The Forbidden Orchid

by Sharon Biggs Waller

  “Thank you,” I said, taking a sip of the tea. The floral taste was surprisingly sweet and very comforting. “What is it?”

  “It’s called gòngjú huā chá,” Ching Lan said. “Chrysanthemum tea. It will help with your dizziness and your anger.”

  I jerked my head up. “Anger? Who is angry?”

  Ching Lan pointed at me. “You, you are angry.”

  “Wherever did you get that idea?”

  Ching Lan lifted her hands palms up. “Wah! From your angry face.” She pulled a face, her mouth turning down and her eyes widening. “Like that.”

  “She’s got the look of you, Elodie,” Alex said. I could hear the laughter in his voice.

  So now I was a figure of fun. It was on the tip of my tongue to tell them all to go to the devil when Miss Winslow waved her hands. “Everyone out. Let her rest.”

  Papa paused at my bedside for a moment and squeezed my hand. “Elodie, I think you should remain here. There’s still a week’s journey before we reach the area where the Queen’s Fancy is, and no more medical missionaries on the way. Should you take ill again, I wouldn’t know what to do with you. Miss Winslow will look after you.”

  “No, Papa. Wait for me. I’m sure I’ll be well enough to go.”

  “We’ll see.”

  I tried to get out of the bed to follow him, to prove that I could, but my limbs would not obey me. They felt sluggish, as though I had not used them for a very long while. I had no time for this. “Alex!”

  “Rest, Elodie,” he said, and then he and Ching Lan left.

  “Stay put,” Miss Winslow said.

  “Please,” I said, desperately hoping that Miss Winslow would take my side over my father. “Don’t let them leave without me.”

  “Don’t worry. I won’t.” She sat on the bed next to me. “Now that they are gone, may I beg a favor of you, Elodie?”

  “Of course.”

  “I need you to ask your father something in front of Ching Lan. You see, Chinese men expect women to remain silent, and I want her to see that doesn’t need to be the case. The best way I’ve found to bring about change for women without rocking boats is to show them there is another way. Would you do that for me?”

  Ching Lan didn’t seem unhappy to remain quiet in front of men. There was the man she refused to serve, but then I realized she’d never actually spoken to him. “Is there something specific you want me to ask him?”

  “Ask if Ching Lan can go with you on your journey to find your plants. Her parents would let her go, I’m sure, because she could collect medicinal herbs for the shop, but they wouldn’t agree unless your father gives his permission.”

  My heart sank. Ching Lan’s presence would only serve to make a fraught journey worse. But I didn’t want to refuse Pru. She’d been so kind to help me and speak up for me. “I’ll ask my father,” I said reluctantly, “but I don’t think Ching Lan wants anything to do with me.”

  “You mustn’t let her manner put you off. She’s facing a nightmare of change right now, and it’s made her ill-mannered.”

  “You mean that barbarous inspection?”

  “Chances are she will never see the outside of the Forbidden Palace for the rest of her life. If chosen, she’ll be shut away in the harem, amongst other concubines. Doing nothing. Simply sitting and waiting for the emperor or one of his brothers to mark her name on a slate as his choice for the evening. Ching Lan is very important to me, almost a sister, you understand? She has only a handful of weeks left before she must leave for Peking. She loves the natural world. I can’t imagine her away from it.”

  “Can’t anyone do anything?” I asked.

  “I intervened when she was thirteen—but that only raised the ire of the mandarins. In Foochow I made a nuisance of myself about these sorts of things concerning the rights of girls, and the mission society asked me to leave. The war had left many Chinese suspicious of Westerners, and I’m afraid I was making it worse. I had to shut my little school down. I have to tread very lightly now. My medical work is important to me, and so I must close my mouth when it comes to political matters. There are certain things that are not for me to change, and I’m learning that.”

  No matter how hard I tried I couldn’t see Ching Lan in that life. I knew what it felt like to be discounted and shut away, to be someone who longed for adventure.

  “If she could have an adventure to remember, I think her life in the palace would be bearable,” Miss Winslow said.

