Magnus knew that bankers hated the very concept of risk – security was their all.
“You need then, sir, to discover who is buying and why. I am no man of business, but it seems that there could be several possibilities…”
“Exactly so, Lord Magnus. Precisely, in fact. This may be no more than a simple matter of trade – a large merchant who has a bill to pay, his client demanding silver. The market for silver is volatile at best and a single such transaction could have an effect on prices for a week or two. But it might be that a government is wishful to cause an upset. Say that Berlin has despatched gold with the instruction that it be used to buy up a few thousand catties of silver, driving up the price; a delay of a month, then drop the lot onto the market overnight and the price will fall though the floor. Most destructive!”
It was a new concept, a very different form of warfare, but it could be harmful, Magnus appreciated.
“It is very difficult, sir. If you take no action, then you are to seem unaware, perhaps, but whatever you do may be wrong. You will only discover your best course after the event. I had not realised that finance presented such quandaries.”
“It should not, Lord Magnus. This is ill will rather than business, I think. That of course, is why I suspect the hand of Berlin. I understand that Germany has recently suffered a reverse in Hanshan at the hands of the Navy, and this may well be a petty-minded retaliation.”
Magnus wondered if he was being criticised for his actions, whether it was being implied that he should be less active in future. He made no reply.
“I believe, Lord Magnus, that it was your Bustard that slapped the Prussians down in Hanshan. A necessary procedure, I do not doubt! It is good to know that one may rely upon the Navy.”
Admiral Seymour preened – compliments from the money men might easily be carried back to Whitehall.
“Shall we join the ladies? They have had the better part of an hour to savage every reputation on the China Coast!”
They laughed and left the table for the drawing room, returning to lighter topics of conversation.
“Will you be joining us at the race-track, Miss Blantyre? We have a meeting at Happy Valley in two days from now.”
The question came from Mrs Rothschild, enjoying her malice for knowing that the missionaries deeply disapproved of horse-racing and gambling. Miss Blantyre had the choice of establishing herself as an outsider, one who did not take part in the amusements of High Society, or of causing offence to the righteously high-minded of the lesser Protestant churches, who seemed to number the Blantyres among their faithful.
“I have never had the privilege of attending a meeting, ma’am. I should be very glad to indulge myself in such an amusement. I must confess that I know very little of racehorses, and, of course, nothing at all of betting, which I have been told is much a part of the sport.”
“Gambling is not an essential, Miss Blantyre. It is possible that those who know little of the Sport of Kings tend to overstate its significance.”
Miss Blantyre smiled her ignorance of such matters, asked Magnus if he would be attending.
“I shall not miss a meeting, ma’am, when I am in port. I much enjoy racing, though I am far too large to have ever pretended to ride in a Flat Race; but I have taken part in a steeplechase or two, entirely as an amateur of the Turf. There is much to be said for a day at the races, ma’am – providing only that the weather is favourable.”
There was a general agreement that on a bright summer’s day, there was little better than to be a member of a party at Epsom.
Miss Blantyre was aware that she was unlikely ever to enjoy that particular pleasure – Epsom was the haunt of the blue-blooded and not the home of the merchant classes.
Magnus had more than once been present on Derby Day, but made little play of the fact, suspecting that the ladies were putting Miss Blantyre down for being richer than most of them despite being born well outside of the purple.
Admiral Seymour said that he was getting up a party for the Navy, no doubt Miss Blantyre and Lord Magnus would wish to join him. Magnus could not refuse and Miss Blantyre had no wish to.
While he was there, Magnus took the opportunity to make an appointment with the Flag Captain, tying him down to a time so that he could not ‘accidentally’ fail to give him a briefing on the Gulf of Tonkin business. He much suspected that the Admiral had it in mind to make him the scapegoat, to be blamed for any points the French scored at British expense, and a full briefing, at which he was to be seen writing notes, might go some way to protect him.
Captain Haddisham spoke a lot in his briefing, but said very little, Magnus thought.
“Thing is, Lord Magnus, that the French are busy with their rubber in what they are now calling Indo-China, or sometimes, Cochin-China. Why that name, I do not know, not for sure. Their Lordships do not know either. We sent a message requesting elucidation, but they could give none. Admiral Seymour was worried that the French might wish to stand up at the next conference and say that Indo-China was obviously not part of China proper and was therefore none of our damned business. I still believe they will do just that.”
Magnus noted the word ‘rubber’ – it was clearly of some importance. Captain Haddisham craned his head, spotted that Magnus had picked out the sole significant factor.
“Rubber – bloody stuff! It can only be produced by what is in effect slave labour. The trees must be tapped, very carefully, and the latex collected, only a small amount from each or the tree is harmed. The labourers must work at the run, bringing their buckets of latex into the processing plant while still fresh, and in sufficient quantity to be worthwhile. In the French plantations they are paid in food, not money. If they produce too little, they are fined – they go hungry; if they damage trees, they are fined; if they are ill and cannot work, they are not paid at all. The French go through labourers at quite a rate – they need new bodies all the time. Few of the coolies will volunteer, now that the conditions are known, so they are effectively snatched from their villages as indentured labourers, their headmen being paid for them where they are not simply enslaved. In French territory, there is nothing to be done. Outside of their own lands, the Navy may or may not be able, or willing, to take action. Extreme caution is essential!”
