Dragons in Shallow Waters

by Kane, Clare

  “Nothing,” Hilde said. “Precisely nothing. Until I mentioned her father, suggested she think of him, remember his concern for her. She said then that she could not marry anyone who might take her from Peking.”

  “But Nicholas only desires what is best for Nina,” I said.

  “I told her that. But it was as though she did not hear me.” Hilde exhaled, closed her eyes, and we sat silently a moment. “I took her hand,” she said eventually, opening her eyes once more, “and she permitted me this. I left her shortly afterwards and told her only to remember that while you and I had protected her this summer, now she must protect herself.”

  “And what did she say to that?” I asked.

  “She said, with some vehemence, that she was very well aware of that.” Hilde stood, briskly cleaned her gun against her skirts, fixed it once more by her waist. “All we can hope, Mr Scott, is that the coming days deliver some reason to dear Miss Ward.”

  Had we known then how torrid, how darkly terrible the following days would turn out to be, we would not have expected them to bring reason to anyone. Dawn broke a bloody red over Peking on the twenty-eighth of August, the day selected to celebrate our great vanquishing of the Boxers. Despite official instructions that no journalists were to attend the victory parade, Oscar Fairchild had secured me the right to ride with a contingent of British diplomats, in exchange, he explained in lofty, unspecific terms, for generous and, I understood, glory-giving coverage of the event. I assented, feeling no obligation to withstand my side of the deal, given Fairchild’s conduct during the siege. I walked briskly through the Legation Quarter, piecing together in my mind the dispatch I would later write. A terrible summer draws to a close and the Chinese are taught a lesson…A magnificent display of cross-country cooperation that will surely mark the internationalist direction of the new century…Writing the news feels at times akin to fortune-telling. Life itself unfolds as discreet, dissociated events, yet the accounts that fill the pages of newspapers require effortless linearity; as such, I often internally compose histories long before they take place, imagining paragraphs to flow in seamless succession even before the first actor has stepped onto stage. My mind drifted at times to Barnaby George, for whom I had begun to feel a real sympathy. I suspected he would still be asleep, drowsed by last night’s whisky, unaware of the victory that dawned over Peking’s grey roofs. And how would Nina’s story end, I asked myself, matching sentences and phrases in my mind, imagining her future as it might be written in newsprint. Yet I could not read her story with clarity: too many paths opened up before me. Miss Ward today accepted Mr George’s offer of marriage…Miss Ward is to marry Mr Fairchild, who has divorced his wife…Miss Ward remains a spinster in Peking…

  The Russians had already gathered when I reached the agreed meeting point. There had been much discussion over who was to lead the victory parade, with the Russians arguing that as the most populous force they should steer the allied powers through the city. In fact, the Japanese outnumbered them, but the Russian troops, heavy, strong and determined, were granted first position. I took my place with the group of British diplomats, and patiently we waited under the beating sun for our departure. We were led by Oscar Fairchild, who took lively, spry steps through the city, a summer hat angled cheerfully atop his head. The entire event proved somewhat underwhelming: the Russian band tasked with playing each country’s national anthem was hopelessly out of time, playing La Marseillaise as the Italians marched past, and the crowds lining the streets were sparse and unimpressed. Chinese faces peered in fearful bemusement, while the foreign onlookers were unable to conceal their disappointment at the rather rakish appearance of the poorly turned-out soldiers who marched behind the diplomats. The British soldiers appeared particularly shabby, wearing uniforms now too large for their scrawny frames, their faces smeared with the grime of the city. I noticed Hilde in the crowd, Lijun by her side: they surveyed the scene with blank expressions. We passed Nina and Nicholas too, eyes narrowed against the glare of the sun. Nicholas waved enthusiastically to me, Nina, with pressed lips, weakly raised her hand.

  The march to victory, which under Peking’s relentless sun at times felt more of a trudge to Hell, came to an end at the gilded gates of the Forbidden City, where a group of humbled eunuchs had been tasked with escorting the foreigners around the palace. Quite how this tour had been proposed to the Imperials I do not know, but in the end it was nothing more than another looting opportunity. I admit, however, that I did appreciate the chance to see that spectacular, secretive palace from the inside, to raise my eyes to its elaborate cornices and run my fingers across its collections of engraved lacquer, appalled as I was by the conduct of the soldiers who swept each shelf of ornaments, and cleared every cupboard of the finest silks.

