The Palace of Heavenly Pleasure

by Adam Williams

  No amount of sensitivity or high ideals could protect Douglas Pritchett, however, from the darker reality. As the Legation’s spymaster his business was to exploit the foibles of humanity. Sadly, he might have argued with himself that he was only compromising his ideals for the betterment of a noble cause, but his natural squeamishness had never prevented him doing his duty. He was, in any case, no longer the callow and bashful youth who had once sat next to Helen Frances Delamere at a garden party. The weeks with a rifle on the walls had hardened him. He had killed to avoid being killed, and not only in the heat of combat. More than one traitor had been discovered among the loyal Chinese staff who had remained behind in the Legation, and he had organised their despatch with quiet efficiency, after conducting the necessary interrogations first, again with a quiet efficiency. The memory of this sometimes disturbed his dreams, for no decent man, and Douglas Pritchett was a decent man, can ever entirely justify to his conscience all the demands of necessity. The puffiness round his eyes in the morning might have indicated to the observant the extent to which he was seeking oblivion in the bottle, but his work was not affected and there was no longer any trace of hesitancy in his manner. His kind smile and gentle demeanour he retained out of habit, but the cold, calculating eyes betokened nothing but ruthlessness. The Customs boys, who once had made him the butt of their teasing, had learned long ago to avoid him.

  He was now seated at a table in the tent in the corner of the compound that served as his office, observing patiently while a man, whom he had once admired for being more ruthless than he, leaned back in a canvas chair, his plastered leg stretched out on a stool in front of him, absentmindedly smoking a cheroot as he contemplated a document Douglas Pritchett had laid before him. He could observe the progress of the man’s reading from the darkly ringed eyes that flickered sardonically over the page. Pritchett knew the contents of the document by heart: he had written it himself.

  Your lordship will have received the Consul’s report from Newchwang with the minister’s comments. We see as encouraging the steps taken to restore commerce in the region. Representatives of our major trading houses with operations in the coastal cities have by now largely returned from their enforced exile in Japan and we expect that it will shortly be considered safe for their operations in the hinterland to reopen …

  ‘Do I really have to read all this stuff about tradesmen?’ drawled the man, looking up at him.

  ‘You shouldn’t be reading any of it,’ murmured Pritchett. ‘As you can see it is marked “Secret”. It’s going to Salisbury.’

  ‘The PM himself. I’m that important, am I?’ The man smiled, revealing a glint of white teeth in his sunburned face. He continued to read.

  As to the general political situation, there is little of comfort to add to the memorandum which I sent to your lordship at the end of August. The three provinces that constitute the area known as Manchuria are now firmly in Russian hands. A military commission has established itself in the old palace in Mukden. General Saboitisch theoretically liaises with the Chinese civil powers—but Governor General Tseng Chi, though formally reinstated in the city yamen, has no effective authority. Construction of the Russian railway between Harbin and Port Arthur has resumed, and the Chinese railway linking Tientsin and Mukden, with its branch lines beyond, is now under Russian control. This effectual annexation is justified by the continuing ‘state of emergency’. Russian troops have occupied all the key cities in the provinces, and their patrols have even been reported over the border in Mongolia.

  Our reports indicate that the suppression of the ‘Boxers’—really any local power group that stands in their way—has been effected with ruthless brutality. Exemplary executions of ‘rebels’ or ‘bandits’ (there seems to be little distinction) are the norm. We have heard of mass decapitations and hangings, and there have been incidents where so-called rebels have been tied to the mouths of field guns. These punishments have been accompanied by looting on a major scale, particularly when Cossack regiments have been involved. The local inhabitants are miserable and cowed. Any initial relief at the eradication of the Boxer menace has long been replaced by a sullen resentment of the depredations they continue to suffer at the hands of their ‘liberators’. We have heard that many look back to the short occupation by the Japanese at the end of the 1895 war as a civilised period in comparison.

  ‘I would be interested to know your definition of “civilised”,’ said the man. ‘Mind you, the Nips have behaved well enough in the recent show. It’s about time we treated them as grown-ups.’