  I nodded. “I’ll ask Papa if she may come.”

  “Good. That’s settled.”

  She noticed me looking at her outfit. “Odd little number, isn’t it? It’s called a bloomer suit. It helps me get about in these Chinese saddles.”

  “I like it,” I said. “I don’t have anything suitable for riding, and it looks just the thing.”

  “I have them made for me in Foochow. I can let you have one. Consider it a wedding present.”

  “Thank you!” I said. “You’re very kind.” In actual fact, Miss Winslow was immensely generous. I’d known her only a few minutes and she was nearly giving me the clothes off her back. I admired her. She looked as though she lived her life exactly as she wanted to; even though she’d been pushed out of her school, she’d found another place to thrive. I wondered what sort of confidence a person had to have to be able to do such a thing.

  She knelt on the floor and undid the clasps of a heavy wooden trunk. “I have some skirts and blouses I don’t wear anymore. They aren’t much in the way of fashion, I’m afraid, but I do believe they will hold you in good stead. You’re taller than I, but I think a shorter hem would do you better in the forest and hills.” She lifted several blouses out and set them on the floor. Next to them she added two cotton skirts.

  “Are there other Westerners here in town, Miss Winslow?” I asked.

  “Oh, please, call me Pru, do,” she said. “Miss Winslow makes me sound like a governess. And in actual fact it’s Mrs. Winslow, which is even worse because I haven’t seen my husband in years. Still in London, I suppose.”

  “Do you miss your husband?”

  She put her finger to her cheek pretending to consider. “No. Absolutely not,” she replied. “He was a brute and a scoundrel, and I couldn’t get far enough away from him. I left when Miss Nightingale called for nurses to join her in the Crimea, you see. And then I never went home. Now, to answer your question, I’m the only Westerner for miles and miles. It’s been . . .” She thought, her pretty nose scrunched up. “Oh, two years since I’ve seen another white woman. Other missionaries come through here every so often, but zealots, mostly. Absolutely dreary company. The Americans are the worst of the lot.”

  “Miss Winslow . . . Pru. Do you know about Collis Brown’s Chlorodyne?”

  “Of course. I carry it with me everywhere. It’s very good for treating pain. Why?”

  “A doctor back home made us give it to our mother after she had our little sister. She was very sad afterward and couldn’t rise, so he said it would soothe her nerves. But he made her take it for months and I thought it was harming her, so I poured it out. The doctor wasn’t happy about it. I wondered what you thought. Did I do the right thing?”

  Pru’s face buckled with anger. “Clever girl! You were quite right to pour it out. Chlorodyne’s main ingredient, morphine, is an opium derivative and far more addictive. It is truly a wonderful painkiller, but sometimes it kills pain, physical and emotional, too well. And therein lies the problem. It must be administered carefully and for short amounts of time, otherwise a person can become habituated.”

  I knew it. I knew that Chlorodyne would hurt Mamma. I hoped that Violetta continued to dump the medicine out and didn’t fold under the steely gaze of Dr. Thumpston.

  Pru went over to a cupboard and took out a bundle of cloth and a linen drawstring pouch. “Now, I wouldn’t be doing you any service
as a doctor whatsoever if I let you light out into the wilderness unprepared.” She handed me the cloth. “For your monthlies. And don’t try to wash them. Throw them on the fire. You don’t want animals slinking round.” She handed me the pouch. Inside was an assortment of small sponges with ribbons attached.

  “Not for washing,” she said. “I’m assuming you know how babies are made?”

  I nodded, feeling ridiculously self-conscious once again.

  “Now, don’t look that way. It’s best to know what lies ahead and what you can do about it. When Alex lived with me, I made sure in no uncertain terms that he knew what part he played, too.

  “Those sponges stop babies getting made. I don’t think you and Alex are in any position at the moment to bring a baby into the world. Later when you have a home of your own and when Alex has found work, when life is calmer for you, a baby will be a wonderful thing. I know this doesn’t make me a very popular person in most people’s eyes, but I have seen for myself how a birth at the wrong time can be devastating.”

