It might have been only the habit of action—or, more likely a last stirring of pride, the inability of the gambler not to make one last throw—but whatever it was it impelled him forward. He leaned on his stick in the centre of the hall, staring after her wildly. Almost involuntarily he found himself calling out her name: ‘Miss Delamere. Helen Frances.’ His voice sounded unnaturally loud.
The trio on the staircase turned. The doctor’s eyes widened in shock, and he slumped backwards, emitting what sounded like a whimper of fear. Nellie was quick to catch him, a severe expression on her face as she glanced down at Henry. Helen Frances let go of the doctor completely. She stood rigidly on the steps, her hands hanging by her side, frowning as she stared directly into Henry’s imploring face. Her lips twitched as if she was about to say something. Her breast seemed to heave—then she hurriedly picked up her skirt, and turned back to the doctor. Taking him by the arm again she helped Nellie bring him to his feet, and in a moment they had all disappeared round the corner of the stairs.
Henry slumped against a pillar, the strength draining from his limbs.
‘Mr Manners?’ It was a questioning voice in a light Scottish brogue.
As if ascending from a well, he managed to focus, and saw Nellie looking at him with concern. She took him by the arm, steadying him. ‘Oh dear, I fear you’re not well,’ she said. ‘I’m sorry if we appeared rude just now, but my husband was not expecting to … Mr Manners, we have so much to discuss. Will you not have a cup of tea with me, for old time’s sake?’
Like a patient under sedation he followed her into the tearoom, and sat where she told him to, in a leather armchair. Nellie ordered a pot of tea from the hovering waiter, before turning her clear eyes to face him directly. ‘Mr Manners,’ she said, ‘I cannot tell you how thankful I am to see that you are alive and well. A man from the Legation, Mr Pritchett, came to see us this morning, and he told us a little—well, quite a lot, actually, more than he should have done perhaps—about the heroic, and … and patriotic work you were doing in Shishan. Do not worry. None of us will ever breathe a word about it to a soul—but I have to thank you, on behalf of all of us, for the sacrifices you have made on our behalf and for, well, saving our lives—’
She was interrupted by the waiter bringing the tea. By the time he left and the cups were poured, Nellie had become embarrassed, though Henry had said nothing.
‘There I go,’ she said, ‘pouring it all out in a rush. You probably think I prepared this speech long beforehand. Well, I didn’t, but I mean it sincerely. We owe you our lives, Mr Manners.’ She paused, her expression a little agitated, but she forced herself to continue. Behind her, the violinist launched into a merry polka. Raising her voice only a fraction, she persevered: ‘We also owe you something else, Mr Manners, though it shames me to say it. We owe you an apology. We—we misunderstood your motives, and then when you were wounded—on our behalf—my husb—we … we left you for dead.’ Her voice cracked slightly on the last word, but she quickly controlled herself. ‘It was a crime that will haunt us for the rest of our lives. We will have to live with that guilt, Mr Manners. Yes, it was unpardonable. I—I understand why at first you avoided us just now at the entrance to this tearoom … I saw you among the aspidistras—but even if you never choose to speak to any of us again, I would like you to hear just once how truly, truly sorry we are, and if, if you can ever find it in your heart to forgive…’
She stopped in astonishment, her cheeks flushed in confusion. Henry Manners had leaned back in the armchair and was laughing. ‘I’m—I’m sorry, Mrs Airton,’ Henry recovered himself, catching his breath. ‘But—excuse me—it’s just very, very funny. Ironic, really. You see…’ There was a bitter look in his eyes. ‘Don’t you see? The reason I came here today was to ask for your forgiveness, for handling things so—so very badly.’
The polka finished and there was a polite round of clapping.
Nellie’s face was still flushed. ‘I—I’m not sure I understand you, Mr Manners.’
‘Oh, Mrs Airton…’ Henry took a deep breath. A waiter passed. Henry caught his arm and told him to bring him a brandy, a double brandy, and be quick about it. ‘I’m sorry,’ he muttered. ‘I need something stronger than Darjeeling if I am to say this. I lack your inner strength,’ he added, a trace of his old sarcasm returning to his voice.
Nellie stared at him in some perplexity.
