by Jane Jackson
Lowell was curious. ‘What makes you think I’ll give him the message?’
His eyes bright with mockery, Joseph gave a cackling laugh. ‘You’ll do it because it’s my dying wish. And because if you don’t, I’ll leave it to you. With all you’ve got on your conscience you’d hate that.’
Lowell fought his anger. ‘I have a cargo for Kewkiang. I’ll stop at Anqing, but I can’t stay longer than a day.’
‘How long before you leave?’
‘A week, possibly longer. It depends.’
‘All right.’ Joseph’s face suddenly contorted, his eyes losing focus as his body tensed. Sweat formed on his pale forehead, standing out in great drops. With a shaking hand he pushed the cloth aside and reached for the pipe. ‘Now get out.’
Entering the company office provoked a flood of memories. Lowell brushed them aside like so many flies. They no longer hurt. And with that realisation came another. He could not go on as he was. He owned a house but had no home. He was married but had no wife. His voyages had gained him a reputation for bravery and daring. But he knew it to be hollow. For without fear to overcome courage couldn’t exist. Life, death, he hadn’t much cared which side up the coin landed. He still didn’t. But things had to change.
He’d known a lot of women, Many more beautiful, all more sophisticated. But none had affected him like Susanna Elliot. Sending her away had been the hardest thing he’d ever done. She would haunt him forever. But though she deserved better than him, he deserved better than this.
‘So, honoured sir, it is important these matters are addressed.’ Where the compradore’s calm tones had failed to penetrate Lowell’s introspection, his choice of words succeeded.
Focusing on the suave cultured man who provided the link between the suppliers from whom the company bought and the merchants and wholesalers to whom Hawke and Son sold, Lowell pressed his fingertips briefly to his forehead. ‘Forgive me, Tau. My thoughts were … elsewhere. Outstanding accounts, you said?’
The compradore bowed. Beneath the pigtail that fell halfway down his back, he wore a gown of burgundy silk with a round upstanding collar and full sleeves over wide-bottomed trousers and black cloth shoes with thick white-edged soles. Now almost fifty years old, he had been with Hawke and Son for as long as Lowell could remember. Without Tau holding everything together over the past year Hawke and Son would have collapsed. ‘Polite letters of reminder have been sent. But from one there has been no response.’
‘Which merchant is it?’ Lowell held out his hand for a copy of the account.
‘Soman Prakash, honoured sir.’
Lowell nodded. ‘I’ll call on him myself.’
‘Goodness me, Susanna!’ Lucy’s astonishment gave way to uncertain laughter. ‘You have quite taken my breath away.’
‘I surprised myself,’ Susanna admitted frankly. ‘But Mr Prakash was most courteous and his wife was charming. He said our meeting could not have been more timely.’
‘I’m not at all sure this is wise,’ Meredith fretted from the bed where she was propped up on pillows. Her thin hair fell in a narrow braid over one shoulder of her voluminous white nightgown. She fiddled with a button, her face anxious.
Susanna tried not to let her disappointment show. A few words of approval would have meant so much.
‘What you did must have taken great courage.’ Lucy touched Susanna’s shoulder, adding quietly, ‘I can only assume there wasn’t time to come back and discuss your idea with us first.’
Susanna shook her head. ‘It all happened so quickly. No one at the Consulate would listen. They were all too busy. So when I overheard Mr Prakash it was too good an opportunity to miss. Perhaps I shouldn’t have … I certainly shocked everyone. But they aren’t going to help us, are they? And we do need the money.’
‘We do indeed,’ Lucy sighed. ‘It’s just that – and please don’t take this amiss, Susanna – but as new recruits to a mission we are particularly vulnerable to criticism. And that could all-too-easily undermine the work we have come to do.’
Susanna’s hand flew to her mouth. ‘Oh, I never thought –’
‘Well, what’s done is done, so let’s not waste time worrying about it. Look, you read your letters while I help Meredith dress. Then we’ll all go down and have some tea.’