  ‘I believe I go on to make just that point in the next passage,’ murmured Pritchett.

  From my conversations with counterparts in the Japanese Legation it appears that they are for the moment taking ‘the long-term view’. It is unlikely that they will wish to do anything overtly to break the alliance formed between the powers at the beginning of the Boxer crisis, or to raise any form of diplomatic protest. The bravery displayed by the Japanese marines during the embassy siege and the efficient conduct of their contingents among the relieving forces has earned them a deserved respect internationally. As long as restraint will win them points on the negotiating table

  ‘Ah, yes, reparations,’ said the man. ‘We all have our hands in that particular pot, don’t we?’

  they are unlikely to do anything to jeopardise their new reputation as a mature power. While the alliance persists, the Russians have not been able to prevent the dispatch of a Japanese military liaison mission to Mukden. These officers will no doubt be apprising their government of the situation in Manchuria, and forming their own relations with the Chinese authorities. The Japanese troops who were mobilised on the Korean border during the crisis have not stood down after the relief of the Legations. Clearly at some time in the future they will seek to challenge Russian supremacy in this vital sphere of their interest. For the moment they are watching, and waiting, as are we.

  Your lordship has made an elliptical reference to events that may or may not have taken place in Shishan before the Boxer uprising, and you remarked how embarrassing it would be for Her Majesty’s Government if it were to be implicated in any unauthorised dealings between British and Japanese agents of any kind.

  ‘We’re getting to the nub of it now, are we?’ The blue eyes glanced up from the page.

  ‘Yes, this is the passage I would like you to look at with close attention,’ said Pritchett.

  I am clearly given to understand that the Japanese Government would be equally embarrassed, if not more so, if such hypothetical proceedings were to come to light.

  ‘I bet they would,’ grunted the man.

  I might mention that recently I was informed by my counterpart in the Japanese Legation that a report has been formally filed to their War Office stating that a quantity of field guns, machine-guns, howitzers, and other armaments from their arsenal in Tientsin disappeared during the recent hostilities; there is a convincing explanation attached of how these were captured when their position was temporarily overrun by Chinese forces; indeed, this is the version of events likely to appear in the official war histories. You may also be interested to know that one of their erstwhile military attachés, Colonel Taro Hideyoshi, after having received a medal from his Emperor for his courageous conduct during the siege, has since been reassigned to a post on the imperial staff in Tokyo. If any papers or promissory notes existed in his possession, they were utterly destroyed when his quarters in the Japanese Legation were consumed by fire during the fighting. I am confident that Her Majesty’s Government faces no danger of embarrassing revelations from the Japanese.

  Your lordship will already have heard Russian reports that the Mandarin of Shishan is dead, apparently murdered by one of his underlings as he attempted to escape the city after a disagreement with his Boxer confederates. It is presumed that the motive for his murder was robbery. He had apparently been fleeing with a large quantity of gold, which has since disappeared. Most of his militia were killed d
uring an encounter with the Boxers as they took flight. Their commander, Major Lin, who might have been involved in any gunrunning transaction, had one really been proposed, is missing, presumed killed with his men. Had these men survived they would no doubt have been tried and condemned for their involvement in the unspeakable atrocities that occurred in that town—as you know, the whole foreign community was beheaded at the Mandarin’s order. It would certainly have been embarrassing had it been proved that any purported agent of ours had ever had dealings with such criminals, so it is perhaps providential that they received their just deserts without the necessity of a public trial.

  That leaves the matter of our own supposed agent.

  ‘You end it there,’ said the man, letting the pages drop on the table. ‘Pity, I would have liked to have read your comments on “our supposed agent”. Is he in line for an imperial decoration too?’

  ‘I think not,’ said Pritchett. ‘In the circumstances.’

  ‘So I’m to be thrown to the wolves, am I? It wouldn’t be for the first time,’ said Henry Manners.

