A Place of Birds

by Jane Jackson

  Lowell studied his father. There had to be a catch. ‘Why would you do that?’

  ‘I’ve told you. I want you in the company. You’re my son.’ Joseph sketched an airy gesture. ‘Naturally the schooner would be registered to me until you reach your majority. But what’s a couple of years?’

  ‘Three,’ Lowell corrected.

  ‘Three then. It’s not long. Think of it. Master of your own vessel at twenty-one. How many lads of your age get a chance like that? You’d stay at sea, but you would be working for Hawke & Son. I organise the cargoes: you collect and deliver. A sure market and high profits guaranteed. What more could you ask?’

  For an instant Lowell was tempted. Then he recognised the seductive image for what it was, a mirage. It wouldn’t be his ship, it would be his father’s. And if he joined the company he would be an employee, forfeiting forever his hard-won independence. As for the cargoes, there was only one that guaranteed the return his father quoted.

  ‘No thanks.’ Watching his father struggle with shock then bewilderment, Lowell’s lips twitched in a bitter smile. He had been so sure.

  ‘You owe me, boy,’ Joseph hissed.

  ‘For what?’

  ‘Your mother and sisters’ lives. They died because of you.’

  Lowell flinched. ‘No.’

  ‘No? When Guinivere was lost your mother nearly went out of her mind. It was weeks before we knew you were safe. When you came home she begged you, pleaded with you to leave the sea. But did you listen? Did you care? No, you left her weeping and rushed off to join another ship. You’ve always been utterly selfish.’

  ‘Of course I cared,’ Lowell shouted back. To his horror tears needled his eyelids. ‘But I couldn’t give up then. Not after all I’d … I had only just got my promotion. I didn’t know she was going to die. How could I?’ He began to sweat. He had had to bottle up his own grief. His sense of loss had been acute, a physical pain made worse by lacerating guilt. But at sixteen he was a man. A boy might have wept, but for a man to shed tears was shameful. ‘Anyway, don’t I have the right –?’

  ‘Right?’ Joseph spat. ‘Don’t talk to me about rights. What about responsibilities? It was worry about you that caused her ill health. If it hadn’t been for that she and the girls wouldn’t have gone to Hong Kong to visit her sister.’

  ‘That’s not fair. They didn’t go just because of me. The fighting –’

  ‘I don’t want to hear your mealy-mouthed excuses,’ Joseph roared. ‘She’d have come back sooner if she hadn’t been so upset over you. She loved John and the girls, but you were always her favourite. Oh, she was careful not to show it, but I knew. She used to accuse me of being too hard on you. Ha!’ The sound emerged half sob, half manic laugh. ‘Hard? What did I ask? Obedience, that’s all. And perhaps a little gratitude. Was that so much? Don’t you talk to me about slavery. I may have inherited this company, but it has taken over twenty years of hard work, my work, to build it up to what it is today. When you and John were born I dreamed about you one day following in my footsteps.’

  What about our dreams? Lowell wanted to shout, but his father ranted on.

  ‘All that nonsense about you going to sea, I should never have allowed it. A good hiding would have put paid to the whole ridiculous idea. Spare the rod and spoil the child. Well, I did that all right. But for you and your selfishness they would still be alive.’

  Lowell stumbled backwards, trying to allow for his father’s grief, but injustice stung like salt rubbed into a still-raw wound. ‘I miss them too,’ he cried. ‘It wasn’t my fault. It wasn’t. If you want someone to blame, take a long hard look in the mirror.’

  Joseph thrust his face forward. ‘What the hell do you mean by that?’

  ‘My mother died because of opium,’ Lowell shouted. He could feel himself shaking, knew the tremors were visible, inviting mockery. Get out, his inner voice urged. But he couldn’t, not until he had faced his father with the truth. ‘Opium, the cargo that has made you and all the other merchants on the China Coast so wealthy. The Chinese don’t want it in their country. But you don’t care about that. You don’t care about the damage it does or the misery it causes. You’re only interested in the huge profits. It was in retaliation against people like you that the Viceroy sent poisoned flour into Hong Kong’s British Compound.’

  Joseph rounded furiously on his son. ‘You’re blaming me? I’m a merchant. To stay in business a merchant trades whatever cargo pays best. The so-called resistance is just political hot air. Even the mandarins who are employed to stop the opium traffic turn a blind eye.’

