02 Shanghai Dreams (The Earl’s Other Son #2)

by Andrew Wareham

  “Early in the morning for that, Carter?”

  His steward smiled wisely as he laid out Magnus’ breakfast.

  “Puffin sloop in from Hong Kong, sir. Berthed at first light. Carrying despatches, I expect, sir.”

  “Almost of a certainty. The wording was ‘report’, did you say?”

  “Yes, sir.”

  Magnus nodded his understanding. One ‘reported’ to a senior in the chain of command; Captain Erskine had authority over him now, was more than simply a conduit for Admiral Seymour’s orders.

  “The squadron must be deemed unnecessary now, Carter. Racoon returns to being a private ship and the others will be sent about their individual business on the river. Sensible, in fact, Carter. There is no need for a squadron at the moment, and it can be quickly reformed if the need arises now that the captains know each other, and me.”

  “Yes, sir. Reporting uniform, sir, or everyday working?”

  “Working, Carter, but best. Not reporting; no frockcoat and scraper hat for Captain Erskine!”

  “Aye aye, sir.”

  Carter bustled about the cabins for a few minutes, serving coffee and setting out the clothing he considered correct within the guidelines given.

  “New boots, Carter?”

  “Proper shine on them, sir. Not a single scratch on the leather. Captain Erskine is one of those who judges a man by the effort he puts into his boots, sir. A man who keeps his boots bright is one who has a proper pride, so I am told, sir.”

  “But I don’t touch my boots, Carter! You are the one who keeps them in good condition, and do so very well, I would add.”

  “It is the master who sets the standard, sir. The man merely does as he is bidden.”

  “That, Carter, as you well know, is bloody nonsense!”

  “As you say, sir. But it ain’t what you know, or I know for that matter, it’s what Captain Erskine thinks he knows that counts.”

  “And who am I to argue with that, Carter? Go ashore and pick up another new pair, will you… No, you can’t – I forgot. No bootmaker in Shanghai has my lasts. I must see to that. Must get everything up to scratch, Carter. Not to be mentioned, not a word said, but we must be ready for a wedding in a very few months, Carter. Nothing to be made public for a few weeks, until the current scandal has died down.”

  Carter nodded wisely.

  “May I make so bold as to wish you happy, sir? A lovely lady, sir. Very handsome at your side, sir. A fine couple you will make, sir. As regards ‘scandal’, as you might say, sir, I have already been asked a few questions, the old pump handle, sir…”

  The captain’s steward was always the source of shipboard gossip and could be used by a wise captain to pass any number of messages that would soon be heard in every ship on station.

  Magnus thought quickly, deciding just what the word was to be.

  “My brother, Carter. Found doing what he should not in a house that made small boys available – bloody disgusting business. It’s not as if he was in the Guards, after all! The police have a warrant for him and he will follow Oscar Wilde’s footsteps if they catch him. He’ll be lucky to get as little as two years inside. Dartmoor and seven years at hard labour in the quarry for him more likely. He has disappeared – wisely. Probably in the Thames, or so it is suggested, and no loss. Never liked the fellow, didn’t dream he’d be doing something like that though.”

  Carter nodded – he could do a lot with that story. The lower deck would hear and be sympathetic – none of the Captain’s fault what an older brother got up to ten thousand miles distant. Any family could have its black sheep, no blame to be attached, provided they cast him out properly.

  Magnus readied himself and was at the SNO’s door for eight o’clock, properly prompt but not obsequiously early.

  “Good morning, sir.” Magnus achieved a very stiff salute, thinking it wise to show no lack of respect.

  “Good morning, Captain Campbell.”

  The choice of name told Magnus how the meeting was to go; he readied himself for a formal audience.

  “Admiral Seymour has decided to disperse your squadron, Captain Campbell. Note that it is not ‘disbanded’ – it may be reformed if need arises. You are to take Racoon to Hong Kong for immediate orders. You may expect to be placed on the establishment at Shanghai on completion of your next task. Coal ship today, sail tomorrow in the forenoon.”

  “Aye aye, sir.”

