‘So you said. Go on.’
‘Lu insisted we go at a slow pace, off the road. He wasn’t taking any chances—but we knew we’d have to go by the Black Forest at some point. There’s no other way into Shishan. Lu wanted us to take an even longer way round, halfway to Mukden and back again so we could come in through the southern pass, but it wasn’t really on. Supplies were running low, and with six mounted muleteers we thought we had the firepower to withstand any surprise attack from Iron Man Wang and his thugs. We were wrong.
‘We did take precautions. Tom and Lao Zhao scouted ahead when we reached the narrow pass through the forest. Saw nothing suspicious, not a sight, not a sound. They must have been hiding deep in the trees. That was rum, too. You don’t expect such organisation from bandits.
‘We rode in just before noon, when the sun was at its highest and there was at least some visibility. Couldn’t go too fast because of the wagons but we made the quickest pace we could. We got through the worst bit, and I thought we were scot-free. Then, suddenly, all hell broke loose. Never seen anything like it. Smoke from the bushes, bangs of muskets and cracks of rifle-fire. Bullets hissing over our heads like geese and arrows whistling like pigeons. That’s when Lao Pang got it, right in the neck. Gurgled for a bit then rolled off his mule. Lots of blood. Pretty nasty shock.
‘And then they were all around us. Boys mostly, or so it seemed. Young fellows dressed in carnival costumes—but they were dangerous enough: white rolling eyes in brown faces, thrusting with their spears and pikes and swords. We were firing back by that time with our repeaters, and they were being bowled over like coconuts, but on they came with horrible yells, slashing and thrusting. “This won’t do,” I shout to Tom, who’s clubbing and firing at the devils around him like some latter-day Lancelot in a mêlée. “Let’s ride for it,” I say. “What about the silver?” says he. “Damn that,” says I. “There are too many of them.” So we set our spurs into our horses and gallop through the throng, Lao Zhao and the other muleteers following behind. We ride into the mass of them as if we’re the Charge of the Light Brigade taking the guns. And then, would you believe it? we’re through, and there’s quiet all around us except for some chirping birds among the trees, and butterflies fluttering over the wild flowers.
‘“Where’s Lu Jincai?” asks Tom, looking very worried. And sure enough Lu’s not there. I remember with a pang of guilt that Lu had been driving the wagon with the silver. “They must have got him,” I say. “I’m going back for him,” says Tom. Before I know what’s happening he’s snatched my repeater from my hand, rammed in a new clip of cartridges. He’s already reloaded his own, and with a rifle in each hand he’s off and away, galloping back the way we’ve come. Lao Zhao follows him, as irrepressible as Tom. But that’s the effect Tom has on people, born leader. God bear witness, I’m proud that he’s to be my son-in-law.
‘I got the full story later from Lu, who by this time has been surrounded and overwhelmed on the wagon, struggling under a mass of filthy peasants all reaching to untie the box of silver, which Lu is holding on to for dear life. He told me that if they were going to snatch it it would be over his dead body, and he meant it too. But it doesn’t come to that, because Tom and Lao Zhao are suddenly riding out of nowhere, guns blazing in either hand, and the Boxers are rolling off the wagon like shot rabbits. Tom’s caught them unawares, you see. They think the battle’s over and they’ve got the loot in hand. So they’ve relaxed and some have put down their weapons.
‘Tom leaps off his horse on to the cart and takes the reins. Lu’s got the presence of mind to snatch up a repeater and start blazing away, and Lao Zhao grabs the lead horse by the bit and belabours it about the head with his gun-butt till it starts galloping and the other mules in the yoke follow the lead.
‘And somehow the Boxers are all so stunned that they let the heavy wagon build up speed and get away. Some bravos come up thrusting with their pikes and get crushed under the wheels, and the marksmen with the rifles are still blazing away from the bushes. That’s when Tom is wounded, although you wouldn’t know it. He keeps his hands firmly on the reins until they’re out of danger. I told you he’s a hero.
