A Place of Birds

by Jane Jackson

  ‘Excuse me,’ Lucy called to a man crossing the courtyard. He hesitated then came towards them.

  He made no move to open the gate but spoke through it. ‘Can I help you?’

  ‘We are missionaries,’ Meredith announced. ‘We’ve just arrived from England and we’re looking for the China Inland Mission.’

  ‘You’ve come to the wrong place.’

  ‘We know that,’ Meredith snapped, ‘the driver doesn’t underst –’

  ‘Hush, dear,’ Lucy cut in quietly. ‘The driver must have brought us here for a reason.’ She turned back to the man. ‘Could you tell us where we might find Mr Hudson Taylor?’

  ‘I’m afraid I have no idea.’

  ‘You must have heard of him,’ Meredith protested. ‘Doctor James Hudson Taylor? The founder of the China Inland Mission –’

  ‘I know who he is,’ the man interrupted. ‘But I can’t tell you where he is. Since his sad loss – you are aware that his wife died?’

  Lucy nodded. ‘A tragedy indeed.’

  He clicked his tongue. ‘A miserable business. Anyway, he might well have gone upriver to Anqing. I believe that is his furthest outpost.’

  ‘What about the CIM Mission here in Shanghai?’ Lucy pressed.

  ‘There isn’t one. Not any more.’

  As Meredith’s clutching fingers tightened on her arm Lucy stroked the white knuckles. ‘I don’t understand. Why isn’t there?’

  ‘The main reason was the change of government in England last year. Hudson Taylor’s part in the Yangchow riot gave Lord Clarendon the perfect excuse to try and disband the CIM.’

  ‘It hasn’t succeeded?’ Lucy’s face puckered in anxiety. ‘No, they won’t get rid of him that easily. I don’t agree with his methods, but one can’t help admiring his courage. He still has missions at Hangchow and Chinkiang as well as the one at Anqing. You’ll have to try one of those.’

  ‘Could you possibly allow us to stay here for a few days?’ Lucy said. ‘Just until we can arrange transport –’

  ‘Do you have letters of accreditation?’

  ‘Well, no. You see, we –’

  ‘Oh dear. I should have guessed. More amateurs.’ His manner hardened to barely concealed annoyance. ‘I can’t help you. We only accept missionaries sponsored by an official body at home. This isn’t an hotel, you know.’

  Puce with indignation Meredith leaned forward. ‘Now just a minute, my good man –’

  As Lucy grabbed one of her arms Susanna caught the other and drew her back against the seat.

  ‘Perhaps you’d be kind enough to tell me where I might find Mr Thomas Hanbury?’ Lucy enquired politely.

  ‘In Italy,’ the man replied. ‘He left Shanghai over a year ago.’ With an abrupt nod he turned and walked swiftly away.

  ‘What are we going to do?’ Meredith wailed. ‘Everything’s going wrong. Do something, Lucy. This is all your fault. You would insist we came.’

  Flinching as if from a slap Lucy swallowed audibly. ‘I’m so sorry, Meredith. Please don’t be upset.’

  ‘Why shouldn’t I be upset? We’re in a strange country where we don’t know anyone. Mr Hanbury might have helped us but he’s gone. There’s no China Inland Mission. Nothing is the way I expected –’

  ‘Perhaps,’ Susanna interrupted, realising Meredith was on the brink of hysteria. ‘The best thing we can do right now is find an hotel. At least we’d have a roof over our heads and a bed for the night while we work out our next move.’

  ‘Oh what a good idea,’ Lucy flashed Susanna a brief smile of gratitude.

  ‘I don’t know why you didn’t think of it before,’ Meredith complained.

  Two hours later, having enjoyed her first hot bath in three months, Susanna sat at the dressing table of her third-floor room overlooking the waterfront, the brush in her hand momentarily forgotten as she stared at her reflection. She still found it difficult to relate to the image she saw: wide green eyes, skin unfashionably golden and glowing from exposure to sun and sea air, mahogany-dark hair tumbling over her shoulders springing into curls as it dried.

  Over clean underwear she wore a plain white cotton wrapper fastened around her slim waist with a tie-belt. A few items from her now-empty trunk lay on the bed. The rest had been taken by the chambermaid to have the salt water and creases of the three-month voyage removed. Through the interconnecting door that stood ajar she heard Lucy helping Meredith into bed.

