Killigrew and the Golden Dragon

by Jonathan Lunn

  ‘I’d heard that the problem with the merchant service was that the mess bills were even bigger than in the navy.’

  Verran laughed. ‘Nothing could top your mess bills, Kit. Anyway, Mr Bannatyne pays his captains well – damned well.’

  ‘You’re working for Bannatyne now?’

  Verran nodded. ‘That’s my flapper down in the harbour now: the Golden Dragon.’

  ‘What about that rather splendid houseboat opposite Governor’s Wharf?’

  ‘That belongs to Commissioner Tan. A bit of an embarrassment to Governor Bonham, actually, but it has its uses.’

  ‘I’m not sure I follow you.’

  ‘The Chinese still think they own Hong Kong but they’re letting us use it out of the goodness of their hearts.’

  Killigrew nodded. He was well aware that the Chinese believed the whole world owed obeisance to the Daoguang Emperor in Peking, and that when the British had gone to war with China ten years earlier they had been no more than uncivilised barbarians rebelling against the celestial authority of the Son of Heaven.

  ‘So Tan’s been appointed prefect for Hong Kong?’

  ‘Strictly unofficial, from our point of view. The plenipo’ won’t let him set foot on the island, except by invitation. That’s why Tan lives on the houseboat. We’re still trying to make the Celestials understand they’ve ceded Hong Kong to us in perpetuity, and their government has no authority over this island. But I suspect Bonham finds it damned useful having a representative of the Emperor so close at hand; although I dare say the Emperor finds it equally useful having one of his mandarins in a place where he can spy on everything that goes on in the colony. Still, never mind that. What about you, Kit? No need for me to ask what you’ve been doing these past few years: Chingkiang-fu, Borneo, the Guinea Coast…’ Verran grinned. ‘You never were one for taking it easy, were you? Even when we were snotties.’

  Killigrew shrugged. ‘I wear the uniform and take the pay. I’ve always felt I might as well earn it.’

  ‘Earn it! What are they paying you these days? Let’s see, what are you now? Still a junior lieutenant? A hundred and eighty a year?’

  ‘Plus prize money.’

  ‘Which is never in short supply when you’re on board, I seem to recall. All the same, it’s a poor reward for risking your life on a frequent basis.’

  ‘Queen and country, Jago,’ replied Killigrew, his tone self-mockingly offhand.

  ‘Gammon! I get two hundred and fifty a year from Mr Bannatyne, and no nonsense from any damned admirals that haven’t seen any fighting since the Treaty of Paris. Five hundred a year, Kit. You could be earning that. Bannatyne is always looking for captains for his clippers.’

  ‘You’ve met him, then?’ Killigrew had heard that the tai-pan of Grafton, Bannatyne & Co. was something of a recluse.

  ‘Of course! I take my orders directly from him. Oh, don’t believe the stories you hear. He’s just an ordinary chap.’

  ‘One of the richest ordinary chaps in the world.’

  Verran laughed again. ‘Oh, he’s a downy cove, I’ll grant you that.’

  ‘That’s one way of putting it. They say he and his partner put pressure on the government at home to go to war with China, simply so they could trade more freely with the Chinese.’

  ‘I thought a free-trader like you would approve of expanding commerce?’

  ‘Not if the price has to be paid in human lives.’

  Verran chuckled. ‘You make him sound like some kind of monster. He’s all right. A bit stiff-necked, I’ll grant you, but if you ask me that’s just because he’s a little shy. He has me up at his house for dinner every night I’m in Hong Kong.’

  ‘Sounds ghastly,’ Killigrew said with a smile.

  ‘Oh, it has its compensations. Mrs Bannatyne, for instance.’

  ‘Good company?’

  ‘A regular stunner.’

  ‘Young?’

  ‘Same age as us. She’s John Keane’s daughter.’

  ‘John Keane? As in, Keane and Co.?’

  Verran nodded. ‘Just between the two of us – although to tell you the truth, I think everyone in Hong Kong must have guessed it – Bannatyne only married her as part of a business transaction. He got a thousand shares in Keane and Co. as his dowry, and when Keane died what he inherited through his wife made Bannatyne the majority shareholder. Within six months Keane and Co. was no more, subsumed within Bannatyne’s empire.’

  ‘I didn’t think Keane was that old. What did he die of?’

