The War of the Dragon Lady (27 page)

The general’s virtually permanent half-smile lapsed now into a broad grin. ‘You will be glad to hear, Fonthill, that our target is quite near to the Legation Quarter, which, my dear fellow, you will take us to with the utmost alacrity. So, with any luck, we just might be the first nation to free the defenders of the Legation. Not, of course, that being the first in is of any concern to any of us.’

Fonthill did not return the grin. ‘I just hope that we shall be in time, General,’ he said. ‘Those poor folk in the Quarter must be down to eating tree bark and hurling bricks at the Chinese by now.’

Gaselee gave a sympathetic frown. ‘Quite so. Quite so. But I have every confidence, Fonthill, that we shall break through and get there in time. Now, as usual, you will march with us.’ He stood. ‘Good luck, my dear fellow.’

They shook hands. ‘And good luck to you, sir.’

That evening, Gaselee’s ADC, a young man of boundless good humour and, even in China, elegant trousers, approached Fonthill. ‘I say, sir,’ he said. ‘Have you seen this?’ He held out a piece of paper covered in writing in a rough and ready hand.

‘What is it?’

‘Well, as you may have heard, the jolly old French have just marched in – all hundred and fifty or so of ’em. They’re in pretty parlous condition, don’t you know, but their commanding officer – he’s a general, no less, called Frey; he’s the chap who’s marched the poor buggers up and down from Tientsin … but anyway,’ he paused for breath, ‘one of our chaps has caught sight of his orders to his men for the final attack on Peking, although the place is still bloody miles away and we ain’t ready to attack yet anyway.’

‘Yes?’ enquired Fonthill coldly.

‘Yes, well sir, our chap has translated it from the French and this is what it says. I think the little chap thinks he’s Napoleon. Do have a read, sir.’

Simon did so and read:

‘This evening the German, Austrian and Italian columns will lie alongside the French troops. Tomorrow, under the walls of Peking, when the foreign national anthems are played, a complete silence will be maintained; each anthem will be heard with respect. When the French national anthem is played, it will be sung as loudly as possible, in tune, by the whole of the French Expeditionary Corps. Our compatriots and the occupants of the foreign legations beleaguered on the other side of the walls of the Chinese capital will know, when they hear our noble war chant, that deliverance is at hand.’

The ADC regained his paper and chortled again. ‘You see, sir, the French haven’t fired a shot yet and the German, Austrians and Italians are miles away down the road to Tientsin and will never arrive in time. All a bit vainglorious, don’t you think? Eh? What?’

Fonthill recalled the far-from-gallant part played in the defence of the Legation by the French minister, Monsieur Pichon, and couldn’t stifle a smile. ‘Well,’ he said, ‘at least the Frogs have arrived. Let’s hope that their national anthem frightens the hell out of the Chinese. Eh? What?’

His smile had disappeared as soon as he turned away, however. The attack on Peking was not some point-scoring contest between the Great Powers, for God’s sake! Lives were at stake here, not national glory. He just hoped that the various contingents would work together when it came to attacking the great walled city. The eyes of the world would be upon them.

Alice did not go to her bed on reaching the British Legation after leaving Gerald, for she realised that the man must have time to see his mother, with whom she shared a room, and explain to her why he would be leaving the Legation. Nor did she wake Sir Claude MacDonald, of course, for Gerald must be given his half an hour to pack his belongings and get out. Tomorrow would be time enough to see the minister.

In the end, she crept into the hospital and explained to the duty nurse that she was having trouble in sleeping in the same room as Mrs Griffith (she felt guilty at complaining about her snoring, for her aunt was a deep and silent sleeper) and begged permission to doze on a makeshift stretcher for the night. Comfortable it was not, but better than having to face Aunt Lizzie in these early hours.

She was forced to dissemble again when she met her aunt the next
morning. The old lady looked withdrawn and grey and Alice wondered what excuse Gerald had given her. It did not matter, as long as it did not involve
her
. The young man, of course, was a skilled and compulsive liar.

In fact, Mrs Griffith seemed more concerned about the fact that her niece had not slept in her bed that night. ‘Wherever have you been, my dear?’ she asked.

‘Oh, Aunt, I am sorry. I should have sent a message to you. I altered my shift at the hospital and did night nurse duty, together with Mrs de Courcy. I am sorry if you were worried.’

‘Well, I was. The next time, do tell me, please?’

‘Yes, it was remiss of me.’ She had no intention of telling her aunt about her son’s treachery. Mrs Griffith would have to learn some other way, but what had he told her about his intentions? She tried to be nonchalant. ‘Have you seen Gerald?’ she asked. ‘He … er … wanted to borrow a book of mine.’

For the first time, the old lady looked uncomfortable. ‘Oh, he has gone to stay with a friend in the American Legation, I think,’ she said. ‘He may stay some while, I understand … er … something to do with working together on a project.’ She put up a stick-like hand to her head and pushed away a wispy, grey lock.

Alice felt a sudden surge of affection for her aunt. She was obviously worried about her son and Alice yearned to comfort her. But it was impossible. Better to stick to the lies and brazen it out.

