Fragrant Flower (22 page)

“Oh, God, save me!” Azalea prayed, night after night and day after day. “You saved me once when it seemed impossible by bringing Lord Sheldon to my rescue. Save me now from a life that would be – worse than – death!”

Sometimes she wanted to scream, to beat her hands against the door of her cell, as she felt the walls were closing in on her and she was being suffocated by them.

She told herself it was her Russian blood that was making her feel so wild and unrestrained.

Her father had always been self-controlled and, except when he had been forced to take action against the brutality of Colonel Stewart to save a young girl, he had a reserve and a pride that would never have allowed him to give way to emotionalism.

“You were brave, Papa!” Azalea found herself saying to him in the darkness. “Brave enough to stop a man who was behaving in a bestial fashion.”

She gave a little sob as she continued in a whisper,

“You were also brave enough to shoot yourself because it was the right and honourable thing to do.”

Then, desperately, in a voice that pierced the darkness, Azalea cried,

“Help me, Papa! Help me now, for I cannot endure this – I cannot!”

After three or four days, the scars on her back, although tender, ceased to be so painful, and she could even lie comfortably in bed.

She knew that her uncle had inflicted on her not only what he thought was just punishment for her behaviour, but also his resentment against her father and the scandal he feared. Azalea wondered whether, if she had gone on fighting him as she had wanted to do, he would have beaten her insensible because he was so determined to get his own way.

Although she might despise herself for having given in so easily she knew that the end was inevitable, for she could not have resisted indefinitely.

After several more beatings she would have capitulated ignominiously because both physically and mentally she would have been unable to stand any more.

Sometimes she would walk up and down her cell because she felt so restless she could neither sit nor lie.

“I am like a caged animal!” she told herself.

Then she remembered that sooner or later in captivity even the fiercest animal became cowed, intimidated and finally apathetic.

“How long will it be before I no longer care?” she asked. But she was sure that the thought of Lord Sheldon would always bring that dagger-like pain to her heart and an agonising torture to her mind.

“I love him! I love him!” she whispered.

Yet she wondered if the day would come when the words would have no meaning – when even the ecstasy of remembering him would fade and be forgotten.

Although the silence and the fact that she was always alone was frightening and at times intolerable, Azalea could not help feeling that when the week was over it might be even worse.

Then she was quite certain her religious instruction would begin. Gradually they would wear away her will and her critical faculties so that she would accept what she was told and become the automaton they desired.

When, as usual, the Nun arrived at ten o’clock with a brush and pail for Azalea to clean her cell, she did what was expected of her automatically, and when the Nun left she waited listlessly for another half an hour before it was time for her exercise.

She looked forward to being outside just because the air was fresher than it was in her cell, and at least she could feel the warmth of the sun on her head.

She knew that beyond the walls there was the sea, blue against the green of the mountains, but she also knew despairingly that she would never see it again.

Her only glimpse of the world she had found so beautiful would be the sky, sometimes blue, sometimes grey and overcast, and at other times, as it was this morning, translucent in the golden sun and shimmering with the promise of heat later in the day.

She looked up, hoping to see a bird, but the sky was empty and she wondered if perhaps even they too would be forbidden to her.

She remembered the yellow-green South China white-eye which the shopkeepers kept in cages to make their customers feel happy, and she recalled the flight of blue magpies which had risen in Mr. Chang’s garden when she and Lord Sheldon had stepped out onto the veranda.

“I thought they would bring me luck!” Azalea told herself miserably.

As she thought of the magpies, she saw at the end of the courtyard a patch of vivid blue on the rough green grass. Wonderingly she walked towards it and thought for a moment as she drew nearer that it was a blue magpie which had fallen into the courtyard, dead.

She bent forward and saw that it was in fact just a little bunch of single feathers lying on the grass beside one of the flowering bushes.

Then as she looked at it she heard a voice whisper,

“
Heung-Far! Heung-Far!”

She started, thinking she must be imagining that someone was calling her. Then incredulously she saw, behind a bush against the wall, the fingers of a hand beckoning to her.

For a moment she could only stare. The hand seemed to come out of the darkness low down on the ground.

Then the voice, hardly above a whisper, came again.

“
Cum, Heung-Far!
Cum quick!”

Without hesitating, Azalea crawled under the bush. The hand was beckoning to her from a hole in the ground that appeared to come from right under the wall.

She crawled forward and the hand retreated.

“Cum! Cum!” the same voice insisted.

Azalea stretched herself forward, her hands in front of her, her body spread out so that she crawled into the darkness that smelt of newly-dug earth.

The hole broadened and Azalea realised that she must be in a tunnel that passed right under the high wall of the Convent.

She felt her heart begin to beat quickly with excitement, and although she could not see, she could hear the movements of someone ahead of her.

She must have hesitated for the hand touched hers and the whisper came again.

“Cum quick! Cum!”

She moved as fast as she could, hampered by the thick folds of her habit and the heavy shoes on her feet.

She put up her hand. Realising that the tunnel was reinforced with wooden supports, she kept her head low.

“Now – storm-water – drain,” the whisper came and Azalea realised the tunnel had ended and she was in fact inside a large round pipe.

There was only just room enough for her to move her shoulders and she knew that had she been any broader, in fact the size of an average English girl, it would have been impossible for her to follow the small Chinese man moving ahead of her.

It was pitch dark and yet every so often he touched Azalea’s hands as if to reassure her he was there. She knew that he must be crawling backwards down the pipe and she had only to follow him.

It was eerie and rather frightening being so closely confined, but her passage was made easier by the fact that she was going downhill all the way.

Although sometimes she had to drag herself forward jerkily because of her skirts, she was still progressing, and the incline was growing steeper.

She seemed to have gone a long way, and it was hard to breathe, when Azalea had a moment of panic.