  “Very good.” The formal interview ended and Erskine turned to more personal matters, looking after his juniors’ welfare, as a good captain should. “I understand that the news from London has not been good?”

  Magnus relaxed his stance.

  “Take a seat, my dear fellow. Too early for a drink, I do not doubt. Coffee?”

  “Would be very welcome, sir.” Magnus made a show of relief at sitting down, implying a sleepless night. “I could wish that I had heard anything directly. A telegram from my father would have been welcome.”

  It would also have been highly unlikely. There was no need to make that point, however.

  “I spoke at some length with Mr Cecil before he sailed yesterday.” Captain Erskine knew Cecil’s name and position but had never met the man. He was instantly cautious – he did not have influence at that level of officialdom.

  “Ah, yes, Captain Campbell – if that is still your name?”

  “Damned good question, sir! One of the many things I do not know! The implication certainly is that it might be Eskdale now, but there is a realistic chance that my brother may surface, although possibly as a corpse floating in the Thames.”

  “Preferably in France?”

  “To do what, sir? It is no secret that my father is strapped for cash. There would be no pension sent overseas for him. His only hope would be a trial in England and a plea of guilty, an out of character lapse, doctors to say that he had been unwell, and a chance of a token few weeks in Pentonville Prison and then retire into obscurity in the mists of Scotland. Not a risk I would choose to take, I must say.”

  “Just so, Captain Campbell. I would not be in his shoes just now, I must say, or yours.” Captain Erskine managed to restrain his gloating, just.

  “I have no sympathy for him, I fear, sir. He has brought his fate upon himself. I hope that he has not brought me down with him. Admiral Seymour may well demand that I send in my papers, I believe.”

  “I would be amazed if he did, Captain Campbell. It would be very difficult for you if you were in Portsmouth, say. Out here? Out of sight, out of mind, is my opinion.”

  Erskine was obviously taking great pleasure in Magnus’ predicament – ‘de mortuis nil nisi bonum’ written all over his face; no ill to be spoken of the dead, but one could think rather publicly. He was inclined to be cautious, however – the aristocracy looked after its own and Magnus would undoubtedly make a comeback, eventually.

  “You may well be right, sir. I hope so. I must pass the message to my First Lieutenant to ready the ship to move to the coaling berth. Is the squadron to disperse immediately, sir?”

  “Within hours. Mostly upriver – you are the only one to return to Hong Kong. No doubt you will be happy to based at Shanghai, Captain Campbell.”

  “I shall be, sir. In the circumstances, you will appreciate that nothing is to be announced for some weeks, sir…”

  “Then I shall be pleased to wish you happy, my lord, as soon as the occasion may arise. I do trust I shall receive an invitation?”

  Erskine was instantly conciliatory, face wreathed in jolly smiles – the addition of the Blantyre money made Magnus far too dangerous to offend, whatever their past history.

  The rumour would spread through Shanghai and would be mentioned in letters home to England. Magnus made a quick calculation. Express letters could be sent on the San Francisco route, or by way of Vancouver, or conceivably on the trans-Siberian railway, if the Post Office used that route, so new as it was. Vladivostok in three days, then as little as a week in a fast train to Moscow, if the Russians h
ad such things as expresses. Two days then to Calais. It was possible that a letter could reach Mayfair in a fortnight, he supposed. If the Russian route was not feasible, then five weeks by way of the States. The rumours of a rich wife would reach Mayfair just as the scandal was dying; they would bury it. Nothing like an influx of money to make a family virtuous. He wondered if it would cause his dear father to return to Court.

  “Thank you for your time and consideration, sir. I must see to coaling ship, sir.”

  “Delay a couple of hours before shifting to the berth, my lord. Always possible to pull in some extra coolies – make the work easier on the hands, you know.”

  “That is very good of you, sir. The men will appreciate your action.”

  The lower deck would also attribute that action to Magnus, Captain Erskine not being renowned as a friend to Jolly Jack.

  “Eleven o’clock, landsman’s time, to the berth, my lord.”

  Magnus hurried back to Racoon.