‘Can’t I stay here, Lucy?’ Meredith whimpered. ‘I’m still awfully tired. You could have mine sent up. I really don’t think I’m ready –’
Fighting the surge of impatience by reminding herself how much more difficult it must be for Lucy, Susanna returned to her own room.
She opened her father’s letter first. It wasn’t very long. After thanking God for her mother’s improving health, he had written a few sentences deploring the Thurstan family. Apparently Mrs Thurstan and her daughters had been seen without bonnets.
As she read, Susanna’s hand rose automatically to her own bare head. Perhaps if men had been forced to endured the restricting discomfort they would be less quick to condemn. He ended with the hope that they were all well then added a reminder that it was her duty to repay her cousins’ generosity by working hard in whatever capacity they might require.
Folding the letter Susanna speculated about his reaction when he learned that, to give her cousins precisely the support he advocated, she had found work with an Indian merchant doing the very same job he had refused her back in Falmouth. Might it be wiser not to tell him? But that was cowardice. She had done nothing to be ashamed of. All she wanted was to show that women were capable of living independent of men’s well-intentioned but smothering paternalism.
Seating herself in the cushioned cane chair by the window she opened the second letter. It was from her sister and ran to several pages.
Mr Webber’s business has failed , Frances wrote in her neat script. He was taken ill with what appeared at first to be just a bilious attack. But when his condition worsened, the doctor diagnosed degeneration of the liver. He was confined to bed for several weeks and during that time the bank foreclosed. We do not yet know whether his bankruptcy means he will be disowned by the Friends.
Susanna pictured Mr Webber as she had seen him at family gatherings: in a world of his own, neither overtly drunk nor entirely sober. He had always seemed to her a sad man. She read on.
Mrs Webber has taken the shame of financial ruin very hard and is staying with relatives in Devon. Mr Webber is recovering but remains frail. He no longer drinks and is a most appreciative patient, always grateful for any little kindness. We have begun to know one another quite well. And though I never sought or expected it he has taken me into his confidence. He believes he has always been a disappointment to Richard’s mother. Apparently she had certain expectations which were not fulfilled. And while he is pleased to see Richard doing well, they have never been close. What I am about to write now is most painful and embarrassing.
Picturing Frances on the sofa by the fire, her face tear-stained as she unknowingly tore holes in her handkerchief, Susanna guessed what was to come.
Richard was seen in Quay Hill with a woman of low morals. The person who saw him – I don’t know who it was – reported the matter to Father. As an Elder his duty in such circumstances is to appoint Visitors to call upon the transgressor and warn him about his future conduct. But it put us all in a terrible dilemma. Can you imagine the shame? How could I attend Meeting, knowing everyone would be talking about my husband?
I begged Father to show compassion, for me if not for Richard. And with Mother’s help I prevailed upon him to respond, not as an Elder of the Society, but as Richard’s father-in-law. This he did and reprimanded Richard most severely. So the matter remained within the family. As Mrs Webber was away we did not tell her. I would not be writing of it now except I wanted you to know that the difficulty we spoke of before you left has been overcome.
‘When I learned what Richard had done I am ashamed to say that serenity deserted me. I was so angry and upset, for Mother and Father as well as for myself, that when he
begged me for punishment I needed no great urging to oblige. As a result he was at last able to do his duty as a husband. I confess I find the business wearisome and cannot understand men’s fondness for it. But it appears this is the price women must pay in order to have a husband. So, with the problem now resolved, we need never speak of it again.’
Holding the letter in her lap Susanna gazed down onto the waterfront. Poor, poor Frances.
Entering his house Lowell surprised Marjorie crossing the cool spacious hall. As he dropped his bag she came towards him, her face alight with pleasure.
‘Welcome home, my dear. I’m so pleased to see you.’ Taking his hands she kissed him lightly on the cheek then linked her arm through his. ‘Come and sit down. I’ll order tea.’ She led him towards the drawing room. ‘Have you visited your father yet?’
‘I went straight from the ship,’ Lowell said. ‘Tau sent one of the clerks to the jetty so I was forewarned. But it was still a shock. I’d come to think of him as indestructible.’