  ‘Why not?’ Lowell yelled, ‘you pay them enough.’

  ‘The Chinese buy the stuff, don’t they? I simply supply a demand. That’s what trade is all about.’

  ‘You’re not supplying a demand,’ Lowell was scathing. ‘You’re creating one. You blame me for my mother’s death, yet you are killing people just as surely as if you had put a gun to their heads and pulled the trigger.’

  His father’s face contorted in grief and rage. ‘What about the Viceroy? What he did, putting arsenic in the flour, was murder. Your mother’s dead, for Christ’s sake. So are Anne and Elizabeth. But I’ll have those yellow bastards. One way or another, I’m going to make them pay.’

  ‘Father, don’t. Can’t you see what’s happening? This is destroying you.’

  Joseph gave a bark of laughter, his eyes fever-bright. ‘Destroying? Don’t be ridiculous. I’m one of the most successful men in Shanghai.’

  ‘Your wife is dead, so are your two daughters. Your eldest son is an alcoholic. How much more success do you want? For pity’s sake, Father, what does it take to make you realise? Opium brings catastrophe to everyone involved with it.’

  ‘Superstitious nonsense,’ Joseph scoffed. ‘You’ll be talking about curses next.’

  Lowell tried once more. ‘You don’t need to deal in the drug. You could still make a good profit trading silk or porcelain, or even jade.’

  ‘You insolent young rip,’ Joseph bellowed. ‘How dare you tell me how I should run my business. Who do you think you are? Other men have sons who are loyal, sons they can be proud of. What did I spawn? A drunk and a coward.’ His mouth curled in disgust.

  A coward? Clenching his teeth Lowell stared at the floor until his vision cleared and he could trust himself to speak. When he looked up his face was expressionless. ‘Then there’s nothing more to be said, is there?’ He turned to the door.

  ‘I will not tolerate this defiance,’ Joseph shrieked. ‘I demand you obey me. Come back here at once. Lowell. If you walk out … I warn you, you’ll be sorry –’

  Striding through the outer office where rows of clerks, accountants, and keepers of records sat at high desks, Lowell silently repeated every swearword he could think of. By concentrating on the rage and indignation burning in his gut he was able to bury the hurt and his shattered hopes of reconciliation. He pushed them deep

  Chapter Fifteen

  ‘So everything went off all right?’ Molly enquired as they approached the Seamen’s Home.

  Susanna nodded. ‘It was a day we’ll all remember.’ Though some of us would prefer not to.

  ‘All back to normal then.’

  ‘We should be by tomorrow. My parents have gone to Truro today. Father’s got a business meeting and mother is visiting Friends who missed the wedding because of illness.’

  ‘So young master William’s in the office on ’is own?’ Molly grinned. ‘That’ll please’n.’

  Susanna shook her head. ‘He’s had to take some urgent papers up to Fowey. Father’s got a schooner up there due out on the evening tide.’

  ‘I s’pose he’s sailing up? Take’n ages to go round by the road.’

  ‘He’d much rather have ridden, or taken the coach. He doesn’t like the water.’

  ‘Well, at least ’e got a nice calm day.’

  Though the dispensary was empty, a loosely covered enamel saucepan bubbled on the gas ring. She hoped it would b
e Edward and not Lewis who returned. Soon, very soon, she was going to have to stand up to her parents for what she believed in. This was too important for subterfuge and deceit. She peered at the contents of the various containers, delighted at the speed of her progress.

  One of the glass beakers on the bench contained an aromatic resinous-scented liquid she recognised as tincture of Myrrh. Inhaling its fragrance she recalled tales of the exotic lands from which it came: India, Arabia, and eastern Africa, and was suddenly overcome with restless yearning.

  Unsettled – for wasn’t her greatest wish to be with Edward? – she concentrated on recalling the medicinal application of myrrh. Mixed with six ounces of decoction of bark and half a teaspoonful of diluted sulphuric acid it provided great relief for chronic sore throat.

  Collecting her writing case, she crossed the passage to the ward where Molly, wearing a starched white apron, was busy changing bedlinen. She greeted Colin with a smile.

  ‘You look better every time I see you.’ There were still violet shadows beneath his eyes but his gaze was clear and in his cheeks faint pinkness had replaced the waxy pallor.