  Pru went on to explain how to use them. But I felt like a fraud as I listened to her. There was little chance of me ever needing to use them with Alex.

  She paused in her explanation. “What is it? Have I overstepped the mark?”

  “No, of course not. I very much appreciate this. It’s just . . . Alex and I haven’t . . .”

  Understanding dawned on her face. “You haven’t lain together yet? Well, I’m sure it’s simply a logistics thing. I’m not sure I would have liked to spend my wedding night in the Chinese wilderness, either.”

  I shook my head. “It’s not because of that. Our marriage is in name only.”

  Pru listened carefully as I explained how our marriage occurred. Her friendly expression faded.

  “What is it?” I asked.

  She put the sponges back into the pouch and pulled the string taught. “Has Alex said anything to you of his past?”

  “Only that he was an orphan.”

  She nodded, thinking. “Yes, well. Ching Lan and I found him in the streets. He was very unwell—near death, in fact. The little dog snarled at anyone who came near him except Ching Lan. We brought him back to the school and nursed him to health. Ching Lan wouldn’t leave his side. The two are like brother and sister to one another.” She hesitated. “Alex has had a very hard time of it through his childhood.”

  “Can you tell me what? One of the sailors on the ship said something awful about him before we left. He said he’s made of terrible things, but this sailor is an unkind man, and I’m sure he means Alex harm. Was there a reason he had to stow away on the Osprey?”

  Pru’s hands paused in her task. “Stowed away? Alex stowed away? I found Alex a job at another mission, a good job, before I left Foochow, three years ago. What was he doing on a ship?”

  “I don’t know. He only told me he was desperate to leave China. I don’t understand why that would be. He seemed so happy to see Ching Lan and then you.” I’d only known Miss Winslow for a handful of moments, but if I had to live in China, I would be happy to share a home with her.

  “What sort of ship is the Osprey?” she asked.

  “A tea clipper.”

  She nodded absentmindedly, thinking. “That’s a kind of ship always in motion, always on the sea, very few ports of call.”

  “The captain adopted him as his son, but because of the circumstances of our marriage, Alex had to leave the ship. His father seemed very upset about it.”

  From out the open window I heard Alex and Ching Lan speaking to one another in Chinese, their conversation peppered with laughter. Miss Winslow rose and went over to the window to watch them. Her shoulders were tense; the pouch hung loosely from the tips of her fingers. When she turned back to me, her eyes were filled with sorrow.

  “Pru, please tell me what is wrong with Alex?”

  She sighed. “I cannot. I’m sure Alex will come to tell you in his own time.” She tucked the pouch in amongst my things and took my hand. Her hands were tan and rough-looking, the nails bitten to the quick, the kind of hands used to manual labor. “I can tell you this: I’ve never known Alex to be anything but honorable and kind. His situation in his prior life gives him the rare ability to understand and empathize with people, but it also makes him vulnerable to those who might not have his best interests at heart. Be patient with him. I’m sure all will turn out well.”

  Miss Winslow left me to rest, but I couldn’t. I lay staring up at the beamed ceiling. Secrets, secrets. Seems everyone has a secret, Mr. Howell had said. I had always assumed that men went merrily about their lives, able to choose their own destinies. But when I had chosen to stow away, I had no understanding that the world could be like that storm I’d experienced on the sea—death lying just under the surface, biding its time until it built into a wave and sank the boat.

  I FELT WELL ENOUGH TO RISE LATER THAT AFTERNOON. I FOLLOWED voices from the front of the house and found everyone in a little sitting room. Alex smiled and stood up when I came in, and I went over and sat next to him.

  The room was lovely, with Oriental hangings on the wall and furniture fashioned from bamboo and upholstered with colorful cushions. Papa was inspecting Pru’s books overflowing on a single shelf. I saw some of Violetta’s favorites, Wuthering Heights and Northanger Abbey, and the sight of them filled me with homesickness.