  ‘A terrible accident… Don’t look at me like that, Kit. It was an accident. I was there when it happened. He was on board the Golden Dragon, we got caught in a typhoon and he was washed overboard… There was nothing anyone could have done. His body was found a week later by some Chinese fishermen. Mrs Bannatyne blamed me…’ Verran looked glum for a moment. ‘Sometimes I blame myself.’ Then he pasted a smile on his face. ‘Ah, well. She’ll come round in due course.’

  ‘A little dangerous, wouldn’t you say? Making eyes at your employer’s wife? Especially when your employer is a man as rich and powerful as Blase Bannatyne.’

  ‘A little danger only spices things up.’

  Killigrew smiled thinly. ‘You always did have a penchant for mischief.’

  Verran did not seem to have heard him. ‘Not that there’s much danger of Bannatyne noticing,’ he continued, lowering his voice discreetly. ‘He’s completely obsessed with his work; he neglects her dreadfully. When they went on honeymoon to Macao, he took his annual accounts with him, and I can tell you for a fact that he spent as much time in business meetings as he did in the nuptial bed. No, Kit, there’s something missing from Mrs Bannatyne’s married life. And I intend to give it to her,’ he added with a wink. Then he raised his voice again. ‘Anyway, what about you? Any ladies in your life at the moment?’ He nudged Killigrew and nodded to where Miss Dadabhoy was now talking to – or rather, being talked at by – another face Killigrew recognised, that of the Reverend Werner Ultzmann. ‘Was Miss Dadabhoy suitably grateful to her rescuer?’

  ‘She thanked me, if that’s what you mean. Not that one expects thanks for doing one’s duty.’

  Verran laughed. ‘You know damned well what I mean. You can’t tell me you haven’t boarded her?’

  ‘There’s nothing between myself and Miss Dadabhoy,’ said Killigrew, although he might have added: ‘yet’.

  ‘“I believe you, my boy!”’ Verran quoted a catch-phrase of the London stage that had been doing the rounds for the past few months; Killigrew was disappointed to discover it had reached as far as Hong Kong. ‘You must be losing your touch, Kit. You’d better stick an oar in, old boy, otherwise Ultzmann might ruin your chances. Have you met the reverend? He’s definitely one of the great characters of this colony.’

  ‘Oh yes,’ Killigrew said heavily. ‘We’ve met.’

  Ultzmann was somewhere in his late forties, dressed in clothes that had probably been fashionable in his native Pomerania when he had left it many years ago, including a Dutch bargee’s cap of the kind worn by German students. It was not that he was unable to afford new clothes; it was widely known that the Lutheran missionary was well paid by the firm of Grafton, Bannatyne & Co. for his services as an interpreter and adviser.

  The reverend had been in China for many years, and it was said that despite his bulk, the Chinese cast to his features – an accident of nature, since both his parents had been Prussians – had enabled him to travel on the mainland disguised as a Chinese, so long as he wore rose-tinted tea-stone spectacles to disguise his blue eyes. He professed a horror of the opium trade in which his employers were engaged, but had agreed to work for Grafton, Bannatyne & Co. on the condition that the company distributed free Bibles with its opium.

  Ultzmann was enjoying the sound of his own voice so much that he did not notice Miss Dadabhoy give Killigrew a pleading glance over his shoulder. The lieutenant took his leave of Verran and went swiftly to her rescue. He bowed low.

&n
bsp; ‘Miss Dadabhoy, may I say that you are looking exceptionally ravishing today, even by your usual standards?’

  ‘You are too kind,’ she replied mechanically, as if bored by the commonplace gallantry. Most young women Killigrew knew either sneered at him for being too poor, or regarded him with a ridiculous adoration which only embarrassed him. There was something refreshing about the way Peri mocked him playfully. Sometimes he feared his greatest sin was taking himself too seriously; a person like Peri was just what he needed to prick his pomposity.

  Ultzmann was evidently annoyed at the interruption. ‘I don’t believe we have been introduced, Mr…?’

  ‘Then your memory betrays you, Reverend. We have met. The twenty-first of July 1842. Killigrew’s the name, Lieutenant Christopher Killigrew. Of course, in those days I was just a midshipman.’

  ‘I do not have much of a memory for dates.’ Ultzmann’s English was so accented, that if he successfully passed himself off as a Chinese Killigrew could only assume that his Cantonese was more fluent.

