China Seas

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by John Harris


  Lying in his bunk-like bed, underneath the ledger cupboard in the office of Wishart and Co., Willie had stared at the underside of the oak slab above him, wondering what he had got himself into. The oak was scarred where it had been smoothed by the mattocks of Chinese workmen years before and gazing up at it, he wondered what it would be like to feel the edge of one of those huge, sharp blades biting into his flesh.

  He had frightened himself to death with his enquiries. Old Wishart had shown him the columns of The North China Daily News and reports from friends in the interior, and Emmeline had produced scented letters from the daughters and wives of other businessmen, all of them full of fear. She had never seemed to be far away from Willie from the moment of his arrival and he had long since come to the conclusion that she had her eye on him.

  His mind had roved over his problems. He didn’t fancy the sound of the Boxers, especially now he’d learned something about them. He also didn’t fancy what might happen if they arrived in Peking, but the shopkeepers and businessmen he met – and he pumped them all for information – seemed to think that, whatever the Chinese might do in the interior, they would never dare use violence in the capital.

  Can’t see it makes all that difference, he had thought. Inside or out. A dead man’s a dead man.

  And he had no wish to be a dead man. He had far too much to do. He had to make his fortune. He had to go back to Wainwright and Halliday as old Bohenna had, smoking a big cigar and able to say ‘I told you so’ to old Wainwright and his partner, Halliday, both of whom had warned him of the dangers of giving up a good job in exchange for a very dubious future. He had also – being well brought up, he hesitated to dwell on it – never been with a woman, and he not only didn’t fancy ending his life a virgin but he also still cherished hopes of returning to claim Edie Wise as his bride.

  ‘Trouble with me,’ he said out loud to himself, ‘I’ve been too well brought up.’

  ‘So have I, Mr Sarth.’

  The voice, close to his ear, startled him so much he sat up suddenly, banged his head on the underside of the oak block that formed the base of the ledger cupboard and almost knocked himself silly.

  ‘Sweet suffering J!’

  Dazed, half-blinded by pain, seeing little lights flashing all round him, he was aware of Emmeline kneeling beside him and warm fingers touching his head gently. He jerked away nervously.

  ‘It’s all right, Mr Sarth.’ Emmeline’s voice was soft and low. ‘Just lie still.’

  He heard the tap at the back of the shop running, then he felt rather than saw in the darkness that she was alongside him again, exuding a fragrance that came from Chinese perfumes, much more than she normally wore, even a warm body smell, and felt a cold cloth placed on his head.

  ‘What are you doing here?’ he asked.

  ‘I came to see if you were all right.’

  ‘Why shouldn’t I be all right?’

  ‘Well, sleeping under there can’t be very comfortable.’

  He jerked away again. It wasn’t a good thing to be caught with the boss’ daughter in his night clothes especially when – as he could see now – she was in her night clothes, too, a pink flowered kimono over a pink nightdress that showed a bare throat and a lot of pale flesh.

  ‘It’s all right, Mr Sarth.’

  ‘It isn’t all right,’ he said warmly. ‘What will your Pa say if he finds you here?’

  ‘He won’t,’ she said with a firm assurance. ‘He went for gin. He’s worried and he always goes for the gin when worried. He never hears anything and I’m frightened.’

  ‘So am I,’ Willie said warmly. ‘Especially now.’

  ‘About the Boxers?’

  ‘No. About you being here.’

  ‘There’s no need to be.’

  ‘That’s what you think,’ Willie said. ‘What are you doing anyway? This is no place for a girl.’ He sniffed. ‘It’s not much of a place for a man, come to that.’

  ‘Move over.’

  ‘What?’

  ‘Move over. I want to come in with you.’

  ‘You can’t!’ Willie’s voice rose in a bleat of protest.

  She ignored it. ‘Yes, I can. I’m scared. All I hear is Boxers, Boxers, Boxers. All day and every day. My father’s scared, too. I think everybody’s scared.’

  ‘I am,’ Willie agreed.

  ‘I bet you’re not.’

  ‘You don’t know me.’

  ‘You’ll be all right. I think you’re a survivor. Somehow you’ll be all right.’

