The Secret Mandarin (23 page)

I have never been fond of the cold or the winter. My mother used to open the door and welcome a cold, crisp morning but I was a summer baby. The day we left, Robert and I stood about our empty rooms. He had written a letter home that would return with the shipment. I knew it had taken him some days to compose. Likewise I had also compiled a letter for Jane and had sent some phials of perfume for her. I found it easy to write about the land, the beauty of the place and our strange and exotic foodstuffs. I had described the enmity between Wang and Sing Hoo, the grumpy innkeeper and his pretty maidservant. I outlined our trip to Sing Hoo’s village. However, when the missive was sealed I realised that I had not mentioned Robert even once.

The room felt cold despite the fire being laid hours before and set alight while it was still dark. Sing Hoo made hot
soup that we drank straight from the bowl, standing close to the flames.

‘I hope the black tea countries will prove as profitable,’ Robert said. ‘There is more industry there, in any case. We might make quite a profit at the silk factories.’

‘I think this trip will be difficult,’ I replied. ‘It will be cold and the going hard.’

Robert nodded. ‘Are you able?’ he asked.

‘Yes. I am well rested, though I admit I am slightly afraid.’

‘There are trails through the hills,’ Robert assured me. ‘We will not be climbing virgin rock. We will be under our own steam, make no mistake. I have a gun.’

This was for protection from animals. High up in the hills we knew there were wild beasts, though the descriptions of these varied tremendously from what sounded like wolves to vicious snow tigers and bears. We had heard stories of dragons too, and, though sceptical of this, of course, it did linger in my mind that the place was strange and that anything was possible.

‘Well,’ said Robert. ‘Until we reach civilisation again,’ he toasted, raising his small cup and clicking it against mine.

‘To civilisation,’ I replied and sipped.

Robert’s nose was pink.

‘I think,’ he said, ‘it may be warmer outside. These rooms were not built to hold the temperature.’

‘Shall we go?’ I laughed.

Sing Hoo’s maidservant sweetheart watched him from an upper window as he checked the ropes on one of the wagons. I spotted her as I stepped into the yard. Robert and I had one mule each, both riding on rough saddles slung over their backs. I named mine Prudence. I don’t expect Robert gave his a moniker. As we rode away from the inn I admit I had a sense of foreboding, though perhaps it was only the feeling of riding away from a place where
I had been happy. We had no gloves, but I wrapped my hands with two pieces of woollen fabric that acted as mittens, and held the reins to gee Prudence along. Sing Hoo, I noticed, left without any sign of regret. Perhaps his sweetheart had only been a dalliance. Wang was positively eager. After all, it was he who was now going home.

Robert, as ever, was intractable, like a man riding to his destiny. I admired him on his mule, his long ponytail bobbing behind him at every step, his orange robes resplendent, lined with fur and a smile playing around his lips.

We moved south slowly. The hills in winter were inhospitable and the journey proved arduous. The bearers, apart from Wang and Sing Hoo, were all natives of Kiang See province. They carried our luggage, our sedan chairs, drove the mules and pitched the tents. In return we fed them generously. Over quarter of our baggage was rice, beans, air-dried meats, vinegars, soya sauce, oils and a large box of carefully packed apples. We also carried some live chickens in baskets, which lasted well the first month. We bought more whenever we came upon a settlement in the hills, though as the journey continued it was infrequent.

At sunset each evening we all retired. The men were four to a tent, which was far warmer but Robert and I had to make do the two of us together—it would not have been fitting, of course, for us to bunk with the men. Mostly we were too exhausted to speak and muffled in furs we fell asleep quickly. I found the sound of Robert’s breathing comforting next to me and came to notice the point at which there was a slight change in the movement of his chest and he tipped over into sleep—generally only a moment or two before I did. One morning when I woke we were flushed, hot despite the cold. Our arms were intertwined in a jumble of fur-clad limbs and it took me a
moment to remember who I was, where I was and what we were doing there.

Robert fretted over our progress. The mountains were cold and rocky, and the pace was slow. He pored over the maps, reading with the aid of a tallow lamp.

‘Barely ten miles today,’ he cursed, recording our progress.

Or, when we were travelling in a valley or downhill, ‘Easy going, twenty-five.’

The views were breathtaking but at these altitudes there was little in the way of vegetation and what there was, was covered by snow.

Now and again, over a cup of tea we had supervised the picking and processing of some weeks before, Robert talked. He had been accustomed to harsh winters as a child and told me tales of walking the Kelloe Estate in search of lost sheep.

‘Without the furs then,’ he laughed, ‘and never so far from comfort. It is queer, Mary, travelling here. Where we don’t even know what it will be like when we arrive. What do we have to look forward to? It could be anything.’

My lips felt dry. I used nut oil as a salve and dripped in some rose so that sometimes I might catch a whiff of it, a barely-there memory of summer.

‘I dread to think the state we shall be in when we unswaddle ourselves,’ I remarked.