‘By this time I and the other muleteers have got our wits together again and we too are riding back to the rescue, and that’s when I saw them, bowling through the pine trees. What’s that picture from the South African war? It’s been in all the illustrated papers lately. Saving the guns at the Modder river. Well, I’ll tell you, if there’d been an artist who could have pictured Tom and Lao Zhao and Lu on that careering wagon, saving my silver with all the banshees from hell behind them, well, that’s a picture which would have sold … You bet it would.’
Frank, beaming with pride, sentimental tears pouring down his cheeks and turning the caked dust to mud, drained his glass and poured more whisky.
‘How did you get away?’ breathed Nellie, amazed and a little thrilled to be listening to such a story in her living room.
‘Well, it wasn’t difficult after that. There was a bit of a chase but the advantage was on our side by then, you see. We were out of the ambush, and it was us doing the volleying, with better rifles and a damned sight better marksmanship. Don’t know how many we killed. After a while they found it all a bit too hot for them and they sort of faded away. It was only then that we realised what had happened to poor old Tom. Do you know? He kept firing right to the end, with one useless arm. It was only when he knew we were safe that he allowed himself to pass out. What a fellow!’
‘So you patched him up as best you could and brought him here?’ said Airton.
‘That’s right. That was the most hellish part of the whole affair,’ said Frank, in a more sober tone. ‘We couldn’t travel fast, you see, not with Tom in that condition, but every moment delayed we feared more for his life. After two days he had dropped into almost permanent unconsciousness and … well, I thought he was done for. It took another day to get to you.’
‘I think that you and Lu Jincai and the others did a magnificent job,’ said the doctor quietly.
Tears were welling in Frank’s eyes again. ‘You see, it was going off to save our silver that got Tom almost killed. If he’d … if he’d been … for that! How could I forgive myself?’
‘Tom was wounded saving the life of one of his comrades,’ said the doctor. ‘The silver doesn’t come into it. As the Evangelist says, “Greater love hath no man than this, that a man lay down his life for his friends.” You have nothing to be ashamed of, old fellow, and you are right, Tom has behaved like a hero.’
‘You’re very tired, Mr Delamere,’ said Nellie. ‘Stay with us here tonight.’
‘Tomorrow we’ll go to the Mandarin and report this outrage,’ said Airton, ‘but Nellie’s right, first you need some rest. And perhaps a bath.’ He chuckled.
‘I suppose I am a sight,’ said Frank. ‘Look, you’re very kind, but first I think I ought to see Helen Frances. I suppose she’s down in the infirmary with Tom? She must be very upset.’
Nellie and the doctor exchanged glances. Nellie nodded almost imperceptibly at her husband.
‘Delamere,’ said Airton gently. ‘She isn’t at the infirmary. In fact, she doesn’t know anything about this yet. She’s here, in one of the bedrooms, asleep. I’m afraid she’s not very well.’
‘Not well?’ repeated Frank, stupidly. ‘Why, what’s wrong with her?’ He half rose from the sofa. ‘If she’s ill I must go to her.’
‘Sit down a moment longer. I’m afraid that I have some rather bad news for you,’ said Airton. ‘You see, since you were gone, we discovered that Helen Frances has…’ He coughed nervously. ‘That Helen Frances has…’
‘Contracted an influenza,’ said Nellie quickly.
Airton looked at his wife in amazement.
‘She’s caught a cold?’ asked Frank, with some bewilderment. ‘Is that all?’
‘Well, it’s more serious than a cold,’ said Airton, conscious that his cheeks were burning. ‘It’s a
new strain of influenza, quite contagious, and—she’s been very ill,’ he finished lamely.
‘She’s all right, isn’t she?’ asked Frank, now very bemused. “Flu’s not usually life-threatening, is it? It’s not pneumonia or anything like that? She’s not in danger, is she?’
‘Oh, no,’ said Airton, ‘It’s just a ‘flu. But she really has been very ill, and well, for the moment…’
‘You’re not telling me I can’t go in and see my own daughter?’