  ‘I will?’

  ‘Yes. The other clerks weren’t. They bolted.’

  ‘Weren’t they survivors?’

  ‘No. I can tell. I can tell a brave man.’

  ‘I’m not brave.’

  ‘That’s what you think. Move up.’

  ‘No.’

  ‘Don’t be silly. I’m not going to bite you.’

  It wasn’t her biting him that Willie was afraid of. He moved over, nevertheless.

  ‘There.’ He felt her shuffle alongside him and felt the warmth of her body and her legs against his. ‘I’m in. Pull the sheet up.’

  ‘What will your Pa say if he catches you?’

  ‘I don’t care. I need more than a drunken old man to look after me.’ She leaned against him and warm fingers slipped inside his night shirt and began to play on his chest.

  ‘You’re hairy, Willie.’

  ‘Always have been.’ The answer came with a touch of pride.

  ‘Even down on your stomach, you’re hairy.’

  He moved uneasily and his hand closed over hers. ‘Here, steady on!’

  The fingers moved again and he jumped. There was a giggle. ‘Willie, I think you fancy me.’

  ‘What do you expect, coming in here in your nightie and nothing else?’ A sudden suspicion struck Willie. ‘You ever done this before?’

  ‘Not often, Willie.’

  ‘Is this why the last clerk left?’

  ‘I didn’t ask him.’

  ‘What’ll your Pa say?’

  ‘Stop saying that. I don’t care. I’m twenty-two and the warm weather makes me think things. I bet it does you, too.’

  ‘Yes, it – stop doing that!’

  ‘Why?’

  ‘Well–’ Willie became silent.

  ‘I begin to think the Boxers are coming,’ she went on. ‘And then I wonder what we’re all doing here. What if they came? We’d all be killed.’

  It wasn’t a prospect that appealed to Willie.

  ‘And then where would we be? Dead.’

  That didn’t appeal much either. Willie wasn’t used to being murdered and he didn’t fancy being dead.

  ‘So why not enjoy ourselves?’

  ‘We might not be killed,’ Willie suggested.

  ‘No,’ she agreed reasonably. ‘We might not. But we’ll probably be evacuated. And then my father will be without his business. I’ll be without my friends and you’ll be without a job.’

  Willie frowned.

  ‘So I think we ought to live while we can, don’t you?’

  Willie was all for living.

  ‘Properly, I mean. Like a man and a woman.’ There was a silence again as the soft fingers moved. ‘Willie, you’re big. I didn’t think you’d be big like that.’

  Willie felt a twinge of pride.

  ‘Come on, Willie. Are you afraid?’

  He had still hesitated, conscious that he was betraying a trust, then she took his hand and placed it on her breast. It was warm and soft and the nipple was stiff beneath his fingers.

  ‘It’s all right, Willie.’ She leaned over and placed her lips on his. Her mouth opened and he felt her tongue. He had never been kissed like that before and he went hot all over. Even at that crucial moment he might still have retreated, but she had rolled on to her back and began pulling him on top of her. His night shirt was pushed up and he was aware of warm scented flesh beneath him and her thighs against his.

  ‘Go on, Willie! It’s all right! It reall
y is.’

  His common sense still held him back, but she was moving beneath him, her mouth against his, her fingers playing up and down his back. ‘No,’ he told himself, but the squirming shape beneath him was too much for him and a flame of desire shot through him that threatened to scorch him.

  It was all he had hoped for, and more, but it was over much more quickly than he’d expected. Emmeline seemed satisfied, however, and curled up in his arms. Staring wide awake at the underside of the ledger cupboard, Willie was stricken with guilt.

  ‘What’ll your Pa say?’ he murmured.

  ‘I shan’t tell him,’ Emmeline said. ‘And I advise you not to, as well.’

  ‘I feel awful.’

  ‘Why? Didn’t you like it?’

  ‘Yes. Of course, I did. But – I – I mean – doing that in his house.’

  ‘Oh, forget it, Willie!’ she said. ‘It’s done now and he’ll never know. Was it the first time?’

  ‘Yes. I bet it wasn’t with you.’

