He was at his wit’s end. In desperation he had given some money to the Mandarin’s chamberlain, Jin Lao. If the state could not help, perhaps corruption could. Last week Major Lin had finally sent off one of his lieutenants and half of his men on the long-awaited training expedition to the Black Hills. Jin Lao had told him that he might be able to persuade the troop to hunt for the boy while they were there. The doctor was not hopeful of any result. It was already six weeks since Hiram had disappeared. He had imagined any number of dreadful fates that might have befallen the lad: starvation, exposure, wolves, bears, tigers. He could hardly bring himself to think about what Iron Man Wang might do if he found him. In his heart he was beginning to give up hope.
And now Nellie was sending him to intervene in another family’s problems. Frank Delamere was a trial at the best of times. His moods were unpredictable. He drank. He had an uncertain temper. Say the wrong thing and it was quite on the cards that he would be hurled into the street. Airton bit his lip in irritation. This whole affair was so typical of the man. Only with Delamere could a joyful occasion, the reunion with his daughter, become tangled in complications and degenerate into a row. It baffled Airton why other people could not live their lives in the same order and certainty with which he conducted his own.
He did not feel proud or priggish about it. He felt that his own existence, compared to some others’, was humdrum in the extreme. No Jesse James or Wyatt Earp, he thought, casting his mind to the western shockers and tales of derring-do he liked to read in his bed each evening. Yet he valued as a gift from Heaven the contentment and predictability with which his life seemed to have been blessed. Perhaps it had all been too easy for him. He had grown up in Dumfriesshire and Edinburgh in a large, loving family. Instilled in him from an early age was a simple faith and a strong sense of what was right or wrong. Living cheek by jowl in a ménage of unruly brothers and sisters he had learned out of sheer self-preservation how to value others’ feelings before his own, and to make allowances for their weaknesses as they did for his. The Ten Commandments and the Beatitudes, when he considered them objectively, seemed to be the perfect Everyman’s guide to living contentedly in a large, well-run household. The greatest merit of Christianity, he thought, was its simplicity and practicality. A Christian man was an orderly man.
Not that the tenets of Confucius, which he also admired, did not display the same standards of well-regulated behaviour as the Christian canon—except that they lacked the spiritual comfort that the Gospel also promised, salvation at the end of the hard day’s toil. He was grateful that at an early age he had been trained in the Chinese language and had the ability to read the Chinese classics. He believed that it was his sympathy for the Sage’s wisdom that suited him temperamentally to working in China. He had no doubt that one day this intelligent race would see the spiritual advantages Christianity also offered, and graft them easily on to their own fine culture. Unlike some of his evangelical colleagues, he was content to be tolerant and wait for the labours of the missions to take effect in their own good time. Patience was another of those virtues much neglected by some of his more enthusiastic brethren. It would all take time, but God’s Temple had not been built in a day and in the meanwhile he felt a certainty that what he was doing was useful and right. As a fellow human being, let alone as a missionary, he had a duty to alleviate the miseries of an ancient race reduced to unspeakable horrors of poverty and disease. His childhood, his faith, his education, the years studying medicine at Edinburgh University, and his early manhood practising his profession in the fever valleys of southern China, all combined to make his present work the natural culmination of a reasoned existence. In Nellie he had the perfect wife, and no man was more blessed in his children. Actually it had all been very easy for him, a logical progression, based on firm principles he had learned in the nursery.
But Frank Delamere baffled him. Airton could not imagine what chaotic star the man was following as he lurched through existence from one confusion to the next. He had no idea how he would even broach the subject. He had little knowledge of young love, beyond a reading of Shakespeare and a score of romances. His own marriage had been to a childhood sweetheart already loved and accepted by his family. His wedding had been as predestined as his finals examinations at university, a clearly marked waypoint on the map of life. His inclination was to advise Delamere not to play the strong Capulet paterfamilias. By Delamere’s own account, this Cabot was a decent, honourable young man. He and Delamere’s daughter were presumably attached to each other. Common sense argued that it was unwise to resist something one could not prevent. No doubt when his own daughters, Mary and Jenny, were of a marriageable age he, like Delamere, would feel all the jealousies and passions of a father about to lose his children, but he trusted that the reason which had so far served him so well would prevail and prevent him from turning tyrant. But how to persuade a loose cannon like Frank Delamere? A lot of the success of this interview, he realised ruefully, would depend on how much liquor Delamere had consumed in the last twenty-four hours. Between mad Millward and drunken Delamere, Airton felt that he was caught between a rock and a high sea. He stepped forward gloomily through the fish market like a man on his way to execution.