  He grinned cheekily. ‘Well, I would, wouldn’ I? Compared with this lot.’

  ‘That’s enough from you, my lad,’ Molly bundled dirty sheets into a basket. ‘Any more lip and you’ll feel the back of my hand. You needn’t think you’re too big neither.’

  ‘Aw, Ma,’ Colin rolled his eyes. ‘I didn’ mean nothin’ by it.’ He winked at Susanna, reminding her of William at the same age.

  Molly spread a fresh sheet on the bed in the far corner while its haggard-faced occupant slumped on a wooden chair, cradling one heavily bandaged arm and fist against the blue and white hospital issue night-shirt. ‘Don’t you go judging these men by what they look like in ’ere, or by the moanin’ they do.’ She flipped the blankets neatly into place. ‘’Tis a known fact men are worse than babies when they’re ill. But they’ve seen more strange places than you’ve ’ad ’ot dinners, and don’t you ferget it.’

  ‘No, Ma,’ Colin said meekly.

  Susanna was astonished at her chaperone’s transformation. On her first visit Molly had been shaking with nerves. Now, less than a month later, she ran the ward with the confidence of someone who’d been doing the job for years.

  ‘Can I get back in now?’ the patient whined. ‘’Tis bleddy cold out ’ere.’

  ‘You jest hold yer noise.’ Molly frowned at him. ‘You been out to the whatsit this morning?’ When he didn’t answer she pointed towards the door. ‘What are ’ee waiting for? I got better things to do than run back and forth with a po. ’Ere, ’ang on a minute.’ With a martyred sigh she pulled one of the thin grey blankets off the newly made bed and wrapped it around his shoulders. ‘Go on, my ‘andsome. The quicker you’re gone the sooner you’ll be back.’

  Mumbling to himself the seaman shuffled off down the ward as Molly took fresh linen from the metal trolley and patted the huddled mound in the next bed. ‘Come on, my bird. Up you get. Doctor’ll be along soon.’

  Susanna shivered with delightful anticipation. ‘Good morning, Mr Roberts,’ she beamed. ‘How are you today?’

  ‘Morning, Miss Elliot. Not too bad at all.’ He tapped his chest. ‘’Tidn paining me half so much. I dunno what the doctor’s giving me, but ’tis working a treat.’

  ‘Are there any letters you would like me to write?’ As he shook his head her relief was tempered with guilt.

  ‘I think I’ll wait till I’ve heard from my Mary. Don’t mind, do you, miss? I wouldn’t like you to think I’m not grateful –’

  ‘Of course I don’t mind.’ She was desperate to return to the dispensary. ‘I’ll see you again soon.’

  As she left the ward clutching her writing case she touched the hidden medallion. An instant’s foreboding made her hesitate outside the dispensary. Ignoring it she opened the door. Edward was at the bench and glanced up as she entered.

  ‘Good morning, Susanna. I trust you are well?’

  ‘Good morning, Edward. I’m –’ Happy to be sharing this earth, this work, this hour, with you. ‘I’m fine, thank you. I hope I find you the same?’

  ‘A little tired, but –’ he shrugged, ‘it is rare for a doctor to be anything else.’

  She started to close the door.

  ‘I think it might be wiser to leave it ajar.’ His head was bent over the powder he was grinding.

  ‘Oh. Of course.’ Abashed, it occurred to her that he was concerned she should not be compromised and her heart gave a great leap. ‘I was thinking,’ she clasped unsteady hands in front of her as she moved toward the bench, ‘if you delegated certain tasks to an assistant you might not get quite so tired.’

  ‘Possibly.’ He poured two teaspoonfuls of chloroform onto the powdered camphor. ‘But finding someone suitable isn’t easy. Now,’ he indicated the various beakers, pipkins, and mortars. ‘Tell me what conditions these preparations might be used for.’

  Scanning the array once more Susanna repeated the deductions she had reached earlier. ‘And I would guess that this –‘ she picked up a glass measure and sniffed its contents ‘– is almond mixture to treat what is left of Mr Roberts’ cough.’

  ‘That’s quite astonishing, Susanna. You have a remarkably retentive memory.’

  ‘Thank you. But it wasn’t all that difficult.’ As she recognised the vanity in her remark her colour deepened. ‘I mean I find it all so engrossing it’s not like work at all.’