  The evening drew in humid and unforgiving and I returned to my room to produce a perfunctory report of the day’s events, a series of sentences of hollow victory that I knew would please my editor. To my shame I did not include so much as a single incident of looting; perhaps by reporting it here I can absolve myself somewhat of that important omission. Finished, if not entirely satisfied with my work, I repaired to the bar, where Hilde and Lijun made sure to keep my glass of whisky always full.

  “When are you going to go home, Mr Scott?” Hilde asked me. “You are very welcome here, you know that, but I may need to start charging for the whisky,” she said, her smile good-natured.

  “My house is ruined, Hilde. I have dared to walk past upon occasion and with each visit it seems to have fallen into a greater state of disrepair. I know it to be habitable, at least, because a number of people appear to be living there, none of whom I imagine would be enthused by my return. I have asked for reparations but in London they appear to care little for my hardship.”

  “I am sorry to hear that,” she said.

  “I have thought of appropriating one of those empty homes for myself, a nice little palace of some prince long fled, but I must say I rather enjoy the company here.”

  Hilde laughed.

  “Stay for now,” she said seriously. “I like to have you here.”

  We became aware then of a figure approaching us. Barnaby George walked steadily towards the bar, a bamboozled expression upon his face.

  “She has asked for me,” he said.

  “Sorry? Speak up, boy,” Hilde said.

  “Miss Ward has summoned me.” He paused. “To her home.”

  “Well, don’t keep the lady waiting,” I said. “Go and find what she wants.”

  “Do you think…” He failed to complete his question. “Yes, yes. I ought to go right away.” He inhaled, steadied himself with a hand on the bar. “Yes, I shall go now. Good evening.”

  “Good evening, Mr George.” Hilde laughed generously as he left. “Do you think,” she said, “that Miss Ward might have listened to me?”

  The breathless account Barnaby George delivered to us only three hours later certainly suggested something profound had happened to Nina. Barnaby had arrived at the Wards’ home, trembling with nervous energy, hearing in each clipped, clear strike the lion’s head knocker delivered upon the door his own wishes echo through the unseen courtyard that lay just beyond him. Nicholas had welcomed Barnaby, led him to the courtyard, which flickered warmly by the light of several clusters of candles arranged across its four corners. A table set for three stood in the middle of the space, a great lantern at its centre. Barnaby dithered over which chair to occupy, and was still undecided when Nina crossed the courtyard towards him and expressed her delight at his joining them for supper. He noticed that her hair, which had fallen loose and unkempt the previous day, was carefully arranged in a tight chignon, and the light blue dress she wore appeared freshly laundered.

  Barnaby watched with curiosity as the entire surface of the table was rapidly covered with enthusiastic portions of pork, beef, scallions and aubergine prepared by Fairchild’s servants. Barnaby had
been surprised to see Nina make deft use of her chopsticks to sweetly place a serving of each dish upon his plate. Nicholas commanded the conversation, enquiring about the bank’s plans, asking whether British businesses planned to exit China. When Barnaby had replied that Shanghai, Hong Kong and the other treaty ports remained relatively stable and attractive to foreign investment, Nicholas had replied gravely: “Things shall change.” He had from that point become rather morose, picking over the looting of recent days, and predicting a succession of dark years ahead for an impoverished and isolated China. The food finished, Nicholas had then excused himself and left Barnaby alone with Nina. Immediately Nina stood and moved to the seat by Barnaby’s side.

  “You must wonder why I invited you here tonight,” she said, and when he agreed, she very rapidly explained her motives, her words quick and nimble, her eyes not lifting to meet his gaze. She told him she had been terribly affected by the siege, and had been unable to see clearly when he had asked her to marry him, and admitted that she now regretted her words.

  “If your question still stands,” she said, “then I wish you to know that my answer is yes.”

  Utterly, delightfully flabbergasted, Barnaby had required a moment of repose before his happiness could express itself in the chaste kiss he placed upon her lips.