  ‘I’m hoping that we can manage things so that there aren’t any wolves,’ said Pritchett. ‘As far as Her Majesty’s Government is concerned you were working for the China railways. There shouldn’t be anything to connect you with us in any way.’

  ‘There is the small matter of the arms cache and the Mandarin’s gold,’ said Manners. ‘And my arrival in Tientsin did not exactly pass unnoticed.’

  Pritchett managed a cold smile. The account of Henry Manners’s escape from the notorious massacre in Shishan, driving a train with his Chinese concubines shovelling coal, was not only the stuff of legend but had become embroidered in every retelling.

  ‘Yes, Sir Claude was not very pleased when he heard about that episode,’ said Pritchett. ‘Nor is he pleased, by the way, by the accounts of what you and your friend, B. L. Simpson of Customs, have been getting up to in the last few weeks. In our morning meeting he was discussing the reports of your “organised looting on a scale open only to those who can speak Chinese”. I believe that those were his words. He was considering drawing up a warrant for your arrests. I persuaded him that in your case that may not be wise, but you might warn Simpson about it.’

  ‘I’m obliged to you,’ said Manners. ‘Well, he’s not changed, has he? Still the schoolmaster, I see.’

  His eyes flickered towards a side table on which a large blue and white pot was standing. ‘Bought that in the market, did you?’ he asked. ‘Or at one of the recent auctions? Looks very fine to me. Imperial quality, I would have said.’

  Pritchett coughed, irritated by the red flush he felt on his cheeks. Quickly he changed the subject. ‘How did you hurt your leg?’

  ‘Bit of blazing building fell on it, actually. In a hutong. Don’t worry, it wasn’t in the British sector. May have a game leg for life, though.’

  ‘I’m sorry to hear it. I hope that whatever you were doing when it happened was worth the while. You’re quite healed from your other wound?’

  ‘Pains me from time to time.’

  ‘You’re lucky to be alive.’

  ‘If that bullet had gone an inch either way I’d be dead now. As it was, I bled rather a lot. Lucky that old muleteer of mine found me when I was unconscious and bound me up. Bloody good fellow, Lao Zhao. He deserves that pension I made you give him. If it hadn’t been for him I couldn’t possibly have got the train going.’

  ‘It wasn’t the women, then, who helped you?’

  ‘The Mandarin’s wives? You must be joking. They stayed at the back and wailed. No, it was Lao Zhao and Fan Yimei. They saved me. Amazing, really. They drove that train for two days, with me slipping in and out of unconsciousness on the tender.’

  ‘Fan Yimei’s the Major’s concubine? Your—housekeeper now?’

  ‘For the moment,’ said Manners, looking him levelly in the eye.

  ‘And she’s to be trusted?’

  ‘Without question,’ said Manners, a hardness coming into his tone.

  ‘I’m sorry. I had to ask. As you say, there is the matter of the gold, and the guns.’

  ‘She knows nothing about the guns.’

  ‘But she knows where the gold is?’

  ‘Of course. She buried it. She and Lao Zhao. In fact, it was she who worked out what had to be done when she saw the first Russian patrol on the horizon. She got Lao Zhao to stop the train. They went off together and buried the boxes, and we steamed on again before the Russians could catch up with us. They left me sleeping all through this. Actually, I think I was delirious at the time.’

  ‘So you don’t know yourself where the gold is buried?’

  ‘I didn’t say that, Pritchett. I know exactly where the gold is buried. I also know where the guns are. And I can vouch for both Fan Yimei and Lao Zhao. They’re entirely to be trusted.’

  ‘I’m pleased to hear it,’ said Pritchett, following a long pause. ‘It’s your problem now, after all, not mine.’

  ‘Come again?’ said Manners. ‘Surely you’re ultimately accountable for the return of the guns and gold.’