For an hour one night we were indulgent of our fantasies, dreaming of bread and marmalade, hot, fragrant baths and fresh linen—of it being so temperate that we might leave the windows open and enjoy the breeze. Mostly though we were too tired. The hours of sleep disappeared, literally, for they were entirely blacked out. The short, white days dragged on, every step difficult.

In the fifth week one of the bearers turned his ankle and it swelled badly. Wang fashioned a crutch from some wood
found by the side of the track. We could not spare a mule for the poor fellow for we needed them to carry provisions. All of us walked. Our sedan chairs were carried empty, loaded up on the carts. It was at this time in the trip I realised that the mules suddenly all looked the same to me, and that I had lost sight of which one was Prudence.

At Hokow we stopped to rest with the intention of leaving the injured man in lodgings with enough money to speed his recovery and see him home. The town was tiny but to sleep behind solid walls and dine on roasted meat was a luxury after the open hills. News of the rich mandarin and his entourage spread through the tiny community and we put out word that we intended to restock our supplies. This might take some days as we knew the locals would be careful to sell us only what they didn’t need themselves. In winter, in the hills, it is an easy matter to starve if your reserves are low, and we knew it was likely several of the farmers would sell us nothing at all. We hoped, though, to manage something. We were not low on food but, as Robert observed, we should stock up wherever we can. It was also a chance to bathe and change—the clothing I had been wearing needed to be burned and I did not waste time trying to salvage it, instead seeking warm enough replacements among the trunks, which were difficult to open as the locks had frozen fast.

It was at Hokow, however, that danger came our way and in the end we had no chance to spend our time negotiating for chickens or dried beans and little enough time to procure extra furs where we could. It was all down to a slip of the tongue. As Robert went to check the mules were properly stabled, he came across Wang, who had picked up a village girl. She seemed too delicate to live in the frozen hills and not much more than fourteen or fifteen if his judgement was right. Wang was regaling her with tales of
big cities, of sailing the Chinese Straits in the service of a foreigner. The girl was stunned and excited. He had clearly impressed her.

‘A foreigner!’ she squealed. ‘A barbarian?’

Then she looked at Robert, he said, and somehow, where others had failed to see it, this girl knew.

‘What nonsense,’ he blustered—a show for her. ‘When we return to my estates in the North I shall see you punished for talking such nonsense to a poor, village girl who knows no better.’

And with that Robert bore Wang away, before he could say more.

Safe in our rooms he berated the man.

‘What the hell were you thinking, Wang?’ he shouted, furious. ‘It is difficult enough to stay alive in this weather without alerting those around us to the illegality of our trip!’

The green tea countries had inured us, made things too easy, and I think until that moment even Robert and I had let down our guard a little. I had not seen him so angry since his venom was directed at me over a year before, and he was barely holding himself back from laying hands on Wang. His fists clenched and unclenched and if there had been something to throw in temper I am certain he would have.

‘Do you know what they will do to us, all of us, if they find out, Wang?’

Wang hung his head while Robert embarked on a lecture on the law, self-preservation and the penalties the man would face if the authorities found that he had aided our journey and how it only took one pretty girl to tell her father what she’d heard and who knew what might happen?

In his defence, when he could get a word in, Wang protested
that the foreigner he was talking of was some other master and swore that somewhere in the nuances of the language Robert had lost this thread.

‘Nonsense!’ Robert ranted. ‘Do you think I am a fool? You better pray you have not sunk us, Wang. You better pray!’

He clipped Wang’s ear soundly and dismissed the man, telling him to forego supper and that he must keep watch all night in the hallway of the inn, for he had put every one of us in danger.

I thought myself that Wang’s explanation was possible and perhaps Robert had overreacted but, as it turned out, the indiscretion was not to pass. So, in this inhospitable place, the very next day, with Wang bleary eyed from undertaking his punishment, we received an unwelcome visit. In fact, it was as well that Robert had set Wang to keep watch for he darted into the room and warned us just in time.

‘
Loi-yu!
‘ Watch out!

I jumped up and stood behind Robert, thanking my stars that the room was dimly lit. I had not yet shaved my head and the colour was coming through too light for a Chinaman, and I was not properly dressed, though not so uncovered as to make my femininity clear.

The man wore a fur coat and carried a muff that matched. He bowed low as did Robert in return. Then, in Cantonese, with all the ceremony of that flowery language, he enquired as to our purpose. Robert embarked on his usual cheerful story of horticultural obsession and his wish to collect plants for his estates. This generally provoked a delighted response—stories of the horticultural interests of others, polite questioning about the manner of the estates and expressions that any humble help that could be supplied would be forthcoming. This man stood still and silent for
a long time. When he spoke, each word was deployed as carefully as pieces are moved during a game of chess.

‘Perhaps,’ he said at last, ‘you would like to avail of our free service. I can offer you safe passage.’

Robert thanked him but said he was most willing to travel at his own expense, and indeed, risk.

‘I think free passage to Hong Kong may be more advantageous to you. Or perhaps Shanghae? Ning-po?’

