The Bedlam Stacks

by Natasha Pulley

  ‘Backhouse,’ Minna said. ‘Half a regiment of Peruvian soliders disappeared in the forest trying to help him.’

  ‘Oh, did they, good,’ I said. ‘And you two think you’ll get through it all if you go at the pace of someone with only one working leg?’

  ‘Proper organisation, that’s all that’s required,’ Clem said firmly. ‘You don’t mind a few mad Indians, do you?’

  ‘It’s more the two of you I’m worried about.’

  ‘Kind but unnecessary,’ he said, waving his hand. ‘Anyway, you make it sound like we haven’t the foggiest where to look. But we’ve got a pretty good idea of where the things are. It’s round here.’

  He was circling a point right on the edge of the map with his knuckle.

  When I touched it too, my fingertip, rough from digging and seeds, scratched against the paper. I clenched my hand, then motioned between us. ‘We would stand out, in the interior highlands of Peru. If the monopoly is what you say then they’re watching for white men.’

  ‘We say we’re mapmakers. And we will be. The India Office has asked for an accurate map of the region as well as the plants. If we have to take any planty-type equipment, we’re also collecting rare types of . . . something that grows in the same conditions at the same altitude?’ he finished hopefully.

  ‘Coffee,’ I provided. ‘But I doubt anyone would believe that.’

  ‘Well, that brings me to what I wanted to ask you. Your father lived round there for a while, didn’t he?’

  ‘An Indian mission village called New Bethlehem. It’s about here.’ I touched the map just by the Bolivian border. ‘My grandfather was collecting quinine for one of the early runs but he was caught and he had to hide for a while. They took him in. Dad went back for other things, orchids mostly. And some coffee, actually. Frost-resistant stuff up there. He used to live there four or five months of the year.’ I hesitated. ‘But we’d have to ask around for it, once we were over the Andes. Neither of them ever put it on a map. Dad said there are things that shouldn’t go on maps. He got cross when I tried to make him tell me once. It’s the only time he ever snapped at me that I remember.’

  ‘Oh dear, how useful.’

  ‘Oh, well.’ I had to wave my hand to encompass all the things about Dad that hadn’t been very useful. He had been made mostly of fly-fishing techniques and Peruvian stories, and since he wasn’t a capacious person to begin with, there hadn’t been much leftover room for cartography or finance. Getting annoyed about it was like blaming a butterfly for not being able to spin a web.

  ‘Did he ever say why?’

  ‘No.’ I tried to think about it. At the time I’d taken it at face value. ‘But he was born there. I think he was trying to protect the Indians. Or something.’

  ‘Well, that’s not an ignoble thing. We do have a habit of barging in and stealing all their cocoa. Do you suppose anyone there would still remember him?’ Clem said. ‘Anyone willing to help us?’

  ‘Should do. But I wouldn’t be confident of getting a letter out there,’ I said, looking up.

  ‘No need,’ he said. ‘We can sort out a guide and details when we arrive; in fact it’s better that way. No paper trail, no letters, no evidence. We’ll cross the Andes, find someone who can take us to the village, then we’ll be roughly in the right place and if they recognise you they might just help. They don’t know anyone else from Adam and we’re going to need native help if we’re going to find these wretched trees.’

  ‘I’m not him. Even if the same people are there, I don’t speak Quechua—’

  ‘I do. Listen, I don’t want you just for that. The idea is this. The guide and I will go up to the cinchona woods and bring back seeds or cuttings or whatever, and then you’ll look after them from there on in. If the path is decent you could even come up to the woods with us.’ He lifted his eyebrows at me, because I’d started to shake my head while he was still talking. ‘I’d be a lot more confident about the specimens if I knew you’d chosen them. I suspect you know how to look after them?’

  ‘I could make an educated guess,’ I said, hedgingly.

  ‘Good. So what do you think? Don’t think about the leg. That isn’t a reason not to do anything.’

  ‘Well, it is.’

  ‘I’m logistics. Let me worry about that,’ he said over me. ‘Merrick, the India Office put you at the top of the list. It isn’t only me who wants you to do this. They haven’t forgotten about you.’