  ‘Her Majesty’s Government knows nothing of any guns or gold. I thought that would have been quite clear to you from that rather tortuous little memorandum of mine.’ He paused, stroking the little moustache that he now sported. ‘In fact,’ he murmured, ‘I’ll go on to say that Her Majesty’s Government does not really wish to know you, Manners, and would certainly not be interested to hear about any nefarious, and probably treasonous, activities you may or may not have been engaged in, entirely on your own account, while you were in Shishan. Sir Claude MacDonald himself may, in the past, have taken a personal interest in you in consideration of your titled father, but I fear that your notorious, not to say possibly criminal, activities have recently tried his patience, and I am formally warning you that your presence in our Legation is unlikely to be welcomed in the future.’

  ‘Well, that was quite a speech,’ murmured Manners. ‘What do you want me to do with the guns and gold, then?’

  ‘What guns? What gold?’ There was a steely glint in Pritchett’s eyes.

  ‘I see,’ said Manners. ‘I’m being given my notice with a golden handshake? A very big handshake if I can find a way to retrieve it.’

  Pritchett said nothing.

  ‘I suppose that’s very generous of you,’ said Manners.

  ‘There is a condition,’ said Pritchett quietly.

  ‘Silence?’

  ‘Silence. Discretion. Nothing said now. Nothing said in the future. Nothing that might ever bring any embarrassment to Lord Salisbury or our government. I am proposing that my report will read that we did not have an agent in Shishan, and that we never at any time had dealings with the authorities there, either officially or unofficially, in any capacity whatsoever. Any actions of yours that may subsequently come to light were performed entirely in the spirit of free enterprise. Do you agree?’

  ‘Do I agree to be bribed with a fortune to keep my silence? Of course I’ll agree. You’re giving me the means to become a very wealthy man.’

  ‘I had assumed that you were already a wealthy man after your looting of the Forbidden City.’

  Manners drummed the table with his fingers, his look abstracted. ‘You realise,’ he said, after a moment’s thought, ‘that Dr Airton suspected I was negotiating with the Mandarin?’

  ‘Dr Airton’s dead, isn’t he?’ said Pritchett icily. ‘Did you not tell me that he and his family lost themselves in the Black Hills? We’ve made exhaustive enquiries with the Russians and nothing has been heard of them. If by a miracle they had survived I am sure that we would have known about it. It appears that no miracle happened.’

  ‘You’ve—you’ve made such enquiries?’ There was a sudden look of anxiety on Manners’s face.

  ‘Exhaustive enquiries,’ said Pritchett. ‘Why? Disappointed you can’t get back at the old sawbones for going off and leaving you for dead?’

  Manners ignored the jibe. ‘You’ve
heard nothing, you say?’

  ‘I don’t think that you have any need for worry in that quarter, Manners. Nobody could have survived in that wilderness. Your secret’s quite…’ He paused, noticing the haggard expression on Henry’s face. ‘I’m sorry,’ he said. His voice had become extraordinarily gentle. ‘I had forgotten. The Delamere girl. I had heard that you and she … I’m sorry. I quite misunderstood your concern. Forgive me … Yes, it’s quite a shame…’ He lapsed into silence. Then, ‘Of course,’ he added, ‘we haven’t given up all hope. Maybe in some outlying village, which the Russians have not yet reached … although, that said, there can’t be many avenues that—’

  ‘Write your damned memo,’ said Henry, reaching for his crutches.

  ‘Listen, if there’s anything I can do…’ said Pritchett, also rising.

  Henry shook off his helping hand. He turned on his crutches by the door. ‘Just keep searching. Find out what happened to them.’

  He left.

  Pritchett sat for a long while tapping his pen on the table. There was a thoughtful look on his face. That couldn’t have been a tear in Manners’s eye as he stood by the door? he asked himself. No, he must have been mistaken. Trick of the light. It would have been entirely out of character. Manners was a hard man, as he himself was learning to be. Emotionless. Practical. Corruptible—and therefore trustworthy. A man who understood and was bound by the rules of necessity.

  He shook his head, and reached for the pages of his memorandum. After a moment of further thought, he began to write in his neat hand.

  * * *

  Summer passed into autumn. The officers had discovered the delights of the Western Hills, and their patrols threaded through the blazing red cover of the maples on the way to the temples they had commandeered.