The offer was made politely but the three ports named were all British. Robert stiffened. The gun was in our luggage but I knew Robert also carried a knife upon his person. My hands were cold and quivering, I wished now that I had a blade of my own to wrap them round.

‘I have never been to those places,’ Robert answered carefully. ‘We have travelled overland from my estates in the North.’

I felt my stomach turn. The mandarin was dispassionate, of course. He did not threaten directly but nonetheless his air was sinister.

‘I have lived in Shanghae,’ he stated simply. ‘I think the city would suit you better. I will take the liberty of sending for an escort.’

He took his leave and in the event we, of course, took ours. Robert jumped up and pored over his maps, estimating the man’s journey time and, indeed, routes and times for our own escape.

‘To get an escort,’ he said, ‘he will have to send a messenger. The nearest garrison we know of is over a week away and it is tiny. That is on our side. In two weeks we can cover a lot of ground.’

Here he stopped and considered, shaken but not panicked, though his lips were pursed and his shoulders hunched.

‘But if we can dissuade him from even sending the
messenger…’ he mused, pausing for only a moment before he roared, ‘Sing Hoo! Pack everything!’

Then Robert roughly pulled Wang to one side.

‘We can all die here, Wang. You as well, by God,’ he said. ‘You will find that girl. You will tell her that your mandarin master is offended by the visit he received. Tell her you like the look of her. Tell her you are sorry you have to go. That your master is ordering his retinue to move on tonight. Tell her we are heading east. For the coast. East. That I am shaken, but determined to continue on my own,
back to where I came from.
’

Wang, his eyes darting, repeated the message to Robert and then quit the room hurriedly. I felt sick.

‘Come on, Mary,’ Robert said. ‘We must all lend a hand.’

I began to pile papers speedily into one of the cases.

We left the village at nightfall with two extra mules, the man who by rights should have rested his ankle astride one of them. The bearers were disgruntled but had not as yet understood the full import of what was going on. After two miles travelling eastwards, Sing Hoo was ordered to clear our tracks as we changed direction. He hovered in our wake, brushing the powdery snow clean as we moved ahead to the south once more.

‘Will the mandarin follow?’ I asked Robert nervously, as we continued in the dark.

Robert shrugged his shoulders. ‘If Wang has done his job it is likely the man has had no time to inform anyone that he knows of our presence before he hears we have left. This might discourage him from sending a messenger. He will not want to admit we have slipped through his fingers, Mary. That’s what I’m hoping. He might comfort himself we are heading for the coast anyway.’

‘And if he sends a messenger?’

‘The garrison is miles away. And if they follow I hope
that in the first instance they will keep on in the direction of the tracks we have left and head east. It will give us an even longer head start.’

‘You think the mandarin will know we are gone?’

Robert looked at Wang who was leading the party.

‘He heard of our presence quickly enough. His easiest course of action is simply to forget that we were in his village and to comfort himself that we have left. Failure is judged harshly by the Emperor’s men. If he reports that we fled and he did not hold us, then he may be punished. Him and his family.’

We continued in silence. About half an hour after we turned to the south we heard Sing Hoo howling behind. Robert rode back and he swore we were being followed.

‘He has sent a scout.’ Sing Hoo was beside himself and it took us a while to calm him down but, when we did, the man was adamant that he had picked out sight of a torch some way behind.

Robert and I doubled back but there were no fresh tracks and at first we couldn’t find a soul. Then, as we turned to rejoin the party, we heard a snapping sound. Robert took his torch over to a thicket of bushes. He put the flame to the driest of the twigs and set it alight. We waited, our breath clouding before us as the dry sticks caught fire in the snow. Through the licks of flame, after only a few moments, we saw a figure, a frightened pair of eyes. The man bolted through the undergrowth but Robert was too quick for him. He wrestled the spy to the ground.

‘Douse the fire, Mary,’ he shouted and I stamped on the lower branches and piled snow onto the flames until once more it was only our torches that burnt into the night.

The man had been sent by the mandarin to follow us. He was to return before morning and, if he could be sure of our route, the troops would be sent to track us further.
Clearly, this fellow knew we had gone eastwards and then to the south. To send him back would be madness.

‘
Gweiloh,
’ he spat, defiant, in Robert’s face. ‘They will come. They will find you.’

Robert’s eyes blazed furiously. I did not see that my brother-in-law had drawn his knife and I did not realise that, without any hesitation, he had stabbed the spy in the stomach. The first I knew of it was the blood that dripped in a pool onto the snowy ground as the man’s body opened and his insides spilled out.

I covered my face with my hands. This was murder. And yet what choice did we have? Robert had done the right thing. There was a terrible bravery to it. My breath became short in the freezing air as the man died quickly and Robert flung him to the ground. We stood apart for a moment, our minds racing and our faces pale with horror. I was not afraid of Robert—the morality of what he had done did not shock me. It was kill or be killed in these harsh hills. I wondered for a moment if I could have thrust the knife into the man’s body myself. I was glad I had not had to make the choice.