  ‘No, it wasn’t. And I don’t know what you’re worrying about. If the Boxers come and kill us all–’ it was obvious she didn’t expect such an event ‘–then at least you can die feeling you’ve become a man.’

  As she curled up and went to sleep against his chest, he decided that she had quite a point. Perhaps, he had thought, there was something to be said for the Boxers after all.

  Three

  Willie cradled his rifle against his chest and leaned back against the stones of the Tartar Wall, his eyes distant, his thoughts busy.

  After that first time, Emmeline hadn’t bothered to come to the crammed space under the ledger cupboard where it was like making love in a coffin, but had told him how to reach her room and which treads on the stairs to avoid because they squeaked. Willie had felt he had grown older by several years within a month.

  The tension had increased, but nothing had been done despite appeals by the French Vicar-Apostolic of Peking, who had warned that the Boxers’ aim was to get rid not just of Christian converts but of all foreigners. Then the French engineer in charge of construction work at Paotingfu had decided that, even if the diplomats in Peking were satisfied, he wasn’t, and, collecting boats, he had gathered a party of thirty-three people, including seven women and one child, armed them with rifles and revolvers and set off downriver. They had been attacked and had had to abandon the boats to struggle on foot to Tientsin, with four of their number dead and many more wounded, while a troop of Cossacks sent to rescue them had been almost annihilated.

  More missionaries had appeared in Peking, abandoning their schools and churches and hospitals as they sought safety for their families, and finally, as it had become clear that the Empress Dowager was not only not prohibiting the Boxers but was actually encouraging them, the grandstand of the European racetrack just outside the city was set on fire. The destruction of this private European preserve had finally brought home the seriousness of the situation, and an appeal had been sent to the British admiral at Taku for a relief expedition.

  Willie’s eyes became empty. Ahead of him the shadows seemed to move, but he knew there was nothing in the darkness. Somewhere down below him Emmeline Wishart was sharing a room with friends. No news had come of the relief expedition and they had no knowledge of whether it had set off or not. North China by now had become an inferno and the crisis had lain like a miasma over Peking. The streets had become deserted as people had become afraid to leave their homes as word of new outrages, wanton murder and destruction of foreign property had seeped in.

  They had still not been besieged, however, and Willie had crept regularly up to Emmeline’s room. Once they had almost been caught when a band of Boxers had swarmed into the Tartar City, shouting war cries, looting shops and homes, and slashing at pedestrians with their razor-sharp swords. A trail of fired buildings had marked their path and that night, as the sky was lit by flames, the wind carrying the agonised cries of roasting Christian converts unlucky enough to be caught, old Wishart had wakened from his drunken sleep. As they had heard him pounding along the corridor, Emmeline had kicked Willie from the bed. ‘Underneath,’ she had snapped and he had rolled out of sight just as the door burst open.

  ‘Father,’ she had snapped at the wild-eyed old man in the doorway, his hair standing on end, clutching his night shirt about his knees. ‘You don’t burst into a lady’s boudoir like this – not even your own daughter’s!’

  ‘They’ve set the East Cathedral on fire,’ Wishart had said. ‘They’ve also set fire to the South Cathedral.’

  ‘Well, I can’t do anything about it. Go back to bed, Father. Take the gin bottle with you. It’ll help you to sleep.’

  As the door had slammed, Willie, cowering under the bed, saw Emmeline’s face appear upside down alongside his. ‘It’s all right,’ she had whispered. ‘He’s gone.’

  Sitting on the Tartar Wall, Willie’s eyes grew distant as he remembered their lovemaking. It had been particularly passionate that night. He had never imagined for a moment Emmeline was in love with him and he was certainly not in love with her. But she was a hot-blooded young woman and Willie, young, uncertain, uneasy, afraid of being found out, more afraid still of being trapped into marriage had begun to look desperately about him for a means of escape.

  In England, at a distance of thousands of miles from China, seeking a fortune, even making a fortune, hadn’t seemed to include what he had become involved in. He had a mistress! He had read about men with mistresses, but had never imagined he would have one – certainly not at the age of nineteen. But Emmeline was voracious and – he had to admit it – skilled, and she never let him off the hook. Not even as the news grew worse.