  ‘Neither do I, usually. But that date is one I’m not likely to forget in a hurry. Chingkiang-fu, Reverend. Surely you remember? You told Lord Saltoun the city would be undefended.’

  ‘Ah, yes.’ Ultzmann’s face became grave. ‘A most unfortunate happenstance. Man proposes, God disposes. But all turned out for the best, did it not? Had we not taken Chingkiang-fu, would the Chinese have acceded so readily to the Treaty of Nanking?’

  ‘I’m sure that thought must be a great comfort to the widows and orphans of the men who died in that attack.’

  Ultzmann shrugged. ‘One cannot make an omelette without breaking eggs.’

  ‘But it shouldn’t require six eggs to make a three-egg omelette.’ Killigrew turned to Peri. ‘Is your father here today, Miss Dadabhoy?’

  ‘Yes, I’ll take you to him. If you’ll excuse us, Reverend?’ She led the way across the greensward, and as soon as they were out of earshot of the missionary she turned to Killigrew with a smile. ‘Thank you for rescuing me. That is the second time now, is it not?’

  He grinned. ‘All in the day’s work for the Royal Navy, miss.’

  ‘You do not care for the reverend, I think?’

  ‘Whatever gave you that idea?’ Killigrew asked innocently, and she flicked her fan chidingly against his shoulder. ‘I don’t hate Ultzmann. You have to respect someone before you can hate them properly, and the reverend’s too much of a buffoon.’

  ‘So. Are you going to tell me what happened at Chingkiang-fu?’ she asked. ‘Or are you just going to put on a manly expression and tell me modesty forbids; a phrase which often leads me to wonder if it is not honesty which forbids?’

  ‘It was during the war. I was serving on board the Dido at the time under Captain Keppel. I was a midshipman then, only eighteen. Keppel hurt himself in a fall and while he was laid up I managed to slip away and join the naval brigade which took part in the attack on the city. As I said, Ultzmann told us the city would be undefended. It wasn’t. A good many men died that day finding out. But you don’t want to hear about that.’

  ‘Too grisly for a delicate lady’s sensibilities, you think?’

  ‘Too grisly for anyone’s sensibilities, man or woman. You are fully recovered from your ordeal, I trust?’

  ‘Which one? Being a captive aboard Zhai Jing-mu’s junk, or being subjected to the reverend’s tedious attempts to convert me from my deplorable heathenism?’

  ‘Which was worse?’

  ‘Oh, definitely the reverend. What do you think, Mr Killigrew? Shall I burn in Hell for eternity because of my beliefs?’

  He joined in the game at once. ‘Oh, indubitably. But if Heaven is full of men like Ultzmann, wouldn’t you prefer Hell?’

  ‘Was it not Machiavelli who said he would prefer to go to Hell after he died because the company would be more interesting than in Heaven?’

  ‘Either him, or Benjamin Disraeli.’

  ‘Is there any news on when Zhai Jing-mu will go on trial? I have been following the reports in the newspapers, but there is no word of when the trial is to take place. I had thought the chief justice would have called on me to be a witness.’

  ‘Commander Robertson and I spoke to Admiral Collier and we agreed there was no need to put you through reliving your ordeal in the witness box.’

  ‘I am grateful for your consideration, Mr Killigrew. But if it means I can be certain that he will be convicted…’

  ‘He’ll be convicted. We caught him red-handed, and the weapons we found on board his junk are material evidence of his piracy. That, and the testimony of myself and Lord Hartcliffe will be more than sufficient to convict him. You have my word on it.’

  ‘All the same, is there not a danger his defending counsel will not dredge up some loophole through which he can escape? How did Swift put it? “Laws are like cobwebs, which may catch small flies, but let wasps and hornets break through.” My father says that lawyers can be dangerous, easily twisting the words of an honest naval officer unversed in their tricks.’

  ‘You needn’t have any fears on that account. Lord Hartcliffe and I have plenty of experience of dealing with land-sharks in court from the Guinea Coast. Besides, I don’t imagine they’ll find a lawyer in Hong Kong who’s prepared to defend Zhai Jing-mu with too much enthusiasm.’

  They watched the horses pass the finishing post and Peri sighed. ‘Fourth place.’

  ‘One of your father’s horses?’ asked Killigrew. She nodded. ‘He’ll have to have a word with his trainer.’