  ‘I shan’t sleep, Lucy. My nerves are in shreds. What are we going to do?’

  ‘Put our faith in God,’ Lucy answered simply. ‘He brought us safely across thousands of miles of ocean. He won’t desert us now. Try to sleep. When you wake we’ll go downstairs and have a meal.’

  ‘Sleep? How can I possibly sleep? I’ve got a terrible headache.’

  ‘That will go. Just close your eyes. That’s right. Remember all the plans we made back at Lansdowne Road? We didn’t come all this way to be stopped by a little hiccup.’ There was a mumble and the creaking of bedsprings.

  Susanna turned on the padded stool to see Lucy back in, carefully pull the door almost shut, then lean against the wall and cover her face with her hands.

  ‘Lucy?’

  Forcing a smile Lucy crossed the room to sit on the edge of Susanna’s bed. ‘I’m all right. A little tired that’s all.’

  ‘I don’t know how you stand it.’

  ‘She’s my sister.’ Lucy straightened. ‘Now, what to do next? Whether we go to south to Hangchow or up-river to Anqing it’s going to deplete our financial reserves. We really can’t afford to stay here in the hotel more than two nights, three at the most.’

  ‘Lucy, stop fretting and get some rest while you can.’ Snores issued from the adjacent room.

  ‘What about you?’

  Rising to her feet Susanna discarded her wrapper and took down the one dress the maid had left. ‘I’m going to the British Consulate.’ Raking the brush with swift determined strokes through her almost-dry hair she coiled the thick mass into a neat bun on the nape of her neck and secured it with pins. ‘There’s sure to be someone there who can advise us. Besides, we might have some mail.’

  Lucy started to get up. ‘Maybe I’d better come with you …’

  Susanna gently pressed her down again. ‘What if Meredith should wake and find us both gone? I promise I’ll take care.’

  Sinking back, Lucy stretched out on the counterpane. ‘If you’re sure. I must admit this isn’t quite what I envisaged.’

  Turning away Susanna felt in her purse for the medallion. She looked at the gleaming pink jade, stroking its carved surface between her fingers. The Chinese believed it had magical properties. Would they work for her? She slipped the cord over her head and tucked it down her bodice. Then swinging her cloak over her shoulders she took a last look at Lucy – whose eyes had already closed – and quietly let herself out.

  There were few women on the busy approach to the Consulate, and all were accompanied by husbands or relatives. Some eyed her then looked away, others ignored her. Did the fact that she was alone make her somehow suspect? Surely it was obvious, if only from her drab unfashionable clothes, that she was a newcomer in need of help?

  Inside the elegant building with its ornate ceilings and tall windows she waited her turn among the people queuing for attention, aware of being studied and assessed. In response to glares of disapproval she simply lowered her eyes, smarting and bewildered.

  When eventually she reached the polished wood counter two men, one on either side of her, tried to claim the harassed clerk’s attention.

  ‘Excuse me,’ despite fiery cheeks her voice was firm. ‘I was next.’ She heard shocked murmurs, sensed curious critical eyes.

  ‘Mail, is it?’ the clerk was brisk, already half‑turning to the wooden frame covering most of the wall behind him. ‘Name?’

  ‘Oh … er … Elliot, and Braithwaite,’ Susanna stammered.

  Reaching up to two pigeonholes, the clerk took down several envelopes,
thrust them at her, and turned away.

  ‘Wait,’ she called after him. ‘Please, I need some advice –’ But the clerk had already been cornered by one of the man who had tried to push in front of her. The other counter staff were equally busy. Susanna found herself edged out of the way. Overhearing snatches of conversation she realised many of those present were businessmen whose ventures were suffering through Chinese refusal to observe conditions set out in the Treaties. The consular staff seemed able to do little.

  ‘Diplomacy!’ the irate man barked. ‘While politicians talk, we’re losing money and the Chinese are getting away with murder. They’re laughing at us. Forget talk, what we need is a show of strength. Send the navy up-river with a few gunboats. That would soon teach them.’ Murmurs of assent rippled through the crowded room.

  To her left a door opened. The Indian in the emerald green coat they had passed on the jetty was ushered out by an official obviously senior to those manning the counter.

  ‘… no bail on such a serious charge,’ the official warned.

  ‘But what about my business? I am needing my secretary most badly. He is English. A gentlemanly person. I tell you he did not do this thing.’

