Flowers in the Blood

by Gay Courter

  “I feel safer when he is around.”

  “What do you have to worry about?”

  Jonah would never know how much Gulliver's presence allayed the myriad fears that floated in my mind. Memories from my mother's murder, to my experience with the thugs in Patna, to running from Amar mingled with being a woman, a rich woman, in a foreign land. Gulliver's devotion might have been excessive to some, but to me it was most welcome.

  Shrugging, Jonah led me to the waiting sedan chair.

  When we arrived at Government House, we had to wait our turn to be announced. Outside the entryway I looked back toward the Peak, the highest point of the mountain range that formed the backbone of the island, wondering if I could pick out our cottage, but it was lost in a veil of bluish mist. At last they called our names. Light and warmth replaced the bone-chilling gloom of the night air. Fires blazed in every room.

  I was introduced to a selection of public servants, British subjects, and distinguished visitors, as Dinah Salem, the daughter of Benjamin Sassoon. Many present had known my father. A few of the older gentlemen recalled my Uncle Reuben, and some knew Sassoon relations who had settled in Shanghai and even England. Accustomed as I was to having the family name open doors, I had never before witnessed the magic among strangers in another country. Even though everyone was too polite to mention it directly, I could tell there was curiosity about why I was escorted by my brother instead of my husband.

  After seeing that all his guests had arrived, the governor himself became attentive to me. The last time I had talked privately with a governor had been in Darjeeling shortly after my marriage to Silas, I thought with a pang at his memory. Steering me to the front gallery, which offered a splendid view of the town and harbor, Governor Robinson spoke in an accent that was a wistful reminder of Dennis Clifford. “I like it best before the moon has risen. In this haze the small-magnitude stars are not visible, yet you can see some of the larger ones plainly. Below, the air is usually clear, and though the vessels are invisible, their lights remind me of another hemisphere of stars even more numerous than the others. I have no control over the comings and goings of celestial bodies: nevertheless those in that lower firmament are mine to keep in order.”

  I looked at the man to see if he was serious. His rigid demeanor gave no hint of a joke. I managed to hide my disbelief at his pomposity behind a smile he could have taken for feminine deference.

  During dinner, I took my seat between a Lord Hargreaves, who was traveling around the world with his wife, and a Commodore Treadwell. Jonah was seated next to Lady Hargreaves and the wife of the surveyor-general. Gulliver took his station outside with the Chinese servants, who wore long blue gowns, white gaiters, thick shoes with white soles, and had pigtails hanging past their waists.

  “Have you had an opportunity to taste much of the Chinese cuisine?” Lord Hargreaves asked as the lightly seasoned consommé was served.

  “No, only a few tidbits prepared by our houseboy at the Peak.”

  “I must warn you that while some is delicious, there are many items you might find disagreeable. For instance, their delicacies include bird's-nest soup, sharks' fins, and eggs said to be fifty years old.”

  I grimaced. “How do they taste?”

  “The soup is not bad, rather bland actually, and although I cannot say that anything else is nasty, the brown sauces that cover the mysterious ingredients worry me. At least I like rice.”

  “I do too.”

  “Then you shall get on just fine. A lady can be more particular than a man without offending the host, so you mustn't feel compelled to try anything you find repulsive.”

  I went back to my soup and decided nothing could be blander. Because I liked every sort of Indian dish, even the spicy platters served in Travancore, I wouldn't turn against Chinese food on one man's critique.

  When the buttered fish fillets were set before us, Commodore Treadwell, a man with a mustache that looked more like a bristle brush, focused on me with typical questions about our crossing and how I was finding Hong Kong.

  “I have barely had time to unpack. If the rain stops tomorrow, I hope to take a proper look around.”

  “May I suggest you first visit the Victoria Peak via the Upper Level Tramway. From there you will gain perspective on the whole island.”

  “That sounds perfect, since I know nothing of the area.”

  “I would be happy to answer any questions you might have.”

