‘I do not care.’
‘You should. What will happen to you when the Tisiphone is ordered away from here?’
She looked grave. ‘I would prefer not to think of that.’
‘So would I. But we can’t afford not to think about it, either.’
They strolled back to where the others were still chatting merrily amongst themselves. No one remarked upon their return, except for Strachan, who gave Killigrew a quizzical look, which was ignored. Peri was about to walk away from the lieutenant to talk to her father, for form’s sake, when the Eurasian girl Killigrew had been so fascinated by earlier reappeared around the headland at a run. A moment later Ultzmann appeared behind her, breathlessly trying to keep up.
‘Ai-ling! Wait!’
One of Prince Tan’s attendants intercepted her. He took her firmly by the arm and led her back to where Tan stood watching expressionlessly. Ultzmann tried to follow them, but Killigrew blocked his path.
‘You should be ashamed of yourself, Reverend,’ Peri heard him hiss under his breath.
Ultzmann glared at him. ‘I advise you to keep your nose out of affairs which do not concern yourself, young man.’ He pushed brusquely past Killigrew. The lieutenant turned as if to follow as Ultzmann continued after the girl. ‘Ai-ling!’
Prince Tan was already helping her into a palanquin, but at the sound of Ultzmann’s voice she paused and glanced over her shoulder at the reverend with tears glistening on her cheeks. Another of Tan’s attendants stood firmly in Ultzmann’s path and this time the reverend stopped. Tan pushed the girl into the palanquin and it was lifted on to the shoulders of two coolies and carried back up the bridle path to Victoria. Ultzmann turned away with his shoulders slumped.
Everyone had stopped talking to watch this tableau. ‘Well I never!’ huffed a dowager in a stage whisper which could have been heard on mainland China. ‘And him a man of the cloth!’
Strachan stood up and nudged Killigrew in the ribs. ‘The dirty scoundrel, eh? She’s young enough to be his daughter!’ The assistant surgeon’s voice was amused and envious.
The picnic started to break up shortly after that. As everyone climbed into the waiting calashes and landaus, Peri sought out Killigrew one last time as he was about to climb into the hackney the officers of the Tisiphone had clubbed together to rent for the afternoon. ‘Shall I tell Lieutenant Dwyer that my last dance at the Bannatynes’ is bespoken?’
He clasped her hand in such a way that no one else would notice. ‘That would be ungallant.’
‘But you will be there?’
He nodded.
‘Peri!’ called her father, standing at the door to his victoria. She hurried to obey, but she could not stop herself from glancing over her shoulder at Killigrew as she climbed into the carriage. He was still staring after her with a smile on his face, oblivious to the impatient calls of his fellow officers.
Chapter 6
Tai-Pan
There were already a dozen carriages parked outside the gates of the Grafton, Bannatyne & Co. trading factory at East Point when Killigrew arrived on foot with Robertson, Hartcliffe, Strachan, and the other senior officers of the Tisiphone. The naval officers were in their full-dress uniforms: epauletted navy-blue tail-coats, cocked hats and white kid gloves. In place of the two sentries who usually stood at the factory gate there were two turbaned footmen in high-collared coats of salmon and gold brocade. Glancing up, Killigrew saw the usual guards patrolling the wall above, thrown into shadow by the bright lights which illuminated the compound. Presumably the last thing Bannatyne wanted was for his ball to be disrupted by Triads.
The footmen ushered the officers through. The compound had been brushed clean and paper lanterns had been hung all the way around the perimeter; a seven-piece band was tuning up in one corner. This would be where the company spent the evening dancing, but first they were escorted to the reception room where another footman relieved them of their hats. They were greeted by a handsome woman in a ball gown of rich green velvet which set off her emerald eyes and auburn hair to perfection: their hostess for the evening. Killigrew saw at once what Verran had been talking about, and could no longer blame his friend for risking dismissal – and perhaps worse – by seeking to seduce his employer’s wife. As he waited his turn to be presented to Mrs Bannatyne, he wondered how his friend was getting along on that score, and felt unaccountably envious at the possibility that Verran might have succeeded by now.
Rear-Admiral Collier did the honours. ‘Mrs Bannatyne, permit me to introduce the officers of Her Majesty’s sloop Tisiphone: Mr Robertson, Lord Hartcliffe and… uh…’
‘My second lieutenant, Mr Killigrew,’ Robertson continued on his superior’s behalf.