  ‘I’m sure they haven’t. But I really can’t walk. Perhaps it will be a bit better in good company doing something useful, but not much.’

  ‘Can you ride?’

  ‘Yes—’

  ‘Good then. Em, I want your brain and your family connections. If you keep those in good order, I’ll worry about getting the rest of you there. Don’t think I imagine you’ll spring up like a lamb, I know you won’t, but the difficulty of getting you over there is paltry in comparison to the value of your presence – do you understand?’

  ‘Do you mean it?’

  ‘No, I’m lying, and so is the India Office, which of course is well known for its sentimental approach to all things.’

  I looked between him and Minna and wanted to insist that it was a terrible idea. In the best of all possible worlds, Clem was going to realise it was a mistake and I’d have to stay like a fifth wheel in Arequipa or Azangaro to wait for him while he crossed the Andes, and in the worst, there was going to come a moment when we would have to run from someone with a gun and I wouldn’t be able to.

  ‘They’re offering to pay a fortune if we get it right,’ he added. He only flicked a look at the house, but it was clear enough.

  ‘I imagine doing something like this has come to seem wholly impossible,’ Minna said gently. ‘But honestly, Em, we can get you there. Stop looking at it as an impossible thing and start looking at it as a thing that must be done.’

  I was on the edge of saying no, but having almost decided on it made that future very clear. A parsonage in Truro while Charles amputated pieces of the grounds and the house until eventually there was nothing left and he was stuck with me in a spare room, surrounded by people he would never believe weren’t beneath him. And me: I’d never see anything but Cornwall again, except maybe Clem’s townhouse in London at Christmas. I’d be the quiet, tired person in the corner, and all those parts of myself I could feel crumbling now would be gone, and with any luck I’d never even remember that I’d been cleverer once and better, but I didn’t generally have good luck. Minna frowned, worried. It tipped me over. It was better to get shot in the Andes than live for another forty years while they both looked at me that way.

  ‘Christ, the two of you. All right. We can try,’ I said. ‘But I won’t be magnanimous when it all goes wrong.’

  Clem laughed. He had a huge, golden bubble of a laugh. It wasn’t put on, just expansive. I’d never heard him sing, but I’d always had a feeling he could have easily filled a concert hall. ‘Excellent. We’re off in December; it’ll be summer in Peru. Which we’ll need, I tell you now. The highlands round Titicaca are bitter in winter. You wouldn’t be able to get plants through it alive. What’s it now, end of August – here, do you speak Spanish?’

  I shook my head.

  ‘Soon fix that. I’ve a fellow at the Spanish Embassy in London. Let’s get you shacked up there until we go, he’ll teach you. You’ll learn in no time. It’s as close to English as crumpets and cricket. God, it’s lovely in here,’ he exclaimed, surging to his feet again. He rubbed Gulliver’s ears with both hands and she jumped up with a happy yip and walked round him twice, as pleased with him as I was. ‘We’ve brought a picnic, shall we get cracking? You clearly haven’t eaten properly in aeons. Honestly, Em, either look after yourself or marry someone who will.’

  I laughed and didn’t ask him if he had anyone in mind. Clem thought that marriage was something that happened naturally to a person, like starting to like olives; somebody would come along and that would be that, which was just h
ow it had been for him. He had no notion that being a second son with nothing and no access to any particular society except a dog was any impediment and it seemed churlish to disagree. He laughed too and popped the cork on the wine. He snorted at himself when it foamed over his hand. He gave the bottle shamefacedly to Minna.

  ‘There you are,’ she said to me. She had had to hold the glass off to one side to keep the bubbles from dripping on a tray of pansies. ‘Do wipe your hands on Markham.’ She never called him Clem, though he insisted on it with everyone else. When she’d met him he had been Lieutenant Markham and she said she still couldn’t altogether conceive of his having a first name.

  I sank into a bright cushion of happiness. The wine was sweet and silvery, and the glass chimed when my fingernails touched it. Minna had brought everything in a hamper with leather straps. When she had finished pouring the wine, she took out a cake topped with icing flowers and a tumble of tropical marzipan fruit around a tiny iced signpost that said ‘To Peru, 6,000 miles’. She turned it so that the sign pointed the right way. ‘That’s beautiful.’