Shortly after breakfast, however – an unappetising bowl of millet porridge – she made her way to Sir Claude’s quarters and requested an interview. He saw her immediately and listened quietly and with surprisingly little emotion to her story.

At the end, he nodded. ‘Thank you, Mrs Fonthill. I am grateful
to you for telling me all of this. We have always known, of course, that information was somehow getting to the Chinese about our fortifications and so on.’ He gave a sad smile. ‘This place is rather like a colander, you know, in terms of leaking things. With so many Chinese within the legations it was impossible to keep everything tight, so to speak. But I have to say that I have long suspected that young man of being up to something. Lolling about all day and declining to take his part in the defence – it was all rather suspicious, you know. But I couldn’t bring myself to consider him to be an
out-and
-out traitor. Does his mother know?’

‘No – at least I am fairly certain he has made up some excuse to leave the British Legation.’

‘Very well. I will, of course, keep this matter confidential, but if the young fellow turns up again in the Legation I will have no hesitation in putting him behind bars.’

‘Thank you. But will you respond to the Chinese invitation?’

‘Certainly not.’ His winged, tightly waxed moustache twitched as he allowed himself a dismissive smile. ‘I am quite aware that there are certain elements at the Chinese court – and particularly in the foreign service there – that have always quite genuinely disliked the Boxer Uprising and deprecate the attack on the Quarter, but I could not possibly advise the ministers to trust them to the point that we lay down our arms. Chinese politics are far too volatile and I sense that the hatred of Her Royal Highness the Dragon Lady,’ his smile widened at his daring in using the colloquialism, ‘for we foreigners is far too deep-seated for us to put ourselves completely at her mercy. No, Mrs Fonthill, we hang on here and continue to fight.’

Alice nodded. ‘I am sure you are right. But I sense that conditions
here are becoming much worse. Am I right?’

His face returned to its customary solemn mien. ‘I am afraid so. We killed our last pony last night and therefore I am afraid that meat will shortly drop off our menu. I am concerned about the number of casualties that we continue to sustain, our ammunition is running low and I live in constant fear that the Chinese will, as you have mentioned, subject us to a sustained artillery bombardment. Nevertheless,’ and his eyes brightened, ‘our morale is high as is our spirit. For all their shouting and blaring of trumpets, the Chinese are clearly frightened of our firepower and no longer seem to threaten any direct attacks on the perimeter. I could not wish to have better people to man our barricades. No, Mrs Fonthill, we will endure and we will prevail. Yes, we will prevail, I am certain of that.’

Alice bowed her head for the moment, so that Sir Claude could not see the moisture in her eyes. Then she looked up. ‘Of course, you would have told me if you had heard any news of my husband?’

‘Indeed. But it has been my experience so far in this highly unusual situation that bad news will almost always find its way to me quickly. I would expect to have heard if he had been intercepted. I have heard nothing. But I do know that there has been heavy fighting in Tientsin. I remain confident that we will be relieved.’

‘How long can we hold out, then?’

He rose to his feet. ‘The answer to that question, my dear lady, depends upon too many imponderables, so forgive me if I do not attempt to answer it. And also forgive me if I ask you to excuse me now. There is much to do, I am afraid.’

‘Oh, of course, Sir Claude. It is good of you to give me so much of your time.’

They shook hands. Then the minister held her hand for a moment or two longer. ‘I would like you to know, madam,’ he said in a low voice – one that seemed to contain a hint of embarrassment – ‘that I admire your courage in following that young scoundrel out of the Quarter and appreciate all that you do in the defence: your hospital work and the other, more … ah … active roles you play. You set a splendid example, madam.’

Alice felt the colour rise to her cheeks. It was so unlike this withdrawn Scotsman to distribute compliments. She felt unable to speak, so she bowed, smiled and left him.

She was relieved and glad, however, that the minister had rejected out of hand the proposal that the defenders should lay down their arms and allow themselves to be escorted to the coast by the Imperial army. She recalled similar instances – in Afghanistan and India not so many years ago – when such trust had been broken and massacres had resulted. She shuddered.

Nevertheless, Alice did not need MacDonald to tell her that conditions were worsening within the Quarter. A rare batch of newly hatched eggs was offered for sale in the market on the lawn before the British Legation for five cents each. They were all snapped up within minutes. Dog meat, which had been the staple diet of the Chinese within the Quarter since the siege began, was now on offer to everyone. It was the many children, white, brown and yellow, within the compounds who were suffering the most and Alice became more and more depressed as she noticed how malnourished they were becoming. The Chinese converts, who crowded within the legations, were particularly hard hit. The men who worked on the barricades or who did other labouring work were granted extra rations but those
who could not work were nearing a state of near-starvation. The trees in their corner of the Fu were stripped of leaves and bark to eke out their food. Marksmen contravened the order to conserve ammunition by firing at crows to help them.

Small incidents played their part in lifting spirits. The British contingent heard with glee that the fiercely unpopular Monsieur Pichon, the French minister, had protested to Sir Claude that the Union Jack, which had always flown proudly from the Legation lawn, was attracting Chinese fire and was therefore a danger. He demanded that it should be removed. The demand was rejected curtly and the dapper little Frenchman was sent on his way, to the rejoicing of the British.