‘Before you honour me with any more apologies,’ he continued, ‘it might be better if you knew the end of my grubby little story.’
‘Mr Manners, I—’
‘Indulge me. I’m sure you’ve heard how we managed to get the train going again. You should have stayed with us, by the way. It would have spared you the terrible trials you underwent in the wilderness…’ He raised his hand to stop Nellie interjecting. ‘No, don’t apologise again. You did what you thought was best in the circumstances. I understand—believe me, I do. I don’t blame you, or Dr Airton. You had the children and Helen Frances to think about, and I looked done for. I was done for. You have nothing with which to reproach yourselves. Anyway, I deserved it.
‘No, please don’t interrupt, let me have my say. Your people talk about miracles. You might say it was a miracle that saved me. No, not one of your divine kinds of miracle. A very human miracle, consisting of courage, generosity, resourcefulness, and sheer grit on the part of two rather unlikely Chinese—Lao Zhao the muleteer and Fan Yimei the prostitute—who bound me up and somehow, God knows how, drove the train to safety.’
‘A miracle can be a miracle for all that the agent is a human one,’ murmured Nellie.
Henry’s hard eyes rested momentarily on her face. ‘You may be right at that,’ he said. ‘Anyway, I survived, though I shouldn’t have. I didn’t deserve to after everything I had done in Shishan. I hadn’t really thought about it up to then. Those last few weeks in Shishan I’d been too busy being practical.’ He repeated the word bitterly. ‘Practical.’
‘You were practical, Mr Manners. You were faced with some terrible decisions, but you did what had to be done to save our lives.’ Nellie spoke gently.
‘Oh, yes, I did what had to be done all right.’ Henry laughed, draining the brandy that had been brought to him. ‘Didn’t I just? But you do have a rather overblown estimate of my character if you think I was there nobly saving lives. Didn’t you say that Pritchett had told you? I was doing my bit for the greater glory of the British Empire, Mrs Airton.’
‘Your duty, Mr Manners, you did your duty.’
‘My duty! I should drink to that. Boy, bring me another brandy. Yes, Mrs Airton, my duty. I thought a lot about my duty as I bounced on that coal tender, and lay strapped up in the bed of the military hospital afterwards. And it had a comforting ring. It certainly did. All those people killed—I didn’t save everyone, did I, Mrs Airton? At that time I thought you and Helen Frances were dead as well. Failed there as well. Never mind. As you say, I’d done my duty. The guns were safe, and so was the gold. I could comfort myself that Her Majesty’s Government would be proud of me.’
‘This cynicism doesn’t become you, Mr Manners.’ She had to speak loudly above the polonaise.
‘Ah,’ said Henry, sipping his brandy. ‘So Pritchett didn’t tell you about the thirty pieces of silver I got for my pains, then? Well, he wouldn’t, would he? That’s top, top secret. Belongs in the cupboard with all of the rest of the Queen’s dirty underwear.’
‘Mr Manners!’
‘Forgive me, Mrs Airton. I’ve become unused to polite company. Please forgive me. Sometimes my passion gets the better of me.’
‘I still do not see why you are reproaching yourself. Terrible, terrible things happened—but you were not to blame.’
‘Well, that’s very generous of you to say so. I, on the other hand, think that I should have handled things much better. All those innocents executed. The nun. The Millwards. Tom. What happened to Helen Frances—oh, God, what happened to Helen Frances … I should never have … neve
r have…’
‘You’re not God, Mr Manners,’ said Nellie, reaching for his hand, but he pulled it away violently.
‘On the contrary, Mrs Airton,’ said Henry, in the quiet after the polonaise, ‘I believe that I sold my soul to the Devil.’
‘You poor, poor man,’ breathed Nellie, and, slightly flustered, drank down her tea, which had gone cold on the table.
‘You know, when I left the hospital,’ continued Henry quietly, ‘I became a madman. Yes, I think quite truly that I was mad. All I wanted was vengeance, to hit back. I should have allowed myself time to recuperate, but I didn’t. I didn’t mind the pain of my wound, which hadn’t properly healed. Some other power was driving me. The Allied forces were marching on Peking then. God knows why they waited so long in Tientsin, but I was glad because I had my opportunity for revenge. I joined a company of scouts—well, free-enterprise marauders, to be more exact. We rode ahead of the troops and we killed, Mrs Airton, that’s what we did, we killed. Probably quite indiscriminately, although we justified it at the time.’