  I was about to give an expected response when something perverse in my nature—or merely the desire to get on with what I had come for—caused me to startle the gentleman. “Frankly, Commodore, I had not considered the effects devaluation of the Spanish dollar would have. Presently it is at a five-year low. Don't you find that disturbing?”

  “What I find disturbing is that a woman as lovely as you has any concern about such matters,” he said without condescension in his tone.

  “I have come to Hong Kong as a woman of commerce, not as a lady of leisure. Some other time I hope to bring my husband and have a purely social visit. This trip, I represent the Sassoon interests.”

  “As I said, Mrs. Sassoon—I mean, Mrs. Salem—I would be honored to answer any questions you might have.”

  I waited while a lemon ice decorated with a sliver of peel carved like a leaping fish was placed in front of me. When the governor's wife lifted her spoon, I tasted mine and said, “How delicious!” After the next bite I continued, “I wonder if you could tell me anything about the Chinese opium merchants.”

  “I am a naval man, inexperienced in commercial matters. The person you should speak with is Godfrey Troyte, who likes to say he's been here longer than anyone else. I suppose he's right. His father captained one of the original opium clippers and settled here after an accident at sea crippled him.”

  “He sounds most interesting. How could I meet him?”

  “He's at the far end of the table, next to the lady in the royal-blue dress.”

  I caught a glimpse of a man with snowy white hair floating about his youthful, clean-shaven face. Just then he looked in our direction. The commodore caught his eye, which twinkled back in acknowledgment.

  “If you like, I'll introduce you after dinner.”

  “Thank you, I would like that,” I said.

  There was a whoosh of satin as the ladies, following a signal from the governor's wife, stood. The men leapt up, pulled out chairs, and made gracious bows. Across the way my brother gave a broad smile that I understood to mean: Sorry the taipan must take tea with the ladies instead of port with the men.

  What would he think if he knew how much more comfortable I felt in the drawing room than among the booming camaraderie and the cigar smoke? The governor's wife was easy to talk to, and we had a cordial chat about one of her favorite places, Darjeeling.

  Deciding I had little time to waste before the men joined us, I ventured, “What can you tell me about Mr. Troyte?”

  “Now, what would you want with him?” Lady Robinson asked archly.

  “The commodore thought he might answer some of my questions about Hong Kong.”

  “Well, if it is historical information you are requiring, you could not do better. Actually, if you want present-day gossip, you need look no farther either.” She placed her curly head next to mine and whispered, “Just watch out, he's a bit of a scoundrel.”

  “In what way?”

  “With other people's money.”

  “That’s a relief, because if he had another sort of reputation, I could not risk mine with his company.”

  “How wise you are, my dear. Pity your husband could not accompany you this time. Ah, and here are the gentlemen now.”

  As promised, the commodore ushered Mr. Troyte my way. “Mrs. Salem, what a pleasure. I believe I have known every Sassoon to pass through this port. Even your Grandfather David once kissed me when I was a boy.”

  “He was my great-grandfather.”

  “Certainly.”

  “Then you kne
w my father.”

  “We were acquainted.” His bright blue eyes shifted from side to side. “May I say how much you remind me of him?”

  I gave a little shiver.

  “Are you cold?”

  “A bit. Calcutta gets chilly, but it doesn't seem to penetrate the bones quite as thoroughly.”

  “That's the dampness.” He steered me toward one of the three fires that blazed in the massive drawing room. “Winter on the island is always like this. Two months earlier would have been ideal.” Perceptively, the man noticed impatience in my expression and quickly ceased the small talk. “The commodore said I might be of assistance to you.”

  “Possibly.” I gave a nervous laugh, since Lady Robinson's warning had put me on guard. “I feel abysmally ignorant about Hong Kong, almost as if I'm adrift without flotation.”

  Godfrey Troyte threw back, his head and laughed heartily. “What an original allusion!” His wispy long hair settled long after his head stilled. “Because my father was an old sailor, I have many safety lines around. Shall I toss you one?”

  “Please.”