‘We don’t think that she should be upset now, Mr Delamere,’ said Nellie soothingly. ‘She really is quite weak, and I think that the doctor fears that if she were to hear about the terrible things that have happened to you, it would excite her. Isn’t that right, Edward? Why don’t you have your bath, Mr Delamere, and a good night’s sleep? In the morning when we’re all quite recovered, and your daughter is feeling stronger, we can acquaint her with the news that you’re home again … and also tell her about Tom.’
‘Very well,’ said Frank, a little grumpily. ‘Tomorrow, then. But she is all right? Recovering and all that?’
‘Oh, yes,’ said Nellie. ‘It’s just that the doctor feels she should not be disturbed tonight.’
After Ah Lee had been called, and Frank had been led off to his bath, Nellie lay back in the armchair and sighed. ‘What on earth got into you, dear?’ asked Airton, dumbfounded. ‘Why the lie?’
‘Oh, don’t you see, Edward?’ she answered. ‘With Tom hanging between life and death, how can we tell him the truth? Frank Delamere, bless his heart, is the most temperamental and indiscreet man we know. Goodness knows how he’ll react. And what if he told Tom? Letting Frank share a secret is like making a public announcement. I will not have the life of that fine young man on my conscience when we can delay a week and tell him when he is strong enough to withstand the shock. If he hears now he’ll lose the will to live. Surely you comprehend that?’
‘Well, how are we to maintain the secret?’
‘You keep Helen Frances in bed and treat her for influenza, and any other plausible illness you can conjure out of your medical books. Don’t worry about her not looking ill enough once the withdrawal symptoms for the opium habit begin. And together, tomorrow morning, before she sees her father, we will tell her what is at stake. Believe me, she will cooperate. She doesn’t have any choice.’
Airton nodded compliantly and meekly sipped his whisky. ‘Nellie,’ he said, after a long pause, ‘there’s someone else I’m even more concerned about.’
‘Who?’
‘After Frank’s story today we cannot deny the danger of the Boxers. And Sister Elena’s out among the Christian villages.’
‘I know,’ said Nellie. ‘It’s been on my mind too. But there’s nothing we can do about it tonight.’
‘I’ll send Zhang Erhao after her first thing in the morning.’
‘Until then we can only pray that she’s all right. Oh, Edward, what a day! What’s suddenly happening around us? Our little world is falling to pieces.’
* * *
Evening was falling when Sister Elena reached the outskirts of Bashu. Pastor John and his two daughters, Mary and Martha, had been waiting for her on the hill and they were as relieved to hear the sound of her horse’s hoofs as she was to see them.
The two girls were as merry as she remembered them. Mary was fourteen, and in village terms a beauty. The high cheekbones and snub nose were those of a northern peasant, but the peach pink of her skin, the mischievous eyes, which curved upwards like phoenix tails, and the oval red lips, cheeks dimpling with smiles were those of a coy princess from opera. Her shining plait, tied with a blue ribbon, swung behind her as she walked, or rather danced, along the path, reminding Elena of a colt or a deer, frisky with the joy of springtime. She could not imagine a less likely bride of Christ, but it was Mary’s ambition to be a nun, and Elena and Caterina had promised, with her father’s approval, to take her to the convent in Tientsin when she was sixteen. Twelve-year-old Martha was the opposite of her sister, a small, serious child, whose wide eyes, when fixed contemplatively on Elena’s, had a knowledge and a sadness within them that made Elena want to clutch her to her bosom and squeeze her tenderly. Elena loved both the girls, whom she had known since their infancy.
Laughing, they were singing the verses of the hymn, which Caterina had taught them two months before:
‘Yesu ai wo, wo zhidao
Shengjing shuoguo wo hen hao…’
‘Jesus loves me, this I know
’Cos the Bible tells me so.’
Usually Sister Elena would have walked along beside them, singing with them, but this evening she was not in the mood—and it was not just the tiredness from her journey. Walking beside Pastor John, she noticed that he also was more than usually subdued. Despite the girls, it had been a sombre walk the last mile into the hamlet.
Mother Wang greeted her warmly, but Sister Elena noticed a look of concern behind her smiles. After a quick supper of corn broth and chicken, they retired early. Sister Elena lay awake for some time listening to the others breathing on the kang, rehearsing in her mind the strange events of the day.