‘Mr Manners, you don’t have to tell me this,’ said Nellie.
‘No, it wasn’t very nice, and don’t think I’m proud of myself. I’ll spare you the details, except one. Every Boxer, every Chinese who came into my sights, or was pitted on the point of my sabre, had the same face. Do you know whose it was? It was Major Lin’s, Mrs Airton.’
‘That’s horrific,’ muttered Nellie, a chill running down her spine.
‘Do you know? Even after the Legations were relieved I saw him, every time I went out. He was the beggar on the street corner. He was the merchant in a shop. He would have been that waiter over there,’ he said.
Nellie gazed at him in alarm.
‘I told you I was mad—or half mad. It didn’t stop after we ended the siege. I came over the city walls with the American marines. There was quite a bit of fighting still to do. Yes, quite a lot more blood was spilled after that. Then I looted. I had some companions who were quite as mad as I was—and we were thorough, Mrs Airton, but you must understand that I was not interested in the loot. I wanted to destroy. I took a delight in the fear I saw on people’s faces, Major Lin’s face.’
‘You poor, pathetic man,’ said Nellie. ‘Please don’t go on.’
It was as if Manners had not heard her. ‘One day, in one of the back hutongs, we burned a merchant’s house. For no good reason, really. My companions were irritated because they hadn’t found any gold or jade there. The merchant had been clever and hidden it, I suppose. Or he never had any. Anyway, we burned his house. I did my bit. We’d retired to the street, and were watching the flames through the mansion gate. We thought we’d cleared everyone out. We weren’t murdering at that time, you see, although we did do other things. Yes, we did many other things … Anyway, I was surprised to see a little girl come running out of one of the buildings, screaming in pain because her robe had caught fire. I don’t for the life of me know why I did it, but I ran in and snuffed out the flames on her back with my jacket. It was as I was carrying her out—she was scared, but not badly hurt—that the burning gatehouse collapsed on me. The child was all right, but I—well, as you see, I’ve lost the use of this leg. Serves me right, I suppose you’ll say. A few days after that, Pritchett called me into the Legation, paid me my thirty pieces of silver, and told me that my services would no longer be required. I’ve kept to myself since then. I don’t believe I’m mad any more. It’s rather worse, actually. I don’t think I really like the prospect of going on living. Call it remorse, if you like. You missionary types should be quite pleased. Seems I’ve belatedly discovered a conscience. A rather full one, as it happens.’
‘Oh, Mr Manners—can I call you Henry? I feel I know you that well. Oh, Henry, how my heart goes out to you.’
‘I thank you, Mrs Airton. Nellie. Sincerely. I’ve always respected you. You don’t judge people, as some do—but please don’t feel sorry for me. I’m not one to be saved. There’s no road to Damascus for the likes of me. I’ve rather dug my own pit, haven’t I?’
‘I won’t insult you with a Christian platitude, but I don’t believe you, Henry. I’ve seen the good in you, and the courage. Don’t throw your life away. Vengeance is certainly not the answer.’
‘No, it isn’t. I think I’ve learned that. I—I did have a hope. One hope. No, never mind.’ He reached for his brandy glass and saw it was empty. The thé dansant had ended. Although the afternoon crowd had by no means departed, waiters were already beginning to clear the emptied tables in preparation for the evening drinks session.
‘A hope? You said you had a hope. Please tell me.’
Henry laughed bitterly. ‘I suppose I’ve told you everything else. Why not? Although it’s academic. I saw the look she gave me on the stairs. I thought that Helen Frances … I rather hoped Helen Frances might still…’
‘Oh, Henry.’ Nellie sighed.
‘Inshallah,’ said Henry. ‘Well, I deserve no less.’
He reached into his breast pocket and, from behind his folded handkerchief, he pulled out a long cheroot. Nellie watched as he tried to disguise his agitation in the business of lighting the cigar.
‘The baby?’ he asked, blowing out a cloud of smoke. ‘Rude of me not to ask earlier. The baby’s fine, is she? I heard it was a girl. Does she have a name?’