  Through it all, through all the lovemaking, the horizon had grown blacker. Chaos had spread and the Imperial Chinese troops had watched impassively as the murder and looting continued. The commercial quarter of the city had been set on fire, the flames destroying the ancient Chien Men, the great central gate between the Tartar City and the Chinese City that was crowned by a five-hundred-foot tower.

  Yet it still hadn’t become war. Though it wasn’t war, however, it had nevertheless been a strain. The servants had disappeared and old Wishart’s business had come to a standstill. Hundreds more Christian converts had arrived in the city, unwanted by those already there because it had been felt that if there were to be a siege they would have to be fed.

  Then on June 19 the whole thing had come to a head. While people were still trying to organise their departure from the city, the German Minister had been murdered in his sedan chair and all thoughts of leaving Peking had been dropped at once. As they got down at long last to preparing for battle, Methodist missions in the country had been evacuated overnight and people had streamed into the British compound, which was one of the few not dominated by the Tartar Wall. In it now were around a thousand people, plus ponies, mules and sheep. Carts containing furniture had jammed the streets and Chinese converts had swarmed about, unloading their belongings. One building had been assigned to the French, another to the Russians, a third to the Customs officials. Rooms were heaped with provisions or made into kitchens or communal dining rooms. One corner represented a bank, another was a military headquarters hung with maps. Other legations were crowded in the same way.

  Old Wishart had been out trying to find out what was happening when the news had come to gather in the British Legation. Emmeline had swept Willie to her room. ‘He won’t be back for some time,’ she said. ‘Come on!’

  ‘What?’ Willie had said, shocked. ‘Now?’

  ‘I’m not going to die without knowing love,’ she said dramatically.

  ‘Dammit, you know love!’

  ‘Well, again, then.’

  ‘Jesus, Em, this is no time to go in for that sort of thing!’

  ‘Any time’s the time to go in for it.’ She was already unbuttoning his shirt with one hand and with the other working at the hooks and eyes on her dress.

  ‘Em!’

  �
��Oh shut up, Willie! Don’t be so cowardly.’ She gave him a push and they fell across the bed together.

  By the time old Wishart had appeared it was over and they were busy stuffing clothes into cases and collecting the food they had been hoarding against the emergency. Wishart slapped Willie’s shoulder. ‘Good boy,’ he said. ‘Thank God I can trust you to take care of my little girl when I’m away.’

  Emmeline looked at Willie. ‘Oh, Willie’s taken care of me, father,’ she said gravely. ‘And I’ve taken care of Willie. We’ll take care of each other all the time from now on for ever.’

  That had been three weeks ago, Willie remembered as he sat in his little niche on the Tartar Wall. As they had gathered in the British compound there had been an air of unreality. Not only had the Chinese taken up arms against the might of the European powers but they had also violated diplomatic immunity and the Legations were now fighting for their lives. Some legations, situated on the edge of the diplomatic quarter, had even been abandoned, the vacuums promptly filled by the Boxers. On the third day of the siege there had been an alarm when word had flown round that the Boxers had broken through and in the panic several units had abandoned their posts. Staring along the Tartar Wall at the group of Russians and the tall figure of their commander, Willie remembered that among those who had bolted had been the posturing Zychov and his men.

  The alarm had brought to a head the need for an overall commander to run the various nationalities as a whole and the British Minister, Sir Claude MacDonald, had been voted into the job. He hadn’t much to command, Willie decided – a mere twenty officers and less than four hundred men from eight different countries, all with their own ideas about defence – though there were also seventy-five former military men, now civilians, and the even more irregular Carving Knife Brigade to which Willie belonged.

  ‘Formidable both to friend and foe,’ he had murmured to Emmeline as he had met her.

  She had looked at him longingly, but in the crowded conditions of the compound there was no possibility of her getting him in a corner, let alone a bedroom. He wasn’t sorry. There was something ominous about that business she’d mentioned of looking after each other. ‘We’ll take care of each other all the time from now on for ever,’ she’d said. He suspected she’d begun to think of marriage, and he felt he was too young to die.

 

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