‘Ah, yes,’ Collier said heavily. ‘Killigrew.’
Killigrew smiled wryly. He had never met the admiral before tonight; evidently a reputation of some sort had preceded him.
‘Mr Westlake and Mr Strachan, my surgeon and assistant surgeon respectively,’ said Robertson. ‘Mr Vellacott, my purser and paymaster; and Mr Muir, my chief engineer.’
Collier nodded. ‘Gentlemen, I give you: Mrs Epiphany Bannatyne.’
Robertson bowed stiffly. ‘A pleasure to meet you, ma’am.’
‘You are the gentlemen we have to thank for preserving Miss Dadabhoy’s life?’ asked Mrs Bannatyne.
‘I don’t believe she was in any real danger, ma’am,’ said Killigrew. ‘For all their villainy, the pilongs have a kind of twisted code. When they take hostages at all, they generally treat them well.’ Of course, if a certain pilong held a grudge towards someone, as Zhai Jing-mu’s little speech when Killigrew had handed him over to Dwyer and Cargill seemed to indicate, then that was another matter entirely. But Zhai Jing-mu was safely locked behind bars, soon to be executed, and Killigrew saw no need to alarm the ladies with such thoughts.
‘I didn’t catch your name earlier, Mr…?’
‘Killigrew, ma’am. At your service.’ She gave him a brief, cold, appraising gaze, and nodded. He glanced about pointedly. ‘Is Mr Bannatyne not joining us?’
She smiled thinly. ‘My husband will be with us presently. He’s just finishing off some paperwork in the study.’
‘Probably planning a dramatic entrance,’ muttered Strachan.
Drinks were handed out by footmen, and the gathering stood around and made polite small talk while they waited for the other guests to turn up. Strachan turned his attention to one of the paintings on the wall, a view across Victoria Harbour from Kowloon.
‘Any good?’ Killigrew knew enough about art to know how little he knew, and happily deferred to Strachan – an amateur artist before he had taken up photographic portraiture – in such matters.
‘Very. By Mr Chinnery, a local artist. Not as good as Mr Turner, of course, but then who is?’
They both turned away from the wall, and Strachan nodded to where Commander Robertson was talking to General Staveley, the commander of the Hong Kong garrison. ‘I didn’t think the Old Man would come tonight,’ murmured Strachan. ‘I thought he loathed social functions?’
‘Did you think he would turn down a chance to meet the great Mr Blase Bannatyne himself?’ asked Killigrew, smiling. He nodded to where a white marble bust of Genghis Khan stood on a pedestal in a niche. ‘Take that fellow there, for example. He may not have been everyone’s cup of char, but if you had a chance to meet him, would you turn it down?’
‘Rubbing shoulders with barba—’ started Strachan, but he was interrupted by a new voice.
‘Is that how you see me? A Genghis Khan of commerce?’
Killigrew turned and saw a man dressed soberly in a black neckcloth, frock coat and trousers, more like a clergyman than a China trader. His lank hair, still untouched by grey, was parted down the centre and slicked tightly against his skull with Macassar oil. If he was a day over forty, he looked good on it. His face was plain enough, almost boyish except for the blue-tinged jowls of a permanent five o’clock shadow, the features too reg
ular to be handsome; a little lacking in character, but perhaps women might consider him attractive.
‘Mr Bannatyne, I presume?’ said Killigrew.
The tai-pan of Grafton, Bannatyne & Co. inclined the head which launched a thousand cargoes of opium. ‘I have that honour. And you are…?’
‘Lieutenant Killigrew, HMS Tisiphone. And this is Mr Strachan, our assistant surgeon.’
Bannatyne nodded to the bust of Genghis Khan. ‘Mrs Bannatyne’s handiwork. A woman should have a hobby, don’t you think?’
‘Keeps them out of trouble,’ agreed Strachan.
‘I’ve always found women more interesting when they’re in trouble,’ said Killigrew, and turned back to the bust. ‘Your wife has a rare talent, sir.’
Mrs Bannatyne came across to join them. ‘Is everything all right?’ she asked her husband.
‘We were just admiring your handiwork, ma’am,’ said Killigrew. ‘It’s a magnificent piece. Have you had any formal training?’