It was with some surprise therefore that when he entered the courtyard of the hotel the first sound he heard was Delamere’s loud laughter booming from the restaurant. It was accompanied by a high descant of female merriment. Curiously he lifted the heavy curtain in the doorway and saw him sitting at a table with a young man and woman, all of them drinking coffee and talking animatedly. He was immediately struck by the beauty of the young woman. He had an impression of flaming red hair blazing above a white, freckled face, flashing green eyes and a wide, full smile. Her head was thrown back as she laughed, and the doctor noticed a ruby locket on a white, swanlike neck. The young man, a huge fellow with untidy yellow hair, lounged contentedly in his chair, a crooked smile on his broad, honest face, his blue eyes twinkling with humour. The only odd feature about this cheerful coffeehouse scene was that both Frank Delamere and the young man, whom he presumed was Tom Cabot, were sporting shining black eyes.
When he saw the doctor Delamere leaped to his feet, knocking his chair to the floor in his enthusiasm. He gave a huge welcoming grin, revealing a broken tooth in addition to his shiner. ‘It’s Dr Airton,’ he cried. ‘Marvellous. Come in. Meet my darling daughter, Helen Frances, and my prospective son-in-law, Tom.’
‘This is a turnaround,’ smiled the doctor. ‘The story round town was that Armageddon was breaking out here.’
Delamere roared with laughter and turned to Tom who was also grinning. He pointed to their black eyes. ‘Well, it did take a certain amount of earnest discussion to get me round to the idea. You know what an old stick-in-the-mud I am. But Tom put his suit very forcefully.’
‘So I’ve noticed,’ said Airton. ‘You probably want some salves for those big bruises. It must have been quite a discussion indeed. My dear lady,’ he said, turning to Helen Frances, ‘I’m so very pleased to meet you at last. I’ve heard a lot about you from your father, but the reality beggars the description.’
‘She’s a looker, isn’t she?’ said proud Delamere. ‘Too good for this oaf here, but what can you do?’ He and Tom both laughed. Helen Frances smiled. ‘Pull up a chair, Airton. Pull up a chair. Boy!’ he roared. ‘More coffee. Kwai kwai kwai!’
As the coffee arrived Airton addressed Helen Frances: ‘I’m afraid, my dear, once you come to know Shishan a bit better, you’ll realise that in this tiny community rumour spreads like wildfire. We were all very concerned about what we were hearing about your father and fiancé’s—discussions. I’m so pleased that they appear to have had such a positive and happy outcome. May I be the first to offer my congratulations.’
Helen Frances’s smile was infectious, as was her spirited laugh. ‘Why, thank you, Dr Airton,’ she said, in an attractive, slightly husky voice. ‘Don’t worry about Papa and Tom. I assure you the
y’re quite manageable. Indeed, my only concern is how to decide which of the two boys is the bigger child—my father or my fiancé?’
‘The nerve, HF!’ grinned Tom. ‘You can imagine what sort of marriage I’m going to have! Henpecked Tom, they’ll be calling me in no time. Sir,’ he said stretching out a large hand, ‘I’m honoured to make your acquaintance. Sir Claude MacDonald was telling us all about you.’
‘You’re a very fortunate young man, sir. Have you decided on when the happy day is going to be?’ Airton wrested his hand back from Tom’s vicelike grip.
Delamere broke in quickly: ‘Thought we’d give it a few months so we can all get to know each other better,’ he said. ‘Tom’s got to muck down to the new job, and I’d like a few months with my little girl before handing her over for good to this bruiser. There’s plenty of time. No hurry. It’s not as if we won’t all be together in the meanwhile. Eh, Tom?’