  ‘Well, I can only say I am most impressed.’

  She turned the measure in her hands. ‘I do so want to be of real help to you, Edward.’

  ‘And you are.’

  Susanna did not doubt he meant it. But she had hoped for something more. New warmth in his tone perhaps? A look that acknowledged the special bond between them? Could it be that she had missed it? Or was he anxious she should not feel compromised.

  The thought cut through the fog of doubt and confusion like a shaft of bright sunshine. That would explain so much. Such as why, since the examination, he had scrupulously avoided even an accidental touch. And why, when their eyes met, he was always first to break the contact by immediately shifting his gaze or turning his head.

  Poor Edward. So much effort for her sake. But he couldn’t know it was the last thing she wanted – not unless she told him. Not as boldly as that of course. She certainly didn’t want him to think her fast. She gathered her courage.

  ‘I imagine the pressures of your work have been much harder to bear since – since your bereavement.’

  She sensed rather than saw his sidelong glance. ‘I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to upset you.’

  ‘I’m not upset. The simple fact is that my late wife and I never discussed my work. The subject did not interest her.’

  ‘Oh. So if – when – you contemplate marrying again –’

  ‘I shall not marry again.’

  ‘Not yet, of course. It is still –’

  ‘Not ever.’

  The measure slipped from Susanna’s nerveless grasp and fell onto its side. For an instant she simply stared at the viscous mixture forming a small pool on the bench. ‘You can’t mean that,’ she whispered.

  ‘You must give me credit for knowing my own mind, Susanna,’ he reproved, blending the camphor and chloroform. ‘I have been married. I love my two children, but I do not want more. Mrs Bennett runs the domestic side of my life with great efficiency and the children are very fond of her. So though I appreciate your concern I really have no need of it.’

  As her precious dreams cracked and crumbled, scattering like dust on the cold wind of reality, she gripped the bench for support. This wasn’t the way it was supposed to be. ‘Have you no feeling for me at all?’

  ‘You are a young woman of rare qualities whom I hold in great regard. I hope one day you will meet someone worthy of all you have to offer.’

  Her hands were ice-cold and sweating. She wanted to turn the clock back, make it not have happened. ‘Edward –


  ‘Susanna, I beg you, stop now.’ He still didn’t look up. ‘Words once uttered cannot be recalled. Do not say what you might later regret.’

  ‘Regret?’ She repeated incredulously. ‘That I love you?’

  At last he raised his head, but his eyes were guarded and unreadable. ‘I’m sure you sincerely believe that is what you feel. But young women sometimes allow emotion to eclipse common sense. Had you given the matter proper consideration you would have realised that there is no possibility of anything other than friendship between us. All else aside, you are a Quaker, I am a Catholic. I could not, nor would I ever, renounce my religion. Were I to consider remarriage which, as I have said, is not my intention, I would expect my intended bride to belong to the Church of Rome.’ She stared at him, agonised. ‘Is it not true that if you were to marry outside the Society you would be disowned?’

  ‘Yes.’ Her chin quivered. ‘But I am already an outsider, both to my family and among the Friends.’ This was the first time she had actually put it into words. Doing so clarified everything. Gathering all her courage she raised her eyes to his. ‘Edward, with you beside me I could face anything.’

  Visibly shaken he turned away. ‘I’m sorry. I cannot accept that responsibility.’

  The hope that had sustained her through months of family conflict withered and died. She saw with drenching clarity that Edward didn’t love her, and considered her love for him an embarrassment. She had made a complete fool of herself.

  While she shrivelled inside her face flamed. Perspiration oozed from every pore. She wanted to die.

  He cleared his throat. ‘I think – under the circumstances – I’ll send Albert for a cab to take you home. Don’t worry about Mrs Treneer. I’ll tell her you developed a headache.’ His compassion made it even worse.

  ‘No, no cab,’ she said quickly before he could move. Her face felt stiff and her head had begun to pound. ‘If you interrupt Albert now it will put him behind with his jobs. Besides I prefer to walk.’ To wait while a cab was summoned would only prolong the agony. All she wanted was to get away, to run home to the blessed privacy of her room where no one could see her shame. As she took down her cloak Edward automatically started forward to assist her.