She blushed. ‘No. I don’t know how I got into it. I needed some way to spend my time. I tried my hand at watercolours, but I wasn’t very good. Then one day I found a block of marble in the potting shed left over from when the house was built, and some sculpting tools, and thought I’d try my hand. My early efforts were horrendous, but Mr Chinnery had a look at them and encouraged me to persevere.’
‘Good for him,’ said Killigrew. ‘I should like to see the rest of your body of work, if I may.’
‘It’s really not all that good.’
‘Perhaps later,’ Bannatyne said gruffly, in a tone which said: Over my rotting corpse.
‘If they’re all as good as this one, you really ought to hold an exhibition, see if you can’t sell some of your work,’ said Strachan. ‘It really would be a shame to hide such a talent under a bushel.’
‘Mrs Bannatyne merely sculpts as a hobby,’ Bannatyne said firmly. ‘It would be unseemly for the wife of the tai-pan of Grafton, Bannatyne and Co. to be a professional artist.’
‘Nonsense,’ said Killigrew. ‘Why, one only has to look at this piece here to see what a talent your wife has. Look at those beady eyes, that sneering, supercilious expression. It’s easy to imagine this rapacious swine riding roughshod over all who stand in his way, with scant regard for human life. Where did you find such inspiration, ma’am?’
She looked bewildered. ‘I really couldn’t say. It just… came to me.’
‘I keep it there to remind me of whom I am dealing with whenever I have contact with the Chinese,’ Bannatyne said in a calm, unruffled voice which was belied by the glare he gave Killigrew. ‘Genghis Khan was a Tartar, just like the Manchu rulers of present-day China. “Know thy enemy and know thyself,” Sun Tzu says in his Art of War, “and thou shalt be victorious a hundred times out of a hundred.”’
‘Doesn’t he also say: “Those who win every battle are not truly skilled; those who render the armies of others helpless without fighting are the best of all”?’
‘You are familiar with the Chinese classics, Mr Killigrew?’
‘Only the ones I can obtain in translation. I’m afraid I haven’t mastered Chinese script yet.’
‘Yes, I found it rather difficult at first,’ Bannatyne said airily. As Robertson and Hartcliffe approached, he turned to greet them, and behind his back Strachan mouthed: Touché. Killigrew did not smile. ‘You must be Commander Robertson?’
Robertson nodded. ‘And you are Mr Bannatyne, I presume? I’ve heard a great deal about you, sir.’
Bannatyne smiled, almost bashfully. ‘Don’t believe above half of it, sir. And this gentleman is?’
‘Lord Hartcliffe, my first lieutenant. I see you’ve already met Mr Killigrew and Mr Strachan. I’ll introduce you to Mr Westlake, Mr Vellacott and Mr Muir later if the opportunity arises. My other officers send their apologies, but we could not leave the Tisiphone without someone on duty.’
‘Very wise, sir. You heard about the salt boat that was cut out of the harbour by pilongs the other day? It must be very embarrassing for you gentlemen of the Royal Navy to have a boat with such a valuable cargo stolen right from under your noses.’ Bannatyne watched Killigrew as he spoke, as if trying to gauge his response to this provocation. The lieutenant met his gaze and kept his face expressionless.
‘I don’t see what’s so valuable about a cargo of salt,’ snorted Strachan. ‘I can only assume that the pirates must have been greatly disappointed.’
‘You’re new to China, aren’t you, Mr Strachan?’ said Bannatyne, without taking his eyes off Killigrew. ‘If you had been here for any length of time, you would be aware that the Manchus maintain a monopoly on salt, which makes it a highly valuable commodity on the mainland.’
‘Shouldn’t we go through to the compound now?’ Mrs Bannatyne asked her husband.
He smiled tightly. ‘You know it would be rude of us to proceed before the rest of our guests have arrived, madam. We’re still waiting for Admiral Huang.’
For all his years in the Far East, the governor had not yet learned the Chinese art of masking astonishment. ‘You invited Admiral Huang? And he accepted?’
Bannatyne nodded.
‘He hasn’t accepted any of my invitations to meet face to face,’ spluttered Bonham. He was in his mid-forties, a dark-haired, thick-set man with a stiffly waxed moustache. ‘Damn me, Bannatyne, how on earth did you winkle him out of that junk?’
The tai-pan smiled faintly. ‘You have your ways of influencing people, Governor. I have mine.’