  “Where should I begin?” He leaned against one of the stone lions carved into the face of the hearth and cocked his head.

  “I suppose you know that I, along with my brother, am here in my father's stead. What it took him a lifetime to know must be assimilated by us more quickly if we are to represent the Sassoon interests to the Chinese opium dealers this season.”

  The sharp blue eyes darted from side to side, almost like mechanical attachments to the man's thinking gears. When they steadied, I knew he had made a decision. Had he realized we were in some difficulty? Did he already know about our need to raise the prices sharply? Even if he did, all he replied was: “Opium is not my field.”

  “Lady Robinson thought you had historical perspective,” I said, pronouncing “historical” in the same exaggerated manner as our hostess.

  Godfrey Troyte's amused expression let me know he caught the mimicry. “I imagine your father told you that most of the Chinese merchants descend from the original Cantonese Co-Hong traders. They form ten guilds licensed by the emperor in Peking to trade with foreigners, a situation forced upon him against his better judgment by the results of the opium wars. Just as yours is a family trade, so is theirs.” He paused and looked around. Nobody was paying any attention to us. In fact, the room was emptying.

  “Go on,” I urged.

  “Caught in the middle of a trade they find difficult to control, these merchants have banded together to resist those who do not share their interests.”

  “Who would that be? The Indian opium dealers?”

  “Yes, but there are others, including the Mandarin import-export officials, who impose the traditional Cantonese bribery ritual—not affectionately known as the 'squeeze.' Also, Peking regularly punishes the merchants whether they go along with the squeeze or fight it. Thus the trade is in perpetual disorder, for one never knows if one's associates are currently in or out of favor.”

  “Now I understand why my father had nightmares over the business.”

  “Telling family secrets?” Jonah asked pleasantly, having come to collect me. We were almost the last guests in the room.

  “I believe Mr. Troyte already knows them.” I introduced the two men.

  “A pity it is time to leave,” Godfrey replied to Jonah. “Monday-night suppers always end early, for most of the guests have to work tomorrow. This week will be especially busy because the new year begins on Saturday.”

  “Is it an important holiday?”

  The two men exchanged bemused smiles. “Your sister is in for a proper welcome to Hong Kong, isn't she?”

  “There I go floating out to sea,” I said as we three walked over to the governor and his wife to say our farewells.

  Gulliver handed me my cape, which Godfrey helped settle around my shoulders. “My offer of a line extends past the evening.”

  “Would it be presumptuous of me to invite you to call?”

  “I was hoping you would ask.”

  “Would tomorrow be convenient, or do you also have a great deal to accomplish before the holiday?”

  “Hardly,” he chuckled. “Tomorrow around four?”

  “Perfect. Do you know . . . ?”

  “Mount Gough, the White Chalet,” he filled in.

  “I didn't realize that's what the house was called.” I climbed into the waiting sedan chair and gave my new friend a wave.

  “My, you move quickly,” Jonah commented. I looked to see if he was upset with me. If anything, he seemed delighted.

  “Someone needs to explain what is going on. Ever since we arrived, I have felt in a fog.”

  “That is because the fog has barely lifted.”

  I cuffed my brother's shoulder. “You know what I mean.” He shrank back playfully. “And you, did you have a pleasant evening?”

  “Not especially.”

  “A pity your dinner companions were both married.”

  “That sort of woman is of no interest to me.”

  “I could see that,” I said lightly, even though I felt a sudden twinge and thought of Silas. No, not Jonah! He had never met anyone he cared for, that was it. When we returned to Calcutta, I would attempt to find him a few good candidates for a wife, I mused.

  “What sort of girl would you like?” I asked in the foyer. Jonah's tense expression caused me to back off. “Or haven't you given the matter much thought?”

  “On the contrary,” he replied, but did not clarify further.

  If I had not been so tired or if his face had registered an invitation to press forward, I might have continued. All I said was, “That's a start.”

  P A R T V

  Flowers in the Blood

  The greatest pleasure in life is doing what people say you cannot do.

