed so much hairier than the Chinese appearance that I was now used to, and their faces were so unusual—another species indeed. It was surprising how strange my own countrymen had become to me. Quite apart from this, the men were armed to the teeth with knives at the belt and guns they thrust out before them. They looked like they would strike any moment.

The captain motioned our sedans to be set down so he could interrogate us.

‘Name?’ he roared in Cantonese. ‘What is your business here?’

Robert smiled. He knew he was being followed by the townsfolk and that we must be careful; here though was the definite chance for some sport. He reached out a long-nailed finger and motioned the officer closer so that none could hear what the grand mandarin was going to say. The man moved towards the sedan warily, his soldiers ready with their arms if need be.

‘Come along then,’ he barked. ‘Name.’

Robert leant towards him.

‘They call me Sing Wa, old chap,’ he whispered in his best English drawl. ‘And by my judgement we had best stick to that name in these parts, but we are headed for Hong Kong and Sir Pottinger. Treat us as you would any Chinese merchant, arriving in town. We will take rooms here.’

The captain stood upright. He stared first at Robert and then at me.

‘I say,’ he muttered.

I adopted a haughty expression and hid my smile as his eyes searched my face momentarily, to see what might be beneath the surface. Then he rallied.

‘Right, men, look at the luggage here!’ he shouted. ‘Hop to it!’

The troops fanned out and checked over the cases, shoving our men out of the way where need be, while the young captain whispered something to Robert I did not catch. Once our inspection was completed he waved us on.

‘They are often under attack here,’ Robert relayed to me. ‘The man says that if we unmask ourselves it is his view that there will be an uprising. He said the situation is very hostile.’

‘Then let’s stay hidden,’ I agreed.

Right on the bay we took rooms in a newly-built complex
that we discovered was to let. The place smelt of freshly sawn wood and new paint. There was a courtyard to the rear that backed onto a pristine warehouse and Robert also let this accommodation for our luggage and, of course, the men. While Wang and Sing Hoo busied themselves wrangling our entourage into their quarters, we took tea upstairs and assessed the situation. Outside, the mandarins had gone, but there were two Chinese servants loitering nearby in the street with instructions to take note of our activities no doubt. In a town the size of Foo Chow Soo our arrival constituted an event and our new neighbours were nosey. This wasn’t British territory or at least not as entirely as British as we had anticipated. In fact, it was a good deal less welcoming than either of the tea countries we had come from. It felt as if the place was under siege.

‘I am looking forward, Mary, to seeing you a lady once more.’ Robert regarded me.

I blushed. ‘Not in Foo Chow Soo,’ I said.

At length, Robert called Wang and instructed him to enquire about sailings to Hong Kong on a ship that could accommodate us.

‘Leave by the side door,’ he instructed. ‘Be careful, Wang. They are watching.’ Robert gestured vaguely out of the half-shuttered window where the men outside were standing together.

‘Yes, Master.’

‘And how are we to let the Consul know we’re here?’ I asked.

‘Did you notice there was a little theatre? I think we should attend, don’t you?’

I turned in surprise. This was most unlike Robert.

‘The Chinese Opera?’

‘Yes. We have made our own fun, far too long. Let’s see what is playing this evening.’

‘What are you up to, Robert Fortune?’

‘Oh, everyone goes to the theatre, Mary. I should imagine that even the Consul may be there this evening.’

Here then was the subject of the whispering I could not catch between Robert and the captain of the guard. I stood up and stared down into the street, the teacup to my lips. This town felt murderous. We would be lucky to escape with our skins.

‘Have there been many attacks here?’ I asked.

‘I should think so,’ Robert put his hand on my shoulder. ‘Try not to think of it. We shall be gone soon enough.’

In the meantime we set about providing for the men and seeming as Chinese as we could. Sing Hoo was sent for provisions—all of a Chinese nature—and everyone was confined to their quarters. We did not want word getting out about our intentions.

That evening, with our charges settled and a watch set up, Robert and I ventured out. We both carried knives beneath our long silk jackets. The streets around the theatre were lively after dark, the smell of cooking and the sound of high spirits pervaded the muddy alleyways. The candle-lamps set in the doorways gave the shabby street stalls a golden glow and, though it was small, the commercial heart of Foo Chow Soo bustled the hot, dark evening long. Still, in the street, we were followed. Wang led us, sure-footed, and we ignored the stares. These servants could not trail us into the theatre, in any case. There was an entrance fee, for a start.

We entered as the huge, carved doors were opened by a burly doorman. Inside we were greeted by a man dressed in black, and asked if we preferred the gallery (where one must stand) or a table by the performing area. The six-man orchestra was already playing mesmerising Chinese music that I knew Robert would hate. Caterwauling he called it,
and he had never got used to the Oriental rhythm or the high, haunting tone. We decided, however, upon a table, which was the choice most consistent with Robert’s rank as Sing Wa. Robert stood for a moment, considering what was on offer and then he directed us silently with a long arc of his finger to the other side of the room.

There was a table of off-duty Chinese soldiers a few seats away, and they shifted to get a look at us. Robert had worn a jacket studded with crystals and, sure enough, it was this that caught their attention and in my plain, dark secretary’s outfit I happily paled into insignificance. As I sat down on a mound of bright, satin cushions, and a pretty waitress in a plain yellow robe with a red sash served little cups of
sham shoo,
I realised that when we were seated the soldiers were obscured from our view and, more importantly, we were obscured from theirs. The fact there were Chinese troops, off duty or not, in a British port was unheard of, and it made me even more uneasy as if I had to keep checking around to see who might be looking or what they might guess.

‘Well, now,’ I whispered, trying to put us at our ease, ‘I never knew you were a lover of Oriental music, Robert.’

He knew I was being facetious and didn’t reply. Instead I surveyed the crowd in the gallery, brightly dressed women with intricate hairstyles standing demurely with their men. Some of these ladies no doubt worked at the town’s brothel and were being paid (well, I hoped) for their attendance. Robert noticed my line of vision.

‘At home the audience is no different, Mary,’ he smirked.

I smiled. At home the programme at this time of year comprised of new plays and some classics. Congreve, often Marlowe, and sometimes a production in French.

‘In that case, the ladies will be scurrying around backstage. Completely engrossed with their make up.’

‘And at the Royal Society,’ Robert mused, ‘there may be a lecture.’

‘Oh, yes. Mosses of the Highlands?’ I ventured.

‘Mosses and lichens, more likely.’

‘Of course.’

‘Well,’ said a deep, unfamiliar voice, ‘I can’t imagine why you would want to tarry here, then.’

I spun round. A tall, fair man with a grin on his face had taken a place at the table behind us. He seemed too large for the cushion he was seated on. I was immediately reminded of playing with the children, when we might seat a teddy bear, far too large, at a table with some smaller dolls and serve them all tea. It is odd how unfamiliar the sight of a white man had become. I marvelled at him.

‘Rum game this,’ the large man smiled.

‘Mary,’ Robert whispered, leaning towards me, ‘you must take that look off your face and turn towards the stage.’