Read The Secret Mandarin Online
Authors: Sara Sheridan
Tags: #Literature & Fiction, #Contemporary, #Genre Fiction, #Historical, #Contemporary Fiction, #Literary, #Historical Fiction, #Asian, #Chinese
‘And Major Gilland?’ Robert enquired.
‘Sent the news himself. Gilland is indestructible, I think,’ Pottinger joked.
I was glad of it.
Afterwards I recited Juliet and received a standing ovation, Robert joining the applause and Jane clapping politely at his side.
‘And what will you do, Miss Penney, now you are set for the quiet life?’ the Governor enquired.
‘I have not the least idea, though the capital profit Robert recently made does have me inspired to trade. If I can make
for Ning-po and perhaps Chusan from time to time I am sure I can find exceptional goods to send for sale in London.’
Pottinger raised an eyebrow.
‘Miss Penney,’ he said, ‘you are full of surprises, but I suspect we would have you no other way. There is a reliable fellow I can perhaps recommend to you as an agent.’
That night I did not sleep at all. I could not bring myself to it. I had been feeling ill of late. At first, I thought it was my troubles. The difficulty with Jane, and Robert leaving. Already I was beginning to recognise that it was more. I did not say a word.
The next morning on the dock the
Lady Mary Wood
was loaded, the tea gardeners in their quarters, the sixteen Ward’s cases sown with germinating tea seeds on the deck. I sat in Robert’s rooms, books piled to one side, his notebooks in the trunk. Jane had said goodbye to me already, kissed my cheek coldly and removed to her own cabin. It was, I realised, a start, albeit a small one. Now my darling sat staring at me and I at him.
‘I love you,’ I said.
He must go. He must go.
When the tide was ready he walked me to the gangplank, hugged me and I left the boat just before the anchor was raised and the ship cast away. Robert stayed on deck, staring back at me. I was not empty without him, I noticed. Perhaps that is the measure of a true love. I thought I saw the small figure of my sister come to stand at his side just before the ship finally disappeared. I hoped so as I turned towards the town. There were camellias growing in front of some of the houses. I wondered if I might spot a yellow one.
My second son was born in Ning-po the following April. Society was, oddly, not scandalised at all, at least, not that anyone showed it, when I returned to Hong Kong with a baby in my care. Money, I realise now, buys many things that are not the least bit material. And the colonies, I suppose, are different. The greatest shock was Robert’s, of course. I had decided not to tell him by letter. I wanted him to return to me, not out of duty, but out of love.
The baby has a slash of dark hair and my lover’s shy smile. I have called him Albert Gilland Penney and Sir Pottinger has said he will stand as godfather to the boy, who was baptised, of course, by the Bishop. Robert does not know this yet. He has only just arrived. He is on the verandah in the shade, with his son in his arms.
‘I am going to keep this child at home, myself,’ I told him. ‘I will not lose another little boy.’
Perhaps, I daydream, they will be friends one day, these half-brothers, Henry and Albert. Perhaps John and Helen and Thomas will find out they have, well, we will call them cousins, I suppose. It is strange to love one’s children so, without even knowing them. I cannot help myself and I daydream that there will be more.
For now, Robert has brought his maps and we are set for Japan. Another adventure, just the two of us and more
riches to be made, no doubt. Albert will stay in the care of a governess I have employed—a lady who arrived in Hong Kong some months ago in the wake of a scandal. I employed her immediately and I am happy to say that I am paying her far too much.
‘Two hundred and fifty miles will outrun almost anything,’ I said. ‘I think you have overshot the mark in coming this far, but I do hope you will stay.’
She has not as adventurous a spirit as I, but her company is very pleasant and she knows the part of Ariel by heart.
I notice that there is a letter in Jane’s hand addressed to me. It is the first I have had of her since her leaving and I smile at the very thought. I will read it later, curled up on the balcony, tomorrow morning, or perhaps afternoon—whenever I emerge. Now, though, I stand at the garden door. Robert has been crying. There is no need for either of us to say a thing about it.
‘I think there will be tree peonies,’ he remarks. ‘In Osaka.’
‘Tell me,’ I enquire, as I put the baby in his basket and slip sinuously onto Robert’s lap, ‘how much does a new species of tree peony sell for in London, these days?
The Secret Mandarin
is what Truman Capote called ‘Faction’—a mixture of reality and fiction. I freely admit to putting the needs of a good story before anything else, but I have retained historical accuracy wherever I can. Fortune made several well-documented trips to Asia and wrote his own accounts, which mostly focussed on his horticultural discoveries.