Marjorie nodded sympathetically. ‘I call on him every day or so. But you know your father. Illness may bring out the best in some people, unfortunately it has had the opposite effect on him.’
Summoned by the bell a Chinese servant appeared. While Marjorie ordered tea Lowell sank wearily onto the sofa. Resting his head against the crocheted antimacassar he watched Marjorie seat herself with studied grace in a chair opposite and carefully arrange her dress.
‘You look well.’ She had put on weight. Tight lacing beneath her cornflower-blue gown maintained the requisite hour-glass shape, but her chiffon-swathed bosom was plumper and curve of her hip fuller and more rounded than he remembered. Spun-gold hair was drawn back from her rounded face with jewelled combs and piled high in a cascade of curls and ringlets. Her blue eyes, small pink mouth, and milk-and-roses complexion were not unattractive. But she looked more like a porcelain doll than a real woman.
Suddenly a different image filled his mind; wild dark hair caught up in a rough knot, tendrils teased loose by the wind framing sun-gilded cheekbones, a nose dusted with freckles, soft lips untouched by salves and rouges, and emerald eyes a man might drown in.
An image so vivid, so real, that for an instant he couldn’t breathe. Passing a hand across his eyes he focused on his wife. ‘So,’ he forced a smile, ‘apart from visiting my father, what have you been doing to amuse yourself?’ He needed a few moments to put such memories where they belonged – firmly in the past.
‘There has been some excellent shooting this winter.’ Hands neatly folded, Marjorie’s head was angled in a manner that convinced whoever she was talking or listening to they were the sole focus of her interest. This little trick ensured her welcome as a guest and enhanced her reputation as a hostess.
But he wasn’t a guest, damn it. This was his house and he was her husband. He battled to remain calm. ‘And the Amateur Dramatic Society put on a most entertaining play a few weeks ago. Of course the main topic of conversation at the moment is the Shanghai Cup. Franklin Beresford is favourite to win the Breeder’s Trophy. His ponies have run very well this season.’
She glanced round as the tea arrived. ‘Thank you, Chang.’ Setting the tray down the servant left, bowing as he closed the door. ‘Franklin’s giving a party at the Steeplechase Club and we’re invited.’ She set out the cups and saucers. ‘I’m so glad you’re back in time. You’ll be able to catch up on all the news.’
Leaning forward he rested his elbows on his parted knees and raked both hands through his rumpled hair. Feeling it stiff with salt reminded him of –’When is the party?’
‘This evening. That’s why I’m so glad you –’
‘No. Not tonight.’
‘But you enjoy Franklin’s parties.’ Her surprise was genuine. She passed the cup and saucer to him, a faint frown crumpling her alabaster forehead. ‘You’ve always said you glean more information in two hours with Franklin than –’
‘Marjorie, I’ve been at sea for three months.’
‘Exactly.’ she gazed at him in bewilderment. ‘I’d have thought you’d welcome the chance to enjoy some intelligent and interesting conversation after being cooped up on the ship for weeks on end with only the crew for company.’
‘It wasn’t like that. Not this time.’ He couldn’t stop the images tumbling through his mind: Susanna at the table engrossed in her medical books, her head propped on a slim work-worn hand. Susanna bent over a bucket, the sleeves of her drab wool dress rolled up, using her willowy body to shield whatever she was washing from the crew’s gaze. Sitting on the hatch cover writing her journal or watching the sea, her gaze faraway, her lovely face inexpressibly sad. ‘I had three passengers.’
Marjorie’s eyes widened. ‘Really? You don’t normally –’
‘No,’ he rubbed the back of his neck feeling the tension like an iron band across the base of his skull. ‘These were unusual circumstances.’ He had to expunge every memory, every emotion, every response. There was no place for Susanna Elliot in his life. He had duties, commitments. And she – she had her whole life ahead of her. He looked up at his wife. ‘Marjorie?’ his voice was hoarse with desperation. ‘Come to bed with me.’