Killigrew did not doubt that Bannatyne’s methods included bribery, corruption and even threats, but he was not convinced those were the methods that had induced the Chinese admiral to attend the ball. Huang might well be as corruptible as any government officer anywhere in the world, but no Chinese mandarin would ever have allowed himself to fall into the pocket of a Westerner, not even one as powerful and influential as Bannatyne.
‘If we’re waiting for a Chinaman to arrive, we’ll be here long after the food’s gone cold,’ said General Staveley. ‘Their mandarins always make a point of turning up late, and the more important they consider themselves the later they arrive.’
‘Indeed,’ said Bannatyne. ‘Which is why I took the precaution of inviting the admiral to arrive two hours earlier than everyone else. Ah, and here he is now…’
A footman’s voice boomed across the ballroom: ‘His excellency Admiral Huang Hai-kwang of the Imperial Chinese Navy.’
Killigrew glanced up as Admiral Huang entered, wearing the traditional silk robes, thick-soled satin boots and conical hat of a mandarin. One could tell a great deal about a mandarin if you knew what to look for: Huang wore the red coral button, the yellow girdle, and the coveted double-eyed peacock’s feather in his cap, while the image on his buzi – the ‘mandarin square’ embroidered on the front of his gown – was that of a highly stylised lion. In Chinese military official’s insignia, the lion was the second rank, inferior only to the mythical qilin. All in all, Huang’s robes proclaimed him to be a person of some substance.
He was a man of substance in terms of his build as well. His face had the characteristic Mongoloid features of the Tartar Manchus, the rolls of flesh emphasising the narrowness of the eyes which twinkled with mischief above cheeks so podgy they made it impossible to determine his age with any degree of certainty. He greeted everyone in turn in the Oriental manner, bowing with his hands clasped before him.
At a signal, two more footmen opened a pair of double doors leading back out to the compound. As the band struck up a quadrille the governor and Mrs Bannatyne started off the figures. Killigrew preferred waltzes, so he helped himself to a glass of champagne from the tray of a passing flunkey and sat the first dance out.
The quadrille ended and the first waltz began. Once again Killigrew stood on the sidelines, feeling envious as he watched Lieutenant Dwyer, resplendent in his bottle-green full-dress uniform with a crimson sash, lead Peri Dadabhoy around the floor. When the waltz ended, the men prome
naded halfway round the floor with their partners, and Killigrew was about to go to where he guessed Peri and Dwyer would end up, but Bannatyne intercepted him, leading Admiral Huang.
‘Not dancing, Mr Killigrew?’ asked Bannatyne.
‘Why? Are you offering?’ Something about the tai-pan’s staid, dour manner brought out the lieutenant’s flippant side.
Bannatyne frowned. ‘Ah. I was warned you were something of a humorist. Perhaps I can introduce you to a fellow naval officer: Admiral Huang Hai-kwang. Admiral, this is Lieutenant Killigrew, one of the officers of Her Majesty’s paddle-sloop Tisiphone.’
‘Ah, yes,’ said Huang. ‘The young officer who was first over the wall at Chingkiang-fu.’ His English, though thickly accented, was excellent.
‘The first one who lived to tell the tale, at any rate,’ admitted Killigrew. ‘I’m surprised you’ve heard about that.’
‘Your exploits in the late war are much spoken of by officers of the Imperial Navy.’ Something about Huang’s tone suggested that those officers would dearly love to avenge those exploits.
‘As is your feat in getting the better of one of our gun-brigs.’
‘The goddess T’ien Hou saw fit to smile on my endeavours.’
‘In the Royal Navy we put our faith in steam engines and shell guns as much as in divine intervention.’
‘Steam engines and shell guns are no match for karma.’
‘Well, the proof of the pudding is in the eating.’
‘Indeed, Lieutenant. But one pudding remains half baked.’
‘Beware of what you wish for, Admiral. You might just burn your mouth.’
Huang smiled thinly. ‘I understand you were one of the officers who captured the notorious pirate Zhai Jing-mu. You are to be congratulated. Many have tried to bring him to justice before.’
‘Yourself included? You haven’t had much luck there, either. Presumably T’ien Hou didn’t see fit to smile on your endeavours?’
‘Another pudding which is yet uneaten. While Zhai Jing-mu still breathes he remains a threat. It is more than a month since you captured him, and still we await his execution.’
Killigrew and the Golden Dragon Page 13