  ‘It was your birthday yesterday, wasn’t it?’ she said.

  ‘Was it? What day is it?’

  ‘It wouldn’t be very good if I were to pat you on the head, would it.’ Her deep laugh was thrumming up through her voice. ‘Do you know how old you are? Oh, God, you’re adding up in your head.’

  ‘Thirty, I’m thirty, shut up.’

  Minna blinked at me slowly. ‘You know when a thing is so absurdly sweet it’s hard not to—?’ She smacked her hands together like she was killing a spider. ‘Charm-rage.’

  ‘Yes, perhaps don’t sit next to her,’ Clem stage-whispered.

  ‘Oh, Christ. I need to talk to Charles,’ I said suddenly.

  Minna lifted her eyebrows at me. ‘Why would you ever talk to Charles?’

  ‘He arranged for me to be a parson in Truro. I need to ask him to delay the proceedings.’

  ‘Try cancel,’ Clem said. ‘I’m not letting you come back here again, not on your life. Which is a shame, because it’s gorgeous, but it would be a lot more gorgeous if you were to sling your brother off a cliff. You’re not willing to have a go?’

  ‘At homicide of the crippled and well meaning, no.’

  ‘Fastidious liberalism.’

  ‘Manners maketh man.’

  Minna laughed and I smiled too.

  ‘Well, never mind,’ Clem said. ‘Leave him to his farthing-harvests. He’s a horrible little gnome. You need to get away from him. Tell you what, I’ll take you to Peru.’

  I rocked forward as I laughed, which brought into view a little clear patch of the glass wall unobscured by ferns. Outside, the statue had been moved again. It was right up close to the greenhouse now, looking in, as if it were hoping to catch what we were saying.

  FIVE

  On the seventeenth of December, the Hooper waited on the Thames for the Greenwich time ball to drop, and the captain set both the ship’s clocks to noon.

  It was a little ship but modern, with a spacious hold and heating pipes that circulated through all the cabins. On the first morning we passed the Cornish coastline and home. I saw the little harbour at Mevagissey and, right up on the hills, a canopy of dark evergreens that I was nearly sure were our pines, at the top of the valley. It was a degree and a half of longitude away from Greenwich and so technically about twenty-five minutes behind, which I hadn’t thought of before but Minna pointed out when we saw the first mate, who had nothing more pressing to do, resetting one of the clocks. It was too cold after that to linger outside and I retreated into the hold.

  There, we had thirty Wardian cases, which were person-sized greenhouses shaped like Turkish lamps. Each one was big enough to hold a sapling tree, the glass thick enough to keep it sun-drenched and protected from the salt air. And in fact they did all have trees in them. I’d brought thirty apple trees for Clem and Minna to practise taking cuttings from.

  ‘You’re staring into space as though the ether is telling you things,’ Minna said.

  I’d been waiting for her and Clem with my back against three copper heating pipes, and a sapling apple tree in front of me. Because they had been force-grown, they were blossoming in the heat of the hold. When I opened the little door in the case, the blossom blew out in the warm draught and brought the smell of spring with it.

  ‘Just vacancy – sorry. Have a pipe.’

  She sat down next to me. ‘Markham’s on his way. How’s your leg, is it painful?’

  ‘The heating helps,’ I said. I watched her for a second. ‘You’ve gone green, are you seasick?’

  ‘A bit. It’s, um . . . it seems only to be in the mornings, though.’ She didn’t look pleased, only worried.

  ‘Well, go gently, whatever happens,’ I said, thinking of all the things it was possible to fall off or slip on: the ladders, the deck, which was slick with brine; the boxes stowed far short of Navy-fashion in the mess room.

  ‘I’ll lose it even if I sit perfectly still suspended in mid-air. I always lose them. Don’t tell Markham. Horrible to get him excited and hopeful for nothing.’

  ‘I won’t.’

  ‘Thank you. You don’t – disapprove?’

  ‘No. Christ, Minna, it’s yours until it makes an appearance in the world. It’s yours in the same way your liver is; you wouldn’t catch me telling you what to do or not do about that. I’d suggest not drinking heavily or taking a lot of opium, but you know.’