  ‘With me, you mean.’

  ‘You train your father’s horses?’ he asked in astonishment.

  ‘Until we can find someone better qualified. You seem surprised?’

  ‘I was just wondering how best to extricate my foot from my mouth.’

  ‘Blame the jockey, Mr Killigrew. I keep telling him that Shibdiz always runs best when she gets out in front and stays there, but he will hold her back in the first few furlongs. Did you have a wager, Mr Killigrew?’

  He shook his head. ‘I don’t gamble.’

  She regarded him coolly. ‘Not with money, at any rate.’

  ‘I can’t get passionate about horse-racing. If I had a personal stake in the race, perhaps – if I was the jockey, for instance, or the trainer, I could feel I’d made a personal contribution to the victory – that would be another matter entirely.’

  ‘Is winning important to you?’

  ‘It’s the second best feeling in the world. I’m not like Shibdiz, I’m afraid. I’m usually slow off the mark, but I have been known to come from behind in the final straight. Would you feel insulted if I told you that when I asked to be introduced to your father it was more than just a ruse to get away from Ultzmann?’ he asked, changing the subject.

  ‘Yes. But I might be persuaded to forgive you,’ she added with a smile.

  ‘Oh, I can be very persuasive, miss.’

  ‘I am sure you can. There is my father. I know he wants to meet you.’

  ‘Me? Why on earth would the great Sir Dadabhoy Framjee wish to meet a mere naval lieutenant?’

  ‘He wishes to thank you. He seems to think you saved his daughter’s life.’

  ‘I hope you didn’t give him that impression.’

  ‘Heaven forbid, Mr Killigrew.’

  Sir Dadabhoy Framjee was in his sixties, a short man with pronounced cheekbones and a thrusting, pointed jaw which seemed to dominate his whole face, even below a wide, white moustache which made him look more Turkish than Indian. He wore a white coat, pahgris headdress and oriental slippers which turned up at the toes. To Killigrew he looked like the fierce Sultan Schariar from the Arabian Nights, but even in those hard eyes which had built up a massive trading empire, there was a twinkle of humour and kindness which suggested even his heart might be melted by the storytelling of a Scheherezade.

  Framjee was talking to a young Chinese man of average height and build, with a face that was handsome in a smooth-cheeked, effeminate way, his limp
id brown eyes full of a beguiling innocence. The Chinese wore a loose-fitting sky-blue tunic and his hair was in the style that all his race were required to adopt by Manchu law: shaven at the front and tied in a long queue at the back. The Tartar Manchus had invaded China two hundred years ago and the relationship between them and China’s native Han people was not unlike that between the Normans and the Anglo-Saxons must have been in the days of Robin Hood.

  As Killigrew and Peri approached, Framjee turned to his youngest daughter and beamed. She bowed with her palms pressed together before her in the Indian manner. Killigrew sensed something in the formality of that greeting: not hostility, perhaps, but a sense of unease between father and daughter.

  ‘Father, may I present Mr Killigrew, the Tisiphone’s second lieutenant? Mr Killigrew, this is my father, Sir Dadabhoy Framjee.’

  Killigrew bowed. ‘It’s an honour to meet you, sir.’

  ‘Likewise, Mr Killigrew.’ Framjee’s accent was pure Cambridge, although Killigrew knew the merchant had never had a formal education; that was perhaps the reason he endowed so many schools in Gujerat, so that others might gain the advantages in life which he had never had. Like many Parsi merchants Killigrew had met, Framjee was more English than the average Englishman. ‘My daughter has told me a great deal about you.’

  ‘None of it true, I hope,’ said Killigrew.

  Framjee chuckled. ‘All of it flattering, I assure you.’ Killigrew gave Miss Dadabhoy a sidelong glance as she tried to conceal her smile behind her fan. ‘This is my comprador, Li Cheng,’ added the merchant, indicating the Chinese, who bowed in the Oriental style, with his left fist clasped in his right hand. ‘Mr Li handles the Chinese side of my business.’

  Killigrew mirrored the comprador’s bow. Li smiled, but Killigrew was not fooled. He was well aware the Chinese considered outward displays of emotion impolite in the presence of strangers, and often used a smile to conceal whatever they were really feeling: nervousness, anger, disgust or astonishment; all the emotions which the ‘barbarians’ managed to provoke in the Chinese on a regular basis.