  “Let us tell my father the good news,” Nina had said, and Nicholas had displayed his first smile of the evening upon hearing of the betrothal.

  When Barnaby reached the conclusion of this joyful account, Hilde went immediately for a bottle of champagne, which we shared amongst the three of us. Hilde also called for Edward, who abandoned the entertaining of his military guests to join us in taking a glass; even young Lijun was woken and presented with a small serving.

  “To a wonderful future,” Edward said in toast.

  “To Miss Ward,” Hilde said, and we toasted Nina in her absence. I wished to see her, to observe her expressions, her movements, to hear the words she chose to tell of her upcoming marriage. I hoped to console myself with her happiness, to see and confirm her desire to enter into this partnership, to know she saw it as a passage to freedom and not a prison built by her own hands. But she was not there, so we drank instead to an image of her, to the illusion of the hopeful, rosy bride, and while my elation was real, buoyed by relief, its corners were firmly pinned down by anxiety, by guilt, by irrepressible shame. Hilde and I were the last ones to the retire that night, and as I made to ascend the stairs, she stopped me.

  “We did right by Miss Ward,” she said.

  “Of course we did,” I replied, but I knew not which one of us tried to convince the other, and I felt, climbing the stairs on tired feet, that we both had failed to do so.

  The next day brought about the sudden onset of that activity required to organize a wedding. I had not considered the practicalities of the marriage when Barnaby had shared his news the night before, had not thought to enquire how, tangibly and feasibly, the pair expected to establish a shared life. Nina appeared at the hotel in the early morning, just as I was finishing a plate of eggs sourced by Hilde from the more functional Japanese Legation. Charily Nina asked if I might accompany her to Su’s palace.

  “I must speak with Mrs Franklin,” she said. “And I would like to speak also with you.”

  Immediately I rose, embraced and congratulated her, and felt her form not cold to the touch, but certainly still, lacking the animation one might expect of a young woman in her circumstance, stepping into the thrill of a married future. Her eyes, a brilliant morning green, betrayed no emotion, and whilst she did not create the impression of the giddy betrothed, I was pleased that equally she did not appear unduly anxious or melancholy. We did not walk directly to the palace, but passed unhurried through the Legation Quarter streets, circling those familiar monuments to our suffering.

  “I must try to remember it all,” Nina said. “I do not wish to forget Peking when I am in England.”

  “You shall go to England, then?” I asked. I was not entirely surprised; Barnaby’s family, his future were firmly rooted in the old country, but I was startled by Nina’s easy acceptance of the inevitability of such a move.

  “Naturally,” Nina said as we crossed the tennis courts, empty still of matches. “One cannot marry an Englishman and not expect to go to England.”

  “You shall miss Peking,” I said.

  “Father says that even he shall miss Peking, that the city we know is finished, to be replaced by some new town, duller and sadder than before.”

  She led me the chapel, absent now of notices, no longer a central meeting point for the besieged, stripped of its powers as arbiter of our desperate fate.

  “I wished to thank you, Alistair,” she said, not looking directly at me, “for all your efforts to help me this terrible summer. I have not been an easy case, I know, I have refused your advice countless times. But I hope you see…” Here she faltered, and finally looked upon me, her eyes brimming with tears, “…that I have listened when it was most important to do so.”

  “I have not imparted any advice to you, young Nina, not this time. You might have listened to Mrs Edwards, Mr George, your father, and you ought to thank them. But I have done little.”

  “You did much before,” Nina said simply. “And I know that Mr George might never have asked for my hand had you not encouraged him so. I only wish to say thank you.”

  I nodded dumbly, wondered if I ought to embrace her again, felt any words I might speak woefully insufficient. She thanked me, she saw the worth of my actions, she did not fight my counsel. I ought to have been delighted to see Nina survive the siege, her reputation intact, to emerge from the other side of the summer of death, alive, unblemished, prospects golden and secure unfolding before her, and yet I felt only a terrible flatness, a colorlessness of sentiment. I was pleased to see the Su mansion come into view as we approached the borders of the Legation Quarter, glad to have our conversation curtailed by the appearance of its wretched walls.