  She laughed. ‘This is assuming I don’t become hysterical soon and give the game away.’

  ‘I can’t imagine you hysterical.’

  ‘Watch,’ she said darkly.

  ‘Morning all,’ Clem said, sliding down the ladder with a happy spring that made both of us look at him a bit hard. He didn’t notice. ‘Right! Shall we get going with this cutting lark? Gosh, it’s lovely down here,’ he added. ‘Hardly know it was a ship.’

  I gave them both some barking knives. ‘Right. The idea is, if you both learn to do this, there’ll be three of us who can, whatever happens.’

  I took them through how to take a scion cutting from one of the established branches, and then how to pack them properly. We used moss and one of Clem’s map cases, because those were what we would have with us in Peru.

  ‘God, it’s fiddly,’ Clem murmured. ‘Can’t we just take seeds?’

  ‘No.’ I paused while I checked his last cutting. It was jagged. ‘Calisaya cinchona seeds sport. Like apples and tulips. The daughter plant from a seed won’t necessarily be the same type as the parent. It has to be cuttings.’

  ‘Oh good. What a time to be a total arts and crafts duffer,’ Clem said.

  ‘You’ll be all right. That’s why I’ve got thirty apple trees. Plenty of practice – stop holding that knife like a hammer.’

  ‘Right,’ he said. ‘Come on, let’s try again. You were called to Leadenhall Street a few days ago, weren’t you?’ he said suddenly, which was his version of subtly.

  My ribs caught, but I was too good at lying now to let it into my voice. After years with the East India Company I was an expert. ‘I was. Just Mr Sing. He used to be my manager. It was a chat and a cup of tea, or he would have called you too. I think he just wanted to make sure I wasn’t addicted to opium or anything.’

  ‘Oh, of course,’ he said, soothed. He hesitated. ‘Only it – hasn’t escaped me that it’s odd for the India Office to have asked me.’ Minna looked up too. ‘I mean if the idea is to fetch out these trees, a geographer is a funny sort of choice.’

  ‘A geographer who speaks Quechua and has lived in Peru on and off for years. There aren’t many of those. You can’t do this stuff without an interpreter.’

  ‘I suppose,’ he said.

  ‘Let’s try a new tree,’ I said.

  The telegram had arrived at the Spanish Embassy. I hadn’t told anyone but Clem and Minna I was there and so I knew it was from Sing, though he didn’t sign it.

  The old East India Company had become
the India Office, but really only in name. There were grand plans in Whitehall, said the papers, but for now it was even in the same building as it always had been. East India House was on Leadenhall Street, a vast place with a colonnaded front and a statue of a mounted Britannia on the roof. There was a confectionery shop next door and like always, the man at the main desk had a sugar mouse sitting in the middle of his ledger.

  Nationalisation wasn’t something any of us had thought would happen, but it had, last year. The East India Company, a private venture with the means and power of a country, a nation state of traders, had been taken almost overnight by the British Government and turned into a branch of the civil service. It had happened in the wake of the war in China; one war too many started by the Company and ended by the Navy. Parliament said they had made a de facto relationship law; Sing and the old traders called it the greatest robbery of the millennium. I kept quiet about it, because I was glad. It gave me a funny unfashionable confidence in Mr Palmerston and his government. Anyone clever enough to steal the EIC from a whole board and company of flick-razor bastards like Sing was certainly qualified to run an empire, just as much as anyone whose name had ended with Caesar.

  I wasn’t surprised to find Sing in exactly the same office I’d left him in, although if anyone was going to be shifted about in all the changes, it was him. He was a slight Oriental. In western clothes he should have looked like someone’s butler, but he didn’t have the eastern manner or its over-politeness. He sat like an Englishman, straight, with one forearm across the hem of his ribs and the other elbow resting against that wrist. If there was anything left of his own country, it was buried. He wouldn’t say where he was from. His servant and his accent were Dutch and his first name was Iseul, but that only made me think of Cornish princesses.

  ‘Tremayne, sit down,’ he said, as if we hadn’t been out of touch for nearly two years.