The Secret Mandarin
contains episodes from all of them. His books were bestsellers in their day (though rather dull if you aren’t a botanist). Between the pages and pages on different species of plants, they offer tantalising glimpses into what might be considered Fortune’s more exciting adventures. He mentions only in passing that he spoke to a Mandarin or went to stay in a local farmhouse, for example, and devotes only a few paragraphs to the pirate attack I have reproduced on Captain McFarlane’s ship (on the way to Hong Kong rather than on the way out). In many places I have simply ‘resited’ events. Robert did not live at Gilston Road, for example, until later in his career, but I have moved the Fortune family there earlier (from staff accommodation at Kew Gardens) to accommodate the needs of Mary Penney. Wang and Sing Hoo both served Fortune during his trips, but their time in his service was not contemporaneous. During his time in the tea countries Fortune stayed with the Wang Family, rather than taking a
trip of only a couple of days to visit (as in my account). I hope that these changes do not distract - I tried to write a story that was in the spirit of the times, based around what really happened, taking guesses at what might lie in the gaps between the documentary evidence available. Likewise, there is no concrete proof that Fortune spied for Britain, though it seems very unlikely that the military commanders in Hong Kong would not have asked him to keep an eye out, given that he was one of very few Europeans who made their way into the interior of China. I found myself in awe of Robert Fortune—a truly adventurous man—though very aware of his shortcomings. He really never understood the country that brought him so much prosperity and fame. The omissions in his own accounts were telling of both his character and his understanding. It was for these reasons that Mary Penney, a character entirely of my own invention, seemed to fit in like a jigsaw piece. It was as if she had always been missing.
There is very little documentary evidence of Fortune’s private life, as Jane Penney burned all his letters and some of his papers after he died. A horticulturist told me that she had done this at his request, but of course, of that we can never be sure. As a novelist this left an enticing gap that once more, the invention of Mary Penney seemed to fill seamlessly. I hope you enjoy the book and forgive any liberties I may have taken in creating the story.
I found the following invaluable in the course of my research:
Non-fiction:
The Victorians
by A N Wilson (Arrow)
The Victorians
by Jeremy Paxman (BBC Books)
Victorian London
by Liza Picard (Phoenix)
The Suspicions of Mr Whicher
by Kate Summerscale (Bloomsbury)
For All the Tea In China
by Sarah Rose (Hutchinson)
The Age of Wonder
by Richard Holmes (HarperPress)
The Scottish Enlightenment
by Arthur Herman (Fourth Esate)
The Plant Hunters
by Toby Musgrave, Chris Gardner and Will Musgrave (Cassell Illustrated)
A History of Hong Kong
by Frank Welsh (HarperCollins Publishers)
Chinese Mythology
by Derek Walters (The Johns Hopkins University Press)
1421
by Gavin Menzies (Bantam Books)
The Chinese Opium Wars
by Jack Beeching (Harcourt Publishers)
The Opium Wars: The Addiction of One Empire and the Corruption of Another
by W. Travis Hanes and Frank Sanello (Robson Books)
The Honourable Company
by John Keay (HarperCollins Publishers)
Fiction:
Water Music
by T C Boyle (Granta Books)
The Crimson Petal and the White
by Michael Faber (Canongate)
Jonathan Strange and Mr Norrell
by Susanna Clarke (Bloomsbury)
The Star of the Sea
by Joseph O’Connor (Vintage)
Fingersmith
by Sarah Waters (Virago)
The Journal of Ore Damage
by Belinda Starling (Bloomsbury)
I spent almost eight years, on and off, writing
The Secret Mandarin,
and in doing so I never once planned a theme for the book, though it transpires it has several. When I was asked to write some questions for reading groups I was surprised that firstly,
groups
of people might read the story and secondly that the book could be analysed in any kind of organised way! In writing them, I have found myself considering many issues raised by the book for the first time and that has been a pleasure. I hope you enjoy them as much as I have.
Thanks are due to many, for it takes a village to raise a book.
To Syd House, who mentioned in passing that I might find the Victorian Plant Hunters interesting, especially some guy called Robert Fortune (thank you, Syd!). To Mrs Campbell—a wonderful history teacher. To the staff at the Botanical Gardens in Edinburgh who generously gave up their time and helped me in the library and the herbarium. To the staff at The Scottish Plant Hunters Garden at Pitlochry who answered questions ad nauseam. To the brilliant archivists at the National Library of Scotland who were enormously supportive and continue to be so—much appreciated—David McClay and Nat Edwards in particular. To those who read the book in its early draft and gave detailed criticism—the fabulously enthusiastic Jenny Brown, Maxine Hitchcock and her wonderful eyes, the exuberant Val Hoskins and the ever-inspiring Elinor Baginel. To the Kay Blundell Trust for generously giving money when I needed it most—the faith you put in me means a great deal.
Lastly, but in no way least, to my friends and family for putting up with me going on about tea plants for a bloody long time—so many of you lovely people have been kind and patient all through the writing process and then genuinely happy for me when I finally sold the manuscript—I am entirely blessed to have so many wonderful friends. Thanks are due in particular to Lorne Blyth, Monica Higgins and Lucy Gordon for the top party, the gorgeous and supportive Gemma Tipton for knowing me so well, the generous and ever-upbeat Jan Ambrose (head of list-making),
the Goodwins and the Faulkeners who bore the brunt along with my lovely daughter Molly and my very own rock, the stupendous Alan Ferrier.
Sara Sheridan was born in Edinburgh and studied English Literature at Trinity College, Dublin. Fascinated by different media, she has written a wide range of stories including contemporary novels, short films, teen and children’s books as well as historical fiction. In 2000 her first novel,
Truth or Dare,
won a place in the 100 Best Scottish Books as part of the Scottish Library Award. She was also included in
Company
magazine’s Top Ten Young Writers Under Thirty and has been shortlisted for a Saltire Award. Sara has one daughter and lives in Edinburgh.
To find out more about Sara please visit www.sarasheridan.co.uk.
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