  ‘I’m sorry,’ the official was firm. ‘But I’m afraid your staff problem is something you will have to sort out for yourself.’

  Susanna’s mind raced. Just a short while ago she had wondered if the medallion’s magic would work for her. Could this be the answer?

  The official was already disappearing back through the door. Sighing and shaking his head the Indian turned towards the exit.

  God helps them that help themselves. John-Henry’s words echoed in her mind. But not believing in God any more she had only herself to rely on. Lucy was exhausted. And Meredith … she didn’t know what to think about Meredith.

  She might never have an opportunity like this again. If she let it pass for lack of courage …

  ‘Excuse me,’ she stepped in front of him, forcing him to stop. The rustle of disapproving whispers brought a painful flush to her cheeks. Accosting a strange man was brazen behaviour no matter how urgent the reason. She took a deep breath, her heart banging hard against her ribs. ‘Do forgive me, but I couldn’t help overhearing. My name is Susanna Elliot. I –’ She flicked the tip of her tongue over bone-dry lips. ‘I wonder if I might be of assistance? Just temporarily, until your difficulty is resolved?’

  The Indian gazed at her in astonishment. ‘You? But –’

  ‘I am experienced in accounting and book-keeping. For a short period I ran my father’s cargo-broking office. He is Samuel Elliot of Falmouth. I’ve also spent some time in the office of my uncle’s ship yard.’ As his expression changed from astonishment to uncertainty desperation drove her on. ‘Do you know Captain Lowell Hawke?’

  The Indian nodded. ‘Yes, of course. But –’

  ‘We – my cousins and I – have recently come from England on Captain Hawke’s ship. I am sure,’ she crossed her fingers, her hand hidden by her cloak, ‘he will vouch for me. And no doubt you have heard of my kinsman, Captain Charles Elliot, who was British Superintendent of Trade in Canton?’ She ran out of breath.

  ‘Indeed you are having most impressive connections, Miss Elliot, but –’

  ‘More important than my connections is my ability. Believe me, sir,’ her chin rose, ‘I can run your office. And it appears you need someone immediately, which would suit me very well.’

  After a long hesitation he beamed, his teeth very white in his brown face. ‘I think, Miss Elliot, that the gods of good fortune have smiled on me today. I am Soman Prakash from Trivandrum.’ He placed his palms together and bowed over them in the traditional Hindu greeting.

  She offered him her hand shutting her ears to the shocked buzz behind her. Indicating the door he gestured politely for her to precede him. ‘I am exporting jade and silk, and importing spices, ivory and cotton. Please come and meet my wife. She is waiting at my office. It is a short walk only.’

  She had a job. Her heart was beating so fast she felt dizzy.

  ‘What is the matter, Miss Elliot? You are looking most astonished, isn’t it?’

  ‘Forgive me, Mr Prakash. I am surprised, and very grateful. Where I come from a woman wanting to do this type of work faces considerable difficulties.’

  ‘Ah. But we are from Kerala state. My wife is belonging to Nair caste. She is very strong and independent. When she is not giving birth to our children my wife is greatly helpful to me in the business. She is wanting English secretary, not Chinese. She thinks is better for our business when lady customers are talking with English secretary.’ He beamed. ‘She is very clever woman.’ He stopped, indicating a stone-faced building. ‘This is godown.’ Seeing her bewilderment he explained, ‘Godown is what you are calling warehouse. The office is here at the front.’

  Kamala Prakash was small and plump, her pregnancy barely visible beneath a fuchsia-pink sari edged with gold. Her lustrous black hair was braided into a thick plait that hung almost to her waist. She wore gold in her ears and nose, and the caste mark on her forehead was the same colour as her sari.

  As she listened to her husband her brown eyes flickered swiftly over Susanna, then she smiled.

  Releasing the breath she had been holding, Susanna smiled back. ‘When would you like me to start?’

  ‘Can you be coming tomorrow morning?’ When she nodded he waved his hands. ‘That is most excellent.’ His wife touched his sleeve and murmured something. He looked momentarily sheepish. ‘My apologies, Miss Elliot. You accept Mexican dollars? Most Europeans prefer. Shanghai currency very confusing.’

  Gulping, Susanna nodded. ‘Mexican dollars will be fine.’

  Soman and Kamala Prakash both put their palms together and bowed. On impulse Susanna did the same, and repeated the proverb. The couple exchanged a look of surprise and delight.