‘She is fine, Henry. A bonny wee lass. She’s called Catherine.’ Nellie paused. ‘Catherine Cabot.’
‘Cabot?’ Henry’s hand holding the cheroot froze momentarily. His face smouldered with sudden anger. It took three furious puffs of his cheroot before he regained his composure, but his blue eyes glittered like ice. ‘Cabot,’ he repeated. ‘Perhaps you’ll be good enough to explain.’
‘I suppose that I’m initially to blame,’ said Nellie sadly. ‘It was I who introduced Helen Frances to the Russian officer who rescued us as Mrs Cabot. Oh, I meant well. I was worried about the shame she might have to endure if it became known that she was an unmarried mother. So—so we invented a marriage.’
‘How delicate of you,’ said Henry, coldly. ‘I see that you have the same capacity to be practical as I have. And Helen Frances was happy to go along with this lie?’
‘I persuaded her. Edward and I persuaded her that it would be for her own good and that of the child. Yes, she agreed.’ Weariness had crept over Nellie’s face. ‘At first it was a temporary subterfuge. We had no idea that the Russians would wire the British Legation, and that the British Legation would inform Mr Dawson at Babbit and Brenner, and that he in turn would inform Tom’s parents in England. That’s the problem with a lie. It takes on a life of its own. When we arrived in Peking it was already a—’
‘A fait accompli,’ said Henry. Suddenly he began to laugh—harshly at first, but Nellie was amazed to hear it turn into what sounded like genuine merriment. ‘Well, well,’ he said. ‘Good old Tom. Scoring sixes from the grave!’
‘Oh, Henry, how we’ve managed to hurt you,’ murmured Nellie.
‘I understand, Nellie. Believe me, I understand. You had two dead contenders to choose from—one of them certainly dead, the other, well, it would have been logical to assume that I’d succumbed to my wounds or been strung up by Major Lin, whichever happened first. No, I quite understand. You had a dead hero on one hand, a Christian gentleman, a martyr, and on the other, well, a dubious commodity at best. Call me a black sheep and leave it at that. Hardly a choice. I’m sure that the prospect of a Babbit and Brenner pension, and Tom’s fat inheritance in Lincolnshire, never even occurred to you.’
‘I suppose I deserve that,’ said Nellie, dropping her head.
‘Don’t give it a moment’s thought,’ said Henry. ‘You should be considering it now, even if you didn’t at the time. It’s good for Catherine. She’ll be a proper little heiress. And, by the way, how did your meeting with the Dawsons go this afternoon?’
‘They were very generous,’ muttered Nellie. ‘Very kind.’
‘Well, there you go,’ said He
nry. ‘And so should I be going. You’ve done your duty, Nellie. Put me in the picture. With great tact, I might add. It must have been extremely painful for you. You won’t see me again, but give my love to Mrs Cabot.’ He ran a hand over his eyes. He might have been wiping away the emotion on his face, for when he moved the hand back to the armrest, Nellie saw that it was composed. When he spoke again, his voice had even lost its sarcasm. ‘Know this, Nellie Airton, I bear no grudge against you or your husband. You behaved with nobility throughout, and Airton acted on the best of motives. As for me, I’ve reaped what I’d sown, and that’s an end of it, but tell Helen Frances for me—tell Helen Frances…’
‘Tell me what, Henry?’ He heard the husky voice behind him. It was as if the paralysis that had struck him earlier among the aspidistras had returned with overpowering force. He could not move a muscle in his body. His heart was thumping, and his blood burned hot in his veins. He felt, coursing through his body simultaneously, conflicting emotions of elation, despair, hope, fear—above all, fear.
With a rustle of her skirt, Helen Frances sat down next to Nellie on the sofa. Nellie made a move to stand up, but Helen Frances put a hand on her knee. ‘Don’t feel that you have to go,’ she said. Though her eyes were shining and her cheeks were a little flushed, her voice was calm, controlled.
‘I’d better go, dear. Edward. The children,’ murmured Nellie.
‘Yes, the doctor is a little poorly,’ said Helen Frances. ‘It’s only a cold, but he’s feeling sorry for himself. He probably would like to see you. The children are fine, playing with the amah.’
The Palace of Heavenly Pleasure Page 80