‘Quite right, sir,’ said Tom, somewhat morosely.
‘Very sensible,’ said the doctor, ‘but surely we can celebrate the engagement? Things as momentous as this don’t happen in Shishan every day. I mentioned that Nellie and I would like to throw a small welcoming party for you all. It would be an honour if we could combine it with an engagement party at the same time.’
Helen Frances looked questioningly at her fiancé. She put her hand into his. ‘What do you think, Tom?’
‘Fine by me. It sounds a capital idea. Very generous of you, sir.’
‘Then that’s settled,’ said the doctor. ‘What about next Friday? We’ll ask all the foreigners in Shishan and have a grand party.’
‘Not the bloody Millwards,’ muttered Delamere. ‘We don’t want a prayer meeting.’
‘No, perhaps not the poor Millwards. They don’t get along with the nuns and they aren’t cheerful company at the moment. You know they still haven’t found their boy who ran away?’
Helen Frances wanted to hear all the details, so for the next half hour the doctor chatted to the happy trio, answering Helen Frances’s inexhaustible questions about life in Shishan. He was impressed and charmed by her intelligence and vivacity. He also liked Tom for all that he looked like a man who had just stepped off the rugger field.
Helen Frances was describing incidents on their journey from Peking when Delamere looked at his pocket watch. ‘Sorry to have to break things up,’ he interrupted, ‘but Tom and I have our lunch with old Lu and the other merchants. You’re welcome to come along with us, Airton. Sorry, my darling.’ He turned to Helen Frances. ‘Have to leave you on your own for an hour or two. Business. Tom, be a good fellow and bring those presents I wrapped up in my room.’
‘I’ll go with Tom,’ said Helen Frances. ‘There’s still a lot of unpacking to do. Goodbye, Doctor, it was such a pleasure talking to you. I do look forward to meeting Mrs Airton on Friday.’
‘Are you sure you want me at this lunch of yours?’ asked Airton, when the couple had left. ‘It’s a business affair, isn’t it?’
‘No, just introducing Tom to the merchants. Makee fliendly with the Celestials, that sort of thing. What do you think of my little girl? She’s a stunner, isn’t she? The image of her poor mother.’
‘I think she’s charming,’ said the doctor. ‘I like Cabot too.’
‘He is a good fellow, isn’t he?’ said Delamere. ‘Do you know, he batted for Middlesex? In ninety-two. Was once bowled out by W. G. Grace himself. Isn’t that something?’
The doctor examined the other’s bloodshot eyes and haggard face. For all his apparent good humour, Airton detected a touch of melancholy. ‘So you really have come round to the idea? Nellie sent me round here to be a peacemaker.’
‘Thought it was something like that. You’ve a good woman in Mrs Airton, you know that? How do I feel about it all? Well, I’m not exactly over the moon. Getting your only daughter delivered to you with one hand and snatched away with the other. Blow to the heart, actually. A knock to the old pride, too, if one’s being honest. Like someone’s pulled a fast one. But I like Tom. Seems my sort of chap. Can’t hold much against a man who’s prepared to punch his prospective father-in-law in the eye. Shows some sort of seriousness about life, doesn’t it?’
‘I’m sure it wasn’t Tom who struck the first blow.’
‘Now you mention it, I don’t think it was. Haven’t behaved very well, have I, one way and another?’
‘I think Herr Fischer was startled to have his schnapps bottle thrown at his head. His schnapps is somewhat sacred to him. But I’m sure he won’t think worse of you. Everyone knows the news of the engagement, on top of seeing your daughter after so long, must have been a shock. He’ll make allowances for the pressures on you.’
‘Pressures? You can say that again. Life hasn’t been much to write home about lately.’
‘Oh?’
Delamere looked more than usually uncomfortable. ‘Nothing. Indiscreet of me to mention it. Vicissitudes of life, that’s all.’