Supposing she suffocated? Supposing she stuck in this pipe and there was no way out?

She could not go backwards. That was impossible! Ahead there seemed to be no end in sight.

The Chinese who was guiding her did not speak and Azalea thought it must be because their voices would echo, and however softly they spoke the sound would be magnified.

There was a pervading smell of rainwater and decaying leaves, and Azalea found herself feeling very hot.

“I cannot breathe!” she longed to cry to her guide. Then she told herself there must be air somewhere in the pipes and she must breathe slowly and deeply.

She took one or two deep breaths and moved forward with what seemed fresh impetus.

Quite suddenly she could smell the sea – what seemed a blessed smell of salt seaweed – and now it was much easier to breathe!

Then, almost before she realised it, there was a glimmer of light shining above the dark head of the man in front of her.

At last, far away at the end of the pipe, she could see daylight! She wanted to cry, then she told herself this was not the moment for weakness.

She was not yet free. Her absence might by now have been discovered. They would find the tunnel, and the Nuns or those they employed could be waiting for her when she finally emerged.

As if her guide also realised the importance of haste he slithered away ahead, moving down the pipe like a snake, and Azalea crawled as quickly as she could after him.

The sunshine was suddenly blinding in her eyes and she saw the shimmer and glimmer of the sea. She looked out of the storm-water pipe and realised it opened in a stone wall high above the waterline of the sea. Below, the Chinese who must have guided her was standing in a sampan.

The man took hold of Azalea’s arms and pulled her forward, and another man caught her round the waist.

They dragged her clear of the drain and set her down in the sampan.

There was a third man in the bow, his hand on the fixed oar with which the sampan was rowed, and as Azalea seated herself he started moving.

One of the Chinese set a large coolie-hat on her head – another wrapped a wide piece of faded blue cotton round her shoulders.

She knew it was a precaution and a disguise against anyone who might be watching for her from the land. She looked back from under the brim of her hat and saw the Convent, gaunt, grey and frightening, standing high on the hill above them.

There were few people in sight.

The sampan was rowed past several others and a dozen fishing vessels moored against the sea-wall, and they were out in the open sea.

It was then Azalea saw ahead of them a steamship and realised that the sampan was moving towards it.

Her heart leapt with excitement, but while she felt an inexpressible joy, she wondered whether a British Captain would feel in honour bound to return her to her uncle.

Even as the thought came to her, she saw that the flag being flown from the steamship was not British.

It was Chinese!

It was a large ship and Azalea could hear its engines throbbing as they drew nearer.

There was a rope ladder hanging over the side, and as she looked at it she knew there was no other way she could climb aboard.

The Chinese in the sampan were smiling as they drew alongside.

“Thank you!” she said in Cantonese. “I am more grateful than I can ever say! Thank you from the bottom of my heart!”

The two men who had lifted her into the boat bowed. Azalea knew which one had been her guide in the tunnel and the storm-water drain because his face, hands and clothes were dirty with earth and she saw as she looked down that her habit was in the same state.

But there was no time to worry about her appearance! She pulled off her coolie hat and took the blue cotton material from her shoulders.

The two Chinese helped her onto the rope ladder and she found it difficult in her thick shoes to keep her balance with the sampan moving beneath her, but somehow she managed it, clinging with desperate fingers to the rope as she climbed upwards.

Sailors leant over the side of the ship to assist her aboard. Without speaking, a Naval Officer gesticulated to her to follow him and they walked quickly along the deck. Azalea knew it was the First Class deck and after walking for a little way the Officer opened a cabin door.

Azalea entered.

Standing inside was Lord Sheldon.

For a moment she could hardly credit that he was there and that she was not dreaming!

Then, as the door shut behind her, he held out his arms and she ran towards him.

As she hid her face against his shoulder she felt the tears come into her eyes and begin to run down her cheeks. There was a paean of happiness inside her, but she could not control the tears which seemed for the moment to shake her whole body.

“It is all right, my darling! It is all right! You are safe!”

As Lord Sheldon spoke he undid the veil that she wore over her hair and threw it on the ground.

“I – I am – so dirty!” Azalea said somewhat incoherently.

“It would not matter to me if you were covered in mud from head to foot!” Lord Sheldon said. “But I know you want to wash and change. You will find, I think, everything you require in the next-door cabin, and then, my darling, we can talk to each other.”

She lifted her face to his. The tears were wet on her cheeks and on her long eyelashes, but her lips were smiling even while they trembled.

“I love you!” he said quietly, then drew her across the cabin to open a door.

“Do not be too long,” he added as Azalea closed the door behind her.

The cabin was well furnished in European style, although the designs on the walls were Chinese.

There was a dressing table fitted to one wall with a large mirror. Azalea looked into it and gave an exclamation of horror.

Her face was dirty and her hands were indescribable. Her habit was covered with earth and dried leaves. The hairpins had become loosened beneath her veil and her dark hair was trailing over her shoulders.

Quickly, because she could not bear to look at herself, Azalea pulled off the garments she had hated and which in themselves had been a penance.

Naked, she went to the washing stand, where she found hot and cold water waiting for her.

The ship had started to move almost as soon as she came aboard and she knew now they were steaming away from Macao and the prison that she had thought would be hers for life.

When she was clean and had dried herself, Azalea looked round the cabin.

Lord Sheldon had said she would find everything she needed.

Hoping there would be a gown in the wardrobe, she opened it and gave a little gasp of astonishment.

There were three gowns hanging there. One was of deep rose pink with a skirt that swept to the back in frill upon frill of soft crepe, ornamented with a big satin bow of the same colour.

Another gown was of jade green, which reminded her of Mr. Chang’s jade treasures; and the third an evening gown – the loveliest she had ever seen – was the colour of the blue magpie.