Her recoil slopped tea over the rim of her cup into the saucer. In any other circumstances he might have laughed. Her face suffused with colour. But it wasn’t the rosy flush of shyness that so often warmed Susanna’s golden skin. This was a surge of shock and fear. It drained away leaving her ashen. With visibly trembling hands she set the fine porcelain carefully down on the tray.
‘I th-thought we had an understanding.’
Uncoiling like a spring he leapt to his feet and paced the room, unnerved by the eruption of savage fury inside him. ‘Did you? I’ve certainly been understanding.’ He bent down his face only inches from hers. ‘For five years. Isn’t it your turn now? Aren’t I entitled to a little understanding from you?’ He straightened up, pushing one hand through his hair in a gesture that betrayed helplessness and frustration. ‘Damn it, woman, I’ve been away two-thirds of a year. I’ve been at sea over three months. Is it so remarkable to want to sleep with my wife?’
‘P-please, L-Lowell, c-calm yourself.’ Her tone mingled chiding and entreaty. Tremors shook her as she wiped her palms over her corseted stomach. ‘You have been in the house less than an hour. I am well aware you have been away for eight months. You must allow me time to adjust. I – I believed we had reached an accommodation over this matter. Now s-suddenly you wish to change everything.’
‘Marjorie,’ Lowell forced himself to speak quietly. ‘This can’t go on. You must see a doctor.’
‘I did,’ she whispered.
His gaze sharpened. ‘What? When?’
She looked away. ‘A-about a year ago. It – it was an extremely difficult interview. I told him I loved you and wanted to be a proper wife. But when I tried to explain my … difficulty he grew impatient. He said I wasn’t expected to enjoy …’ she broke off, the motion of her hands betraying fear and distaste. Lowell felt despair enveloping him like a shroud. ‘But as your wife I had a duty to you. He said I should concentrate on the thought that my acquiescence would, in the fullness of time, be rewarded by motherhood.’
‘Grit your teeth and think of babies?’ Lowell exploded. ‘God almighty! The man’s a complete fool.’
Marjorie raised her head her features slack with relief. ‘Oh, Lowell.’ Against her pallor the rouge on her cheeks stood out in bright mocking patches. ‘I hoped you’d understand. I did try, but –’
‘He’s not the only doctor in the Settlement. You could see someone else.’
Her mouth trembled. Tears spilled over and ran down her face leaving silvery tracks through the powder. ‘I can’t go through that again.’ She swallowed. ‘I know – we both know –’ she was hesitant, voicing their unspoken agreement for the first time, ‘that over the years you have formed certain brief relationships. And I have always appreciated your discretion. Please, can’t we simply go on as we a
re?’
He looked at her for a long moment. ‘No, Marjorie. We can’t.’
Chapter Twenty-eight
Picking up the sheaf of invoices Susanna gazed at the rolls of freshly dyed silk piled on the wooden counter and reverently touched the nearest one. So fine it was almost transparent the dove-grey silk had a pearly luminescence and trickled through her fingers like water. She looked slowly around, enraptured.
Stretching from floor to ceiling, the deep shelves were crammed. And so that customers could see the range of shades available the first few feet of each bolt had been pulled loose to waft and stir on the faintest draught in a shimmering rainbow-hued waterfall of silk.
At the sound of light footsteps and female voices on the walkway outside she glanced towards the door leading through to the rest of the warehouse. Mr Prakash had told her to check the silk that had come from the dye company against his order and their invoice, then separate the rolls for export from those required by shops and private customers here in Shanghai. The remainder was to be placed on the shelf for ladies who came directly to the warehouse, anxious to have first choice of any new shades.
As the two women entered Susanna slipped behind the high-piled counter and peered through the door into the warehouse. The coolies were all busy, Mr Prakash nowhere in sight. He hadn’t mentioned waiting on customers. But in his absence she had little alternative. Unaware of her presence the women were talking.
‘… wonderful evening. I was surprised not to see them there. I know they were invited.’
‘Things aren’t all they might be in that marriage.’
‘In what way? She’s always seemed quite content.’
‘She puts on a good show. But that’s all it is.’
‘What makes you think so?’