  “Mr Mason. We are to coal ship and sail for Hong Kong as convenient in the forenoon. Early preferably. Coaling berth at six bells. There will be a full complement of Chinese labourers to assist.”

  Coaling a ship was brutally hard and dirty labour except when organised at a berth with plenty of shoreside labour. The coal was shovelled into sacks carrying ten stones – one hundred and forty pounds – and then run on sack barrows along the deck to the coaling hatches where it was poured down into the bunkers. Men below decks used shovels and rakes to spread the coal evenly to leave the bunkers level and absolutely full, so that the coal could not shift in a storm. The dust spread everywhere.

  Traditionally, all hands turned to when coaling, including the officers in most ships.

  The supply of a hundred or more of coolies meant that the worst jobs were farmed out to them and that the cooks could remain in the galley and the more sedentary of the matelots could stay at their desks, avoiding the very real possibility of heart failure. The supply of fannies of hot tea and gritty bully beef sandwiches would be much welcomed by the toiling men. The job would not become easy, but it would be less of a hard grind.

  A few ports had tall coaling bunkers and chutes that allowed coal to pour down into the ships by gravity; they were welcome rarities and not yet to be found on the China Station.

  Magnus visited the Blantyres, explained his orders and made his temporary farewells. Blantyre permitted him ten minutes of solitude with his daughter – a generous dispensation for a Victorian father.

  “I have no idea what my orders will be, Ellen. I am to return to Shanghai, for sure. A few days of pirate hunting, or of showing the flag along the coast, I expect. It is likely that Admiral Seymour wants me out of sight for a week or two. When I return I shall hope to accompany you to a jewellers, my love.”

  “I think my father has it in mind to deal with that, Magnus… I much suspect that he wishes me to display a large stone…”

  “Which I could not afford, of course. You know that I have many virtues, Ellen, poverty being one of them.”

  She was taken by surprise, had not imagined that a lack of money implied merit.

  “The Sermon on the Mount, my dear?”

  “Ah, but Luke or Matthew, sir? ‘Blessed are the poor’ or ‘Blessed are the poor in spirit’? I am sure my good Papa prefers the second version.”

  Magnus’ Biblical knowledge was inadequate for such a debate, as she suspected.

  “Are you concerned that you are less wealthy than I, Magnus? Does it worry you?”

  “It must, my dear. How could it not? I am much aware that I shall be dependent on your father’s generosity to a great extent, for I will not demand that you shall live without the elegancies of life simply because my family has been spendthrift in past generations. My pride says that I must be sole supporter of my wife, and I much hope, my family – but reality says that cannot be so, in fairness to you.”

  It was a noble speech, Magnus thought. He wondered just how honest it might be. If he was Eskdale now, then he would have his own income from the lands traditionally set aside to support the heir – but he much doubted that would amount to five hundred a year. There was the possibility as well that Eskdale might be in debt. Members of Parliament received no remuneration and bore all of their own expenses until they became Ministers of the Crown; even then, they could expect to be out of pocket, to have to contribute to their own costs. It was an open secret that the parties had funds which were used to support the poor and feckless among their members – but sometimes they made loans rather than grants and expected repayment. If Eskdale had received such moneys then the grandees of the party might feel disinclined towards generosity, and Magnus might inherit those debts…

  “Not to worry, my love. Your father is a fine man, has been open and generous in his dealings with me, and I shall not fear for your future. A kiss and I must go, counting down the days until I return and we shall be able to set a date for our wedding.”

  He left the house and she sought a few words with her father.

  “Magnus, Papa – I suppose I must still call him Lord Magnus, must I not? He is much worried about this unpleasant business of his brother. What it is, he will not tell me, feels I should not know, but he has doubts about whether he should embroil me in the family scandal. He also, of course, knows that he has far too little money to keep a family properly and does not wish to be a parasite, hanging upon your sleeve.”

  Mr Blantyre was expansive, dismissive of her concern.