  ‘Indeed so, Miss Elliot,’ Soman Prakash beamed. ‘Providence has provided most generously.’

  Clutching the mail and Soman Prakash’s card Susanna hurried back to the hotel.

  Chapter Twenty-seven

  Lowell found it hard to conceal his shock. His father had aged twenty years in the last eight months.

  Once well-built and handsome, he had shrivelled to a husk of his former self. He made no attempt to get up, remaining hunched in the high-backed armchair at one side of the fireplace. He picked with claw-like hands at the rug covering his knees. His face was greyish yellow; the bones prominent beneath stretched skin. The once-luxuriant mane of golden hair had grown sparse and straggled over a collar at least two sizes too big. But illness had not mellowed him. Despite the web of lines about his eyes and deep grooves on either side of his mouth his cold gaze was as ruthless and determined as ever.

  ‘Of course I know what’s wrong. I’m not a fool.’ He shifted slightly and this involuntary betrayal of weakness made him even more testy. ‘I’ve seen doctors. There’s nothing they can do.’

  ‘Not here, maybe.’ For the first time Lowell saw past the tyrant of his youth to the damaged, sick and lonely man his father had become. ‘But back in England –’

  ‘Don’t be ridiculous.’ Joseph Hawke’s interruption held more weariness than irritability.

  ‘A steamer could get you there in six weeks.’

  ‘I wouldn’t last the journey,’ was the flat reply. One thin hand crawled across the gross swelling around his middle. ‘It feels like wolves are gnawing at my vitals.’

  ‘Has the doctor given you something for the pain?’

  Joseph Hawke raised his head, his pale watery eyes glittering. ‘Doctors,’ he spat in contempt. ‘What do they know?’ With a jerk of his head he indicated the small table beside his chair on which several articles were covered by a fine linen cloth. ‘I have my own remedy.’ He bared yellow teeth in a gloating smile that raised the hair on the back of Lowell’s neck.

  Lifting one corner of the cloth Lowell saw a smoker’s lamp and a box of lucifer matches, a small block of bla
ck resin, and a porcelain dish half-full of ashes. Also, incongruously, there was a jar of honey and a spoon. Carefully expressionless, he gestured. ‘Why the honey?’

  Joseph Hawke frowned impatiently. ‘Black smoke burns the mouth. I find honey soothing. Never mind that now. I’ve got a job for you.’

  Lowell replaced the cloth. His father’s use of the Chinese term for opium, plus the bowl of ashes ready for mixing with the resin, confirmed he had already reached the stage of addiction where the pure drug alone was not powerful enough to satisfy his craving. Lowell recalled the old Chinese saying: if you wanted revenge on your enemy it was not necessary to strike him, or take him to law. Simply introduce him to opium. But if it dulled the pain …

  ‘Are you listening to me?’ Joseph demanded as Lowell stared sightlessly out of the window. ‘I want you to find your brother and bring him home.’

  Lowell didn’t move. ‘Do you have any idea where he is?’

  ‘He said he was going prospecting for gold at Anqing,’ Joseph sneered. ‘Bloody fool. Anyway, I want you to find him.’

  ‘Why?’ Lowell didn’t love his father. That had died long ago. But seeing him now – a shell of the man he had once been, destroyed by ambition, grief, and an unappeasable lust for vengeance – Lowell was surprised by the depth of his pity.

  ‘I’m dying. You owe it to me.’

  ‘I didn’t mean why do you want me to find him. I meant why do you want him back?

  ‘To run the business of course,’ Joseph snapped. ‘Damn fool question.’

  Lowell turned to face his father. ‘Even if I do find him, which is by no means certain, what makes you think he’ll even listen? He left because you destroyed his confidence. Why would he want to come back?’

  ‘For the money.’ Joseph’s eyes gleamed with malicious pleasure. ‘If he comes back to Shanghai the business is his. Tell him that.’

  ‘He may not come,’ Lowell warned.

  ‘Yes he will,’ Joseph said with absolute certainty. ‘He’ll come because he likes the easy life. It’s what he’s used to. Going off prospecting for gold was just a pathetic stab at proving his independence. But his place is here. He knows it, and he knows I do too. I’ll lay odds he’s already bored and looking for an excuse to return to civilisation. Oh yes,’ he nodded. ‘He’ll come.’