  “Would you like some tea, Elodie?” Pru offered. “I’m afraid I don’t have much to offer in the way of libation. I’ve had all the whiskey ages ago, and it takes ever so long to get supplies from Foochow. I feel quite guilty taking up space with bottles and silly whatnots when medicine is more important.”

  But before I had the chance to reply, the manservant came into the room and said the mandarin was in his sedan chair out front of Pru’s house, waiting to speak to her. She exchanged a curious look with my father. “Whatever could he want? He never comes to see me.” She dropped her boots to the floor and stood up. She looked visibly shaken, and I thought of how she said she had to step lightly where the women of the village were concerned. Perhaps she had trodden on someone’s toes.

  Papa stood. “I’ll go along with you. He’s probably looking for me. He wasn’t at the yamen earlier, and I’d left before he returned to come to Elodie. I left word that I’d be at the medical missionary’s.”

  What if what Mr. Howell said was true, and the mandarin had heard of Papa’s smuggling? What if he wanted him arrested? But no. Opium was legal now, Mr. Howell had said so.

  I crossed to the window to watch, followed swiftly by Ching Lan and Alex.

  “Do you know this man?” I asked Ching Lan.

  “Of course. He only comes to visit when he has something important to say,” Ching Lan said, peering out from behind the curtain. “Otherwise people must go to him.”

  “Pru does not look happy,” Alex said.

  By the looks of his conveyance, the mandarin was an important figure. He sat inside a red silk–covered sedan chair, the arms of which were carved with ornate figures and made not of bamboo but of a very dark wood, perhaps ebony. The mandarin’s head was covered with a black, dish-like hat that rose to a point and was topped with a red bead. A long black pigtail ran down his back. When he lifted his arm to gesture, the sleeves of his robe were so long that they obscured his hands completely. He addressed Papa through the window. Papa replied and then stepped back from the sedan. I saw Pru speak with him briefly and then the two returned to the house.

  We turned from the window. “What did he say, Papa?” I asked.

  “The mandarin came to warn us. He said there was a Westerner that came through a few days ago who made threats against him and laid hands on him. This is very bad business. Very bad indeed because not every mandarin is so forgiving. Such behavior can tar us all with the same brush.”

  “Why did he threaten him?” Alex asked.

  “Apparen
tly, the Westerner wanted the mandarin to delay our soldiers and keep us here for several days so the man could get a jump on the orchid. The mandarin isn’t one to be threatened or bought off, and when the Westerner tried to do so, he told him to leave.” Papa hesitated. “The man had a hook for a hand. Luther Duffey is this Westerner, and he’s well ahead of us. He’s trying to blaze a path of terror in front of us to prevent us from traveling.”

  “I know this man as well,” Pru said. “He came to me a few days back, said he was a missionary. He wanted me to treat him for syphilis. I don’t have that kind of medicine on hand; it requires arsenic or mercury, and I can’t get them easily. He got very angry with me and I had to ask him to leave.”

  “Did he have a scar, Pru?” I asked. “Across his cheek?”

  “Yes. A bad one, too. I’m not sure it healed very well.”

  In some ways I was happy that the scar hadn’t healed, because maybe it would make him think twice about harming someone, but then I felt guilty again. What right did I have to scar another person?

  “We must leave as soon as dawn breaks,” Papa said. “Do you happen to know if someone is trading mules and horses? The last time I came through here it was a man called Yan Sing.”

  She nodded. “He is. How many do you need?”

  “Two horses and three mules,” Papa replied. “For tomorrow at sunrise.”

  “Can’t we leave now?” I asked.

  “We daren’t. It’s too dangerous,” Papa said. “Tigers hunt at night, and the horses will attract them to us.”

  Pru called out, and the manservant reappeared. She spoke to him for a moment, and then he nodded, bowed, and left. “My man will sort the horses and mules out for you. He’ll make sure you get quality mounts. Yan Sing has a string of dreadful ponies he rents to people he doesn’t like, and they won’t go forward for love nor money. They huddle up in a knot if you try to take them away from the lead horse. Impossible.”