  “He is an honourable man. He did not know if he should not withdraw his suit, my dear, because of his brother’s misbehaviour. It was obvious that he was torn between his love for you – which is very deep, I will tell you – and his belief in his unworthiness to aspire to your hand. I have a deal of respect for him, do not doubt that. He will not want to take my money, that is not the way of his sort, but he will accept it to make you comfortable. He will not find it easy, that I am sure of. You know, Ellen, I had wanted you to marry a man of our background, one who could sit down in my chair one day. I was wrong. You have discovered for yourself a man who will do us proud. I hope he will remain a sailor, even though it must take you away from China in a few years. As for his scapegrace brother – I have two scapegrace brothers and a sister of a similar nature!”

  He revelled in her amazement.

  “But, Papa, you are second son, are you not? I did not know there was more.”

  “My elder brother, soon, by the way, to become Lord Blantyre; my brother Sydney; myself; young Harry; my sister Edna. George, the eldest, came out to China to work as office boy to Uncle Ebenezer, who founded the firm, and prospered greatly. Sydney fell into trouble at home – what he did, I do not know, but he left and was never heard of again. I came out to Shanghai in my turn and did well here, as you know. Harry I know about only by letters from my widowed mother; he stole from her and pursued a course of drunkenness and depravity and was last heard of in prison. The family cast him out, of course. Edna, God help her, ran away – is thought to have gone off to America with a man who was already married. As far as I am concerned, my dear girl, a little bit of scandal in the family worries me not at all. The sole concern I have is that his brother has not been located yet – while he is missing, your Magnus knows not what he is, or what he must do.”

  She retired to bed, her certainties of virtue and propriety much upset.

  Magnus put up with the miseries of coaling ship, showing himself to the crew, encouraging them, getting dirty in their company, swearing at the dust that mixed with the sweat of Shanghai in its hot season. He had ordered Carter to remain below, with the others of the older men.

  “I am not saying you are incapable, Carter, but there is no need for you to get your hands dirty unnecessarily. Use the advantages of your position, and sit in my little galley with a fresh teapot to hand, man.”

  Carter muttered but did not mutiny – he had no true desire to spend six or more hours in the most vigorous of physical labour.
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br />   “Port Watch and unwatched hands to shore leave, Mr Mason, aboard by midnight. Starboard will get their shore run in Hong Kong. Starboard Watch to clean ship. Note that Port Watch will clean ship next time we coal.”

  The First Lieutenant passed the word and the men washed themselves and mustered for inspection before going ashore. The boatswain and ship’s regulating officer – the PO who was in effect the onboard constable and gaoler if such was needed – checked them as fit to be seen in public and gave the normal repeated warnings.

  “Sailing tomorrow at first light. Miss ship and you will be a deserter.”

  Coming back a few hours late from shore leave was a minor crime and carried a light punishment. Missing the ship was a major offence and would almost certainly result in a term in the shore prison in Hong Kong and reduction in rank to Ordinary Seaman, which would cut their pay and pension both. Conditions in the military prison in Hong Kong were bad – there was little in the way of medical care and a regime of poor food and hard labour that could break a man. No captain wanted to lose men to the prison, unless they were bad lots who they needed to get rid of, and it was a risk to give liberty ashore immediately before sailing; equally, the men had to have the opportunity to relax and a run in Shanghai offered almost every form of relaxation imaginable, and cheaply.

  Magnus spent his evening ashore, idling in the company of his fiancée. It was a more decorous evening than the bulk of the men would have enjoyed, but in its way equally relaxing. He came aboard at eleven, deliberately an hour before the bulk of the men would return; he did not want to be involved with the drunks when they staggered up the brow. No officer should ever be present when the men were taken by alcohol – they would fight each other and lash out at all comers, and a man who hit an officer would see at least a seven year stretch at hard labour in prison. An officer who allowed himself to be hit by a drunk could normally say goodbye to his career – it was a sign of incompetence and stupidity to be in a position where a drunk could do so.

  Magnus stirred from his bunk well before sailing time, ate his breakfast and made his way on deck to the awkwardly placed conning tower. The Yeoman of Signals addressed him immediately.