  Since our liberation, many of the refugees had departed the former palace, abandoning that dismal place to rot in desperation and disease, but some found themselves in an earthly limbo following the arrival of the troops and had no idea where else they might find shelter and relative safety. And so Phoebe Franklin continued to visit the place every day and care for those still resident between its walls.

  “Mrs Franklin,” Nina called out as we stepped into the musty-smelling building. We found Phoebe not inside the palace, but conducting a Bible reading for a group of young girls in the courtyard. We settled ourselves a little behind the group, and listened to Phoebe read.

  “Come now, let us reason together, says the Lord, though your sins are like scarlet, they shall be as white as snow; though they are red like crimson, they shall become like wool…”

  My mind wandered, continued its unending stream of questions, following the cadence of Phoebe’s voice until the end of the reading was announced with a heavy thud as Phoebe closed the Bible and placed it on the floor.

  “Miss Ward, Mr Scott,” Phoebe said, approaching us and leaving her charges to read alone. “An unexpected pleasure.”

  “Hello, Mrs Franklin,” Nina said. “How are things here?”

  “Much improved, as you can see.”

  “I am so glad,” Nina said. She pulled nervously at a loose strand of hair that had curled itself around the base of her neck. “Mrs Franklin, I have come to ask of you a favor. Rather a large one.”

  “Yes?”

  “I am planning a wedding,” Nina said, with a bashful glance in my direction. “I thought you might recommend someone able to marry people, in the eyes of God, I mean.”

  “Oh yes,” Phoebe said briskly. “Who is to be married? Lijun?” she asked sharply.

  “Lijun? Of course not, she is a mere child. It is I who is to marry,” Nina said.

  “Oh!” Phoebe’s eyebrows shot
up momentarily, quickly she straightened her features once more. “My sincere congratulations, Miss Ward. And who are you to marry?”

  “Mr George from Hong Kong,” Nina said carefully, and I watched the missionary, that messenger of God who had witnessed all, to read her reaction to the news. A smile, warm and immediate, softened Phoebe’s features, and she took Nina in her arms.

  “Oh, wonderful, wonderful,” Phoebe said. “I should be delighted to organize the ceremony immediately.”

  “You are sure?” Nina asked, her voice small, wondering.

  “I am so pleased,” Phoebe said, “that you have come to your senses. Are you not, Mr Scott?”

  And she embraced me too.

  A date was set only three days away. Having made the decision to marry, Nina’s alacrity in organizing the ceremony came as little surprise to me; I understood that her desire to marry quickly was two-fold. To marry before anyone might say anything to give her prospective husband pause, that was one aim. To marry before she might doubt, I suppose that was the other. Nicholas suggested that Nina might wear the dress her mother had married in, and the old outfit, kept in a dusty red chest in the corner of Nicholas’ wardrobe, was revealed as a yellow white, its wide skirt and the fussy, intricate detailing of its lace recalling another era, but Nina had no time for trifles now, no time for anything at all. And so the dress was taken to a laundryman, recently returned to the Japanese Quarter, whose prices had risen by a third since the siege. Nina then enlisted Lijun’s help in sewing a red velvet border around the hem of the skirt; both girls believed wholeheartedly that no wedding could take place in the absence of red, whatever the ladies of England or the missionaries of China might believe.

  Nicholas invited Hilde and I to the house on the eve of Nina’s wedding. Hilde brought Edward and a cook with her, and together we dined in the familiar balmy environs of the Wards’ courtyard. Nina’s life was by then packed up in a quiet collection of trunks and boxes, but any apprehension she felt on this cusp of womanhood was concealed in her easy manner over dinner. Indulgently she encouraged her father’s tales of Nina’s Peking childhood, and we all laughed heartily at his stories of Nina as the cat chasing Chang the mouse from courtyard to courtyard, the two girls breaking off from their games to beg for toffee apples from street vendors, and Nina coming home to sing nursery rhymes of little fat boys and red dragonflies entirely unknown to Nicholas. It was as dinner drew to a close, and we were finishing the last of the wine, that the knock came upon the gate. I rose, and crossed the courtyard to the Wards’ red door, thinking a returned servant or a neighbor robbed of sleep by our lively conversation might await me on the other side.