Unsaid was the implication that it might be easy to start a European war on the back of a dispute over Chinese slaves; it was debatable whether the slaves were that important.
“What is the general feeling in China, do you know, sir?”
“Just another reason to hate the gwailo, Lord Magnus. They have so many other causes that one more counts for very little, or so I believe. Slavery is not so very important to them. Thing is, if you fall on a slaver and release his cargo, what do you do with them? Their local lord will have sold them, almost of a certainty – and he will probably be congratulating himself for having cleared out a hundred or two of useless mouths from his lands; they will not be welcome back in their homes. So, drop them off in Hong Kong, you may say – what will they do here? Villagers from some backward coastal area, without skills and speaking the wrong language as well – they will be lost here. So, send them off to Singapore – where they will very soon end up in the Malayan rubber plantations, or ship them down to Queensland, where they can be slaves on the sugar plantations, or even bundle them off to California, where they will find work at a penny an hour if they are lucky. Free the slaves by all means, Lord Magnus, and so one should – but what the hell does one do next?”
Magnus had no answer – whatever he did must be wrong.
“The French are worse than many at the moment, but there is very little to be done about them. The orders must be to suppress the slave trade whenever you come across it, and do not turn the blind eye in despair… but I really do not know that we do any good at all, for all our pious posturing. I remember my grandfather’s words, you know, Lord Magnus. He was Navy, of course, and was in the Squadron off the Slave Coast as a mid. They did their job and sl
apped down the traders and brought an absolute end to the Trade on their section of the Coast, and do you know what happened, Lord Magnus?”
Magnus shook his head.
“The traders were left with three thousand slaves in the holding enclosures, unable to ship them out to America. They killed them all. Turned their cannon and muskets onto the compounds and then set fire to them. And these were not the Americans from the ships – these were the local, coastal men, the ones who sold their captives to the whiteskins!”
“And you fear that much the same will occur in China, sir?”
“No. I do not fear – I am absolutely one hundred per cent bloody certain, Lord Magnus!”
“God help the Chinese, sir.”
“The missionaries tell us that He is doing just that, Lord Magnus. Talking of which, I gather you are to escort your young lady to the Races tomorrow. Are we to expect an ‘interesting announcement’ there, sir?”
Magnus laughed – to his mind, marriage was out of the question.
“Not the slightest chance of that, sir. The word is that the young lady is worth half a million, at the very least, sir, her parents having produced no other offspring, while I must imagine you have some idea of my net worth, sir. The young lady, who is undoubtedly very handsome as well as rich, will marry very properly, I have no doubt – and not to a penniless younger son of the most obscure aristocracy.”
Captain Haddisham grinned – he was fairly sure that Magnus was correct in his assessment.
“If she wanted a title, then she could probably snaffle the first son of an earl at least – one with broad acres in the Home Counties but with empty bank accounts due to a father or grandfather’s profligacy. There is at least one political Marquess who would benefit from a rich English wife, thinking on it, and one or two dukedoms that are short on the readies – they far outweigh your limited offerings, Lord Magnus.”
“Exactly, sir. Add to that, I have no wish to marry for a few years. If, by some strange turn of events, I am promoted, then a wife will be a necessity, but the odds are, as I do not doubt you would agree, sir, that I shall never become post-captain.”
The Flag Captain was forced to agree.
“It is not impossible, Lord Magnus, that you should rise in rank – but it must require some degree of distinction in action, and not merely in suppressing a band of pirates or slapping down some gang of slavers. You, Lord Magnus, must take a naval ship, cutlass in one hand, revolver in the other, or lead your landing party over the ramparts of a defended fort – nothing less than that if you are to overcome the obstacles that you have chosen to create for yourself.”
Magnus laughed and enquired whether there was anything else he must look out for when in the south.
“Keep an eye out for Americans, Lord Magnus. They have it in mind to take the Spanish Empire to themselves, but are very thin on troops to achieve the purpose. The surmise has been made that they might be tempted to raise a brigade or two of Chinese mercenaries to land in the Philippines when the day comes. No objection to their doing so, of course, provided that they then keep them as a garrison force. If they were to train five or ten thousand infantry with magazine rifles, give them experience in a campaign, and then send them back to China, leaving them at a loose end, as one might say, then we could be faced with an interesting problem.”
Magnus immediately thought of General Li, and of what a competent officer of his sort could do with a division of thoroughly trained and experienced men.
“That could be undesirable, sir. In the extreme. Will it happen?”
“Eventually, yes. It must, Lord Magnus. While the Powers are more interested in doing each other in the eye than in strengthening themselves against the Chinese, in the end, they must become vulnerable. We should not be fighting each other, you know, Lord Magnus, for that can only benefit the Chinese.”
Magnus was impressed.
“We must in fact take up the White Man’s Burden, sir, and bring all of the benefits of our civilisation to the Chinese.”