Alice had struck up a friendship with Dr Morrison, the correspondent for
The Times
, and a faux rivalry had ensued between them, for both knew that the other was now keeping extensive notes of the siege, for publication at its end. Pichon, with his histrionic pessimism and complete inactivity, was a welcome source of amusement for them both, particularly when it was learnt that the Frenchman and his brave counterpart in the Russian Legation had both been seen burning their records.

‘Huh,’ said Morrison. ‘I’d give fifty thousand dollars for a sight of the Russian papers.’

‘How much for Pichon’s?’ asked Alice.

Morrison grinned. ‘Possibly … maybe … perhaps, on a bad news day, I would run to five thousand.’

Alice was not at all sure, however, that Sir Claude’s practice of publishing the list of killed and wounded was conducive to maintaining morale. The latest list showed that in the four weeks since the siege had begun, fifty-seven of the defenders had been killed
and eighty-seven wounded. It was disconcerting to find that the British, with three killed and seventeen wounded, were among the highest casualties. The Japanese, who, as always, bore the brunt of the fighting at the Fu, the most vulnerable part of the defences, had suffered almost equally, with eight killed and thirteen wounded.

She tried to comfort herself with the thought that, if Simon and Jenkins had stayed within the Quarter, they might well have been included in the casualty figures, given their energy and bravery. But it was of little solace. Where, oh where were they?

Then, at last, a strange quiet fell over the Quarter once more. The defenders had been conserving their ammunition for some time now, only returning fire when it was absolutely necessary. But gradually the Chinese fire fell away, too, although there was no formal restoration of a truce. The Dowager Empress compounded the surrealism of the moment by sending Sir Claude a personal gift of melons and other fruits.

Alice met the British minister when he was distributing the fruit to Chinese children. ‘What’s it all about, Sir Claude?’ she asked.

The tall man shrugged his shoulders. ‘The unpredictability of the Chinese never fails to astound me,’ he said. ‘They must know that we are in a weakened state and yet they relax their attacks. My own feeling is that this must reflect the fact that our people in Tientsin have won some sort of victory. The old lady may have heard that a relief column is on its way and the pro-foreigners at the court have won a hearing at last. I don’t think it’s likely to last, but let’s enjoy it while we can.’

And so they did. Spirits were sent soaring when it became known that a message had got through to Sir Claude to say that, in fact, the
foreign settlements had been relieved, Tientsin had been taken by the Allied powers and that a relief column at last was on its way to Peking. So many false alarms had been sounded from various quarters but it was clear that this news was real. Alice clutched her hands together. Was Simon on his way, too?

To the besieged within the defensive ring, the decline in the intensity of gunfire was somehow intrusive, as though a vital element in daily life had been withdrawn. Once again birds could be heard singing in the Quarter and, almost inevitably, the British began playing cricket on what was left of their Legation lawn. Even more surreal were the reports of fraternal exchanges now taking place between the Chinese and the defenders across the barricades.

Alice had made friends with one of the student-interpreters in the consular service, Lance Giles, whom she met on his return from one such exchange.

‘Strange business, Mrs Fonthill,’ he said. ‘I went to the German Legation, which is very much of a wreck in parts, you know?’

Alice nodded.

‘Well, the German and the Chinese positions there are separated only by a wall, seven or eight feet high and about two feet wide. It is loopholed and so can be a bit of a death trap. It’s probably the thinnest and most fragile of the interfaces between us and them in the whole of the perimeter. I took my camera to take advantage of the truce and climbed up the wall to take a picture.’

‘Bit of a risk, Lance.’

The young man looked a little sheepish. ‘I suppose so, but it all seemed so peaceful. Anyway, at the top I looked down on some Chinese soldiers on the other side. They shouted, in Chinese of
course, “What do you want?” I replied, “
Yao chao hsiang
” – I want to photograph you. They shouted back, “
Yao k’ai ch’iang ma
” – Do you want to shoot us? I told ’em I didn’t, of course, and showed them my camera, so the chaps stood there a bit sheepishly, posing for me. I would have had a good picture of them but suddenly one of their officers came out and shooed them away.’ He grinned. ‘It’s all a bit mad, this war, isn’t it?’

The madness took another strange turn when the guns crashed out again with a noise that seemed all the more frightening because of the greater intensity of the firing. It was as though the Chinese had suddenly become ashamed of their strange lethargy.

Alice had half hoped, half feared that Gerald would show up during the comparative quiet with some cock-and-bull story about the reason for his absence and hope that his cousin’s affection for his mother might have prevented her from revealing his treachery. But there were no sightings of him, either in the legations or beyond the barriers. It was, then, partly with expectations of catching a glimpse of him, but also to see how Colonel Shiba and his gallant Japanese were resisting the renewed aggression, that Alice retrieved her Colt from under her bed and scrambled to the Fu hotspot. It was, of course, from there that she had caught sight of Gerald fighting with, or at least present among, the Chinese.