It was not that the roads had been deserted. Any number of reasons might explain that. Nor was she particularly surprised by the tension she had discovered among the Christians of Bashu. It was natural to be worried about the rumours, of Boxers and burnings of property. That was one of the reasons why she had made the journey.
What had alarmed her was the meeting that she had had at her midday halt with the company of militia led by Major Lin. They had been watering their horses at the well when she arrived. She had greeted them in her usual hearty manner, but had received silent stares from cold faces in return.
The major had strolled up to her as she was eating her meal alone in the shade of a sheep byre. ‘You speak our language?’ he had asked sardonically. The scar and the twist of his features gave him a menacing air.
‘I speak a little,’ she had answered.
‘Will you tell me where you are going?’
‘I am going to Bashu,’ she had replied.
‘The Christian village,’ he said scornfully, and spat, the sputum narrowly missing her boots. ‘Your Christians are causing much trouble these days.’
‘I have heard that much trouble has come upon them.’
‘It makes no difference,’ he said. ‘The peace is being disturbed. Why are you going to Bashu?’
‘They are my people,’ she said simply.
‘They are not your people. You are a foreigner. They have only been affected by your foreign ideas. They refuse to pay taxes.’
‘They do not pay temple dues, but they obey the law.’
‘Foreign laws.’ And Major Lin spat again. ‘Do you realise that it is dangerous to travel the roads alone? Things can happen to a woman.’
‘I am confident that soldiers like yourself can protect honest citizens going about their business.’
‘My men and I are returning to Shishan. We have been keeping the peace among your Christian villagers for these last weeks. Now we are returning home. You may ride with us—for your protection.’
‘I am going to Bashu.’
‘I strongly advise you against it.’
‘It is my duty.’
‘I, too, have done my duty. I have warned you of the dangers you face.’
‘What dangers are there for me in Bashu, Major?’
He looked at her coldly, then turned on his heel.
‘What dangers are there for me in Bashu, Major?’ she called after him.
He turned to face her again. ‘You have been warned,’ he said. ‘It is not my responsibility what happens to you.’
He barked an order and his men began to mount up. His sergeant brought him his own grey pony and he swung himself into the saddle at the head of his troop. Soon they were clattering in a cloud of dust down the road.
Now she lay on the kang, hearing again the major’s hostile words. ‘You have been warned,’
he had said to her. Warned against what?
It seemed that she had only just fallen asleep when she was woken by the sound of cocks crowing, and the shuffle of her fellow sleepers as they roused themselves for the day. They were the natural sounds of the morning.
‘You have been warned.’ She heard the words again in her mind. ‘It is not my responsibility what happens to you.’
Twelve
This city is so big—but we stride through the streets like the heroes of old.
Helen Frances was sitting on her made-up bed fully clothed, a defiant, surly expression on her face. She had opened the shutters and bright morning sunshine suffused the room. Nellie, who had remained with her back to the door, noticed that Helen Frances had packed all her clothes into three portmanteaux, which were lined up in front of the emptied sideboard. The room was light and airy; the Scottish scenes framed on the white walls gave the place a cheeriness that none of the three people contemplating each other felt.
‘Why are you out of bed?’ asked Airton quietly, pulling up a wooden chair so he was facing her.
‘I’ve changed my mind,’ said Helen Frances. ‘I want you to give me my money and then I’m leaving—after you’ve given me the morphine you promised me last night. I’m taking the train away from here.’
‘Did I promise you morphine last night?’ asked the doctor, ignoring her last remark. Helen Frances’s eyes widened, then her face pinched as she frowned. Nellie was reminded of a snarling fox. ‘You did. You know you promised me, Doctor.’ It was a harsh, shrill sound; to Nellie, it was the voice of a stranger. ‘I need it. It’s been twelve hours. Last night. You promised you’d come again in the morning.’
‘I have come again in the morning, my dear,’ said Airton.
Helen Frances’s suspicious eyes flickered from the doctor to Nellie to the sideboard. ‘Well, where is it? The tray? You brought it on a tray last night. Where is it?’
The Palace of Heavenly Pleasure Page 44