“True, Lord Magnus.”
“I shall play my part at the racecourse tomorrow, sir, showing the local population just how one behaves at leisure. Sport, after all, is one of our great contributions to the world. Think how much the Kaiser would have benefitted from an acquaintance with a cricket bat! The Chinese may gain much from watching the horses race, and the English gamble upon them.”
“They need no lessons in gambling, Lord Magnus. There will be ten thousand Chinese there and they will be betting every tael they possess on the races.”
“Ah! But will they exhibit a stiff upper lip in the process, sir? There’s the great English legacy to the world, when one considers it.”
Captain Haddisham wondered if Magnus was perhaps waxing satirical – it seemed just possible that he was being mocked. He brought the briefing to an end.
Magnus enjoyed his day – afternoon, strictly – at the races. The meeting was in many ways similar to the sort of thing he was used to in England, but with some uniquely local aspects. The course at Happy Valley was restricted in area and was much more of a circuit than the elongated oval of the English tracks. It made it easier to watch, in fact – the horses were never far distant from the stands.
The horses were foreign imports, bred with local stock in some cases, owned by the track itself for the most part. The jockeys were almost all professionals, some Chinese stable lads who had risen in the world, most of them Australians up from the tracks there for a season or two; there were only a very few of the sons of merchants riding for the thrill of it, as might commonly be found in England.
The main grandstand was restricted to Hong Kong Society and its guests, all correctly dressed in morning attire and doing their best to pretend they were at Ascot. Outside, and outnumbering them one hundred to one, was China – stridently enjoying itself.
Magnus watched, saw tens of thousands in gold and silver changing hands, wondered how much greater a sum was wagered by note of hand or even word of mouth. The crowd was kept in order by the local police, almost all Sikhs, brought in from the Raj for being outside the Chinese nexus of corruption, and standing tall in their turbans, long sticks in their hands but rarely used.
He stood next to Miss Blantyre as they watched the runners parading in the ring, before being mounted and proceeding to the star.
“Tell me, Lord Magnus, how does one determine which horse will win?”
“With extreme difficulty, ma’am. I have no idea which of the dozen circling here will be the winner. One is given to understand that a fortunate few sometimes know in advance which animal will cross the line first, but I am told that most races are honest. The majority of punters – as those who bet are called – rely upon luck, or intuition, I believe. Some few study the horses, riders and owners deeply and lay their bets on what they understand to be a ‘scientific’ basis; I have not heard them to be any richer than the general run of gamblers. As a rule, or so I am told, the bookmakers who take the bets tend to be far richer than the punters who make them. My dear father has explained to me on occasion that the gentleman born has a natural affinity for the blood horse and is therefore better able to forecast the result of races than the common man – but I am afraid that my honoured parent has yet to make his fortune on the track. My brother Eskdale deeply disapproves of the Sport of Kings, of course, which is perhaps fortunate for his finances.”
Miss Blantyre was inclined to be disapproving.
“You are in fact, Lord Magnus, informing me that gambling is purest chance – that the man who places a bet does so in ignorance and relying upon nothing more than luck!”
“Exactly so, ma’am, though I presume that the reverend gentlemen who bet, pray as well. You may note the presence of the Bishop, ma’am.”
She had not identified the Most Reverend gentleman, who was dressed for the occasion in civilian clothes rather than ecclesiastical robes.
“Can it be right, Lord Magnus, that a Spiritual Leader should be prese
nt at a race meeting, setting so poor an example?”
Magnus grinned and said that he hoped they had checked the collection box before he had set out.
She laughed, then realised just how sinful that outburst of mirth must be.
“That, my lord, was not a comment in the best of taste.”
“How can it be, ma’am? The gentleman is a member of the Church of England, and one can accuse the Established Church of many things, but good taste is rarely among them.”
She endeavoured to change the subject, enquiring of the identity of the ‘foreign-seeming’ gentleman who had just claimed Admiral Seymour’s acquaintance.
“Ramrod straight in the back together with waxed mustachios, a soldier and a Prussian, one might suspect. I do not know him. One moment, ma’am.”
Magnus raised an eyebrow to Captain Haddisham and nodded towards the military gentleman.
“Baron von Hildesheim, Lord Magnus. He is, I quote, ‘on a tour of the Far East for the purpose of amusement and education’.”
Magnus turned back to Miss Blantyre.
“The gentleman is a German spy, ma’am. He is going by the name of von Hildesheim, claiming a barony – which may be true, of course.”
She wanted to know what a German spy might be doing in Hong Kong.
“Watching the races, it would seem, ma’am. Probably taking the measure of the squadron on the China Station. Germany is seeking a Treaty Port of its own, with a protected deep-water harbour; their Admiralty will wish to send sufficiently powerful ships when the occasion arises. They will have noted the presence of battleships of the second-class together with a few cruisers and a mass of sloops and gunboats and a few of torpedo boat destroyers and will wish to examine their efficiency, and particularly how many of what sort are available for other than the ordinary run of commerce protection on the Coast.”
The China Station (The Earl’s Other Son Series, Book 1) Page 18