‘If it’s something to do with your goings-on in that dreadful Palace of Pleasure then I don’t want to know anything about it. Not unless you’re consulting me in a professional capacity. It won’t be the first time you’ve had to come to me and pull your trousers down for a dose of mercury.’
‘God forbid. Nothing like that. You really know how to embarrass a fellow, don’t you? There were some complications. That’s all. Behaved a bit foolishly. Getting over it now. Thinking of taking the straight and narrow, in fact.’
‘I’m pleased to hear it. In the nick of time, I would say, considering that your daughter’s here.’
‘God, Airton, you can be bloody sententious at times. But I suppose you’re right. I’ve been doing a lot of thinking these last couple of days.’
If Delamere had been going to let the doctor have the benefit of his thoughts, it would have to be at another time, because the next minute Tom appeared with the presents under his arm, and the three set off towards the restaurant on the main street that Delamere had booked for lunch. They passed through the crowded downstairs dining hall to the second floor, where the merchants, Lu Jincai, Tang Dexin and Jin Shangui, were waiting for them in a private room.
The doctor knew all of them well. Lu Jincai he liked. Despite his boyish appearance, he was a solid, serious fellow, who radiated honesty. Straight as a die, thought Airton. For a relatively young man, he had an impressive gravity—but it was leavened by a natural tact and a sly but generous humour. Tang Dexin, the tin king, was a roguish old faddist, always going on about his diet and liable to launch into long lectures, especially in mixed company, about the benefits of a healthy sex life in maintaining longevity. He had not done badly in this respect. The doctor judged that he was in his early eighties if not older. He was a tiny, wizened man with parchment skin stretched over a humorous face cracked with wrinkles. He reminded Airton of a mischievous hobgoblin. The third member of the party, Jin Shangui, was a fat, comfortable, pasty-faced individual in his late forties, always laughing, his eyes merry slits behind his glasses, with heavily fleshed earlobes and thick wet lips that quivered when he smiled. His conversation tended towards flowery compliments, verging on the unctuous. He was a general trader with a finger in many different pies. The doctor did not trust him. He was too smooth and plausible to be entirely convincing. But today the three merchants made cheerful company, and were fulsome in their welcome of Delamere and his new assistant.
Delamere had not stinted on the menu, and soon the table was piled high with succulent northern dishes—greasy stews, pork knuckles, steamed mandarin fish, fatty bear’s paw and camel’s pads, accompanied by piles of dumplings and steamed bread, plates of cabbage and a sort of thick, transparent noodle floating in black vinegar sauce. As soon as he announced the news of his daughter’s engagement, the merchants insisted on opening a bottle of gaoliang wine. The doctor pleaded an operation he had to conduct in the afternoon: he loathed the taste of this sour, raw spirit (he knew that if he accepted one cup he would be forced by the ritual
of drinking to have more), but Delamere had no qualms about toping in the afternoon, or at any other time, and soon all in the party were exchanging a raucous round of toasts, the compliments becoming more flowery and nonsensical as the drink went down. Airton noticed that Tom held his liquor well. His Chinese was not as fluent as Delamere’s or the doctor’s but it was adequate for the occasion, and he established a quick rapport with Lu Jincai, who was quietly telling him about the proposed sales visit to Tsitsihar on which he hoped Tom would accompany him as soon as he was settled into his life in Shishan.
‘Tom’s the man, Mr Lu.’ Delamere beamed. ‘Knows the crystal-making process better than I do. He’ll impress old Ding, no question.’
‘I have told Mr Tom that we should set off as early as possible,’ said Lu. ‘It’s a long journey and we should try to reach our destination before the first snows fall.’
‘First batch should be ready in three weeks. Tom’ll be ready by then, won’t you, old boy?’
‘Looking forward to getting on the road, sir,’ said Tom.
Jin Shangui proposed a toast to the new business venture. His chin wobbled as he rose unsteadily to his feet and raised his cup. ‘To De Falang Xiansheng, prince of foreign merchants, and all his business endeavours. And to Lao Lu, our old friend. May they together conquer the whole of northeast China! And bring fortune on all of their descendants for tens of thousands of years!’
The Palace of Heavenly Pleasure Page 15