  —Chinese Proverb

  50

  I already scheduled a meeting with the compradore,” Jonah said, “so I shall not be able to greet your latest conquest.” “Mr. Troyte is hardly that.” I grimaced. “I wonder why the gentleman does not cut his hair properly. He looks quite extraordinary.”

  Jonah idly fingered an ivory letter opener on the desk where I was working on some preliminary figures. “That is probably why.”

  “Here is our version of the reports you may give to the compradore.” I handed him a packet of papers. “Remember, though, do not discuss firm prices yet. We need to gather more information before we present our case to Mr. Ming.”

  “Why don't you want to confide in him? He works for us, not the Co-Hong merchants.”

  “I have a feeling these Chinese stick together as tightly as the Baghdadi Jews.”

  “Father trusted him implicitly.”

  “Father trusted no one implicitly.”

  “I do not care to argue with you, Dinah.”

  “Good, then do as I say and be discreet with him. Only offer these figures for now.”

  “As you wish, taipan,” he said with an exaggerated bow. He backed out of the room.

  Promptly at four, Godfrey Troyte arrived, soaked from the late-afternoon downpour.

  “It is you who need the lifeline this afternoon,” I said, shaking my head. “Come, sit by the fire and I will pour some tea.” The man's lips were blue. “Would you like some brandy added?”

  “Please” was his grateful reply.

  By the time he was warmed in body, Godfrey had also come up to steam as far as his tales went. “What many newcomers find hard to comprehend is that while European nations have thrived because they settled near the sea and ventured out, the Chinese believe they prospered because they discouraged sea trade. They take pride in being the Inner Land. Only the Cantonese, perhaps because they are so far from the center of imperial power in Peking, have ever relished trading. Why, then, did the emperor allow them to indulge in this dangerous intermingling? Because we barbarians had developed a passion for tea. Once our tongues had been tempted with the noble leaf's brew, the Chinese found we wo
uld pay ludicrous prices to satisfy our craving. This is why they licensed the original ten Co-Hong families to control the trade and agreed to keep the Pearl River open so tea could flow out—not realizing that traffic would soon flow the other way when the barbarians tired of dumping vast amounts of bullion and not finding the Chinese willing to take anything in exchange.”

  “Why opium?” I asked.

  “Opium was the single product that did not exist in China and for which there was not only a demand but also an increasing urgency.” Godfrey went on disgorging a prodigious amount of knowledge on the conflicts between the Cantonese dockworkers and the tea merchants, the Co-Hong guilds and their handling of foreign currency exchanges, and the blow-by-blow details of the two opium wars. “. . . Curiously, nobody knew what happened once the opium chests were brought into Canton's port. The keepers of the Heavenly Empire jealously guarded the secrets of the Inner Land. Nevertheless, what the Jardines, Sassoons, and their compatriots realized, was that a considerable number of the three hundred million Chinese harbored a bottomless appetite for opium.”

  “The situation is different nowadays, isn't it?”

  “Not really. To them, we are but a new breed of Huang-Maou, redheaded barbarians.” He gestured to my hair, which from the days at sea had streaks of ruddy gold around my face. “Literally, in your case.”

  “And the Chinese appetite for opium has not dimmed, has it?”

  “The business will never be curtailed unless the young reject it and the old addicts die out. Nevertheless, customers are not your problem.” Godfrey's strange blue eyes roamed the room while waiting for me to comment.

  “I see . . .”I said, not wanting to rise to the bait.

  He stood and stretched. “I must be going. If I stay any longer, your fine brandy and mesmerizing fire will conspire—against my will in such splendid company—to put me to sleep.”

  I leaned back in my chair. “What is my problem, Mr. Troyte?”

  A nuance of triumph registered on his face. “The districts of Yunnan and Szechuan are being blanketed in poppies. Word has it the Szechuan is turning up a higher morphine content than premium Patna.” He reached into his vest pocket. “I brought you this article by the Shanghai correspondent for the Times of London saying the Chinese plant is 'all but universal' in the central regions.”