by Brian John
My relationship with Lady Charlotte went up and down, and I became very uneasy with her easy acceptance of the poverty and squalor suffered by those whom she employed. She appeared as cold as ice, and very seldom showed any emotion. She loved publicity and luxuriated in her elevated status as a noblewoman. She had a strong social conscience -- of that there was no doubt -- and she saw herself as a benign provider of labour and wealth for a vast force of workers. However, she was dismissive of the political activists who grumbled and schemed in her ironworks, and was thoroughly intolerant of those who requested higher wages or cheaper tools, and who sought to follow up the past work of the Chartist lodges by organizing unions for the defence of workers’ rights. She dealt with strikes and deputations more ruthlessly than her husband had done before her, and I saw several lockouts and violent confrontations between sacked workers and the police in my short time in Dowlais. She would not improve the safety measures in the most dangerous parts of her works, because new barriers and fenders would “cost too much.” She was a stout defender of the “slow payment” system, although I argued with her often that the payment of workers at intervals of 90 days left them no better off than slaves or serfs, utterly under the control of their employers. It was better than the old truck system, in which workers were paid in tokens that could only be spent in company shops -- but only just.
True, Lady Charlotte devoted time to charitable works, and encouraged me and other ladies to alleviate suffering and to embark upon educational and other well-intentioned projects where we could, but more than once I felt that she was exploiting my goodwill and that of others. I told her on several occasions -- perhaps unfairly -- that her charitable works were no better than gestures, designed to demonstrate her role as a benefactor and to improve her standing in the eyes of the press and the politicians. Once she objected very violently to my words, and I thought that our friendship was at an end; but she knew that what I said contained more than a grain of truth, and that I was the only one who dared to say what many thought. After all, she could have ameliorated the poverty of her workers at a stroke by diverting just a small proportion of the payments that went to her directors into expenditures on housing, schools, sanitation and water supplies. She did a little in that regard (and indeed built a library near Dowlais House), but not enough. She chose to feed on venison, salmon and honeyed ham, and to give champagne by the gallon to her wealthy guests while the people of Dowlais froze in the winter winds that whipped across that bleak plateau, and starved and rotted to death from their ironworks injuries. But she chose to keep me as a friend, and I suspect that she needed me more than I needed her. On several occasions I received favourable mentions in the local newspapers, with her name alongside mine, and I knew that the reports had been instigated by her.
I should have known that I was living on borrowed time, especially since, in my work in China, I sought to maintain good relations with the police, the ironmasters (including Crawshay of Cyfartha) and with the bullies, nymphs and Rodneys who ruled (if that is the right word) the cellars and filthy alleyways beneath the slopes of the cinder tips. I was moving in and out of China with too much ease and too much confidence, and I should have learnt from the stone-throwing incident near the arch that my good works were not universally appreciated. One day, I was on my knees inside one of the hovels, trying to alleviate the agony of a poor man who had lost a foot when the molten metal from a sand mould beneath number six furnace overflowed. His crime was that he was Irish, and there were many people in China who hated the Irish, for they worked too hard and drank too much. Without warning, I was grabbed from behind, dragged outside and flung to the ground. Then I was picked up and pushed against a wall, held by two ruffians, with a third standing in front of me, holding the tip of a very large knife against my throat. Now for a real death, I thought, with a full ration of terror and pain.............
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Palace of Treasures
The knife touched my skin, and I felt a trickle of blood running from my neck onto the front of my dress. Trying desperately to retain my composure, I looked at my three captors, but did not recognize any of them.
“Is this her, Jammy?” said one, in Welsh.
“It is indeed,” said Jammy. “Seen her around. She’s a spy for Napier and the bloody police.”
“How dare you?” I demanded, speaking in Welsh and taking the three of them by surprise. “I spy for nobody. I seek only to help those who are suffering, regardless of race or creed.”
“So, Welsh are we? Fancy that. By whose leave are you here?”
“I need no leave, sir. I demand that you let me go at once!”
“You don’t have my leave, and this is my patch, Missis.”
Then another one spoke. “That bloody sergeant came with his mates and took Bobsy Edwards last night. He’s before the magistrates today. Somebody knew where he was, that’s for sure. Ain’t that right, Missis?”
“Bobsy Edwards?” said I. “I have never heard of him. So why should I know where he lives?”
“Too much talk here, Jammy. Nobody comes on our patch without our leave. Let’s cut the bitch and dump her -- somebody that loves her can pick her up and cart her off to the morgue or the police station.”
All three of them looked as if they were tiring of this conversation, and I was petrified. I knew that these men, the chief bullies on their own patch, had certainly killed before and would have no compunction with killing again, even if for no particular reason other than the maintenance of their own status. They would not be in the least bit concerned that they had an advantage of three to one over a defenceless old woman. Suddenly I spotted a massive shadow through the corner of my eye, and the hand that had been holding the knife was smashed down by a stave which was the thickness of a man’s arm.
“What the bloody hell are you bastards doing here?” roared a deep bass voice. “I thought I told you to stay the other side of the iron bridge?”
“She’s a spy, boss,” whined Jammy, nursing his damaged arm, with tears in his eyes.
“She’s no more a spy than you are the King of India,” said the big man. “How can she be a spy when she’ve only just come here and don’t know nobody? And she’s old, for Christ’s sake! Old women like her don’t go round spying!” Then he lowered his voice to a whisper. “You three, if you are not across that bridge in the next two minutes, I’ll come after you and skin you with my own hands. And if you ever turn up in China again, I’ll carve you up and feed you to the rats. God help me, so I will!”
The three ruffians skidded and stumbled away with terror on their faces, and that was the last I ever saw of them. I was shaking like a leaf, and I fear that my legs collapsed under me. The big man picked me up as if I was a little doll, and carried me for maybe fifty yards through the maze of alleyways before entering what looked like a typical hovel.
Once inside, he put me down on a low bed, and tenderly dabbed at the little cut on my throat with a damp cloth. Gradually my eyes became accustomed to the dim light. I was amazed, for this place was several times larger than any other Chinese hovel I had ever seen, and it even had a table, five or six beautiful upholstered chairs, and other items of furniture including a splendid mahogony long case clock, a glass-fronted bookcase, and what appeared to be a Sheraton rosewood side cabinet. There were porcelain vases, bronze statuettes, delicate cut glass wine decanters and a multitude of ornaments of all shapes and sizes, perched precariously on every flattish surface avaiilable. The floor was dry, and the place smelt of incense rather than excrement. The walls were covered with opulent wall hangings and tapestries, and there was a huge oil painting of some ironmaster or other which acted as a sort of partition or internal wall. On the other side of the oil painting, I could see steam rising, and I heard a woman singing, not very musically, to the accompaniment of splashing sounds and the gurgles and giggles of a small baby. My amazement seemed to amuse my rescuer, for he roared with laughter, with a bellow deep enough to split a blast furnac
e from top to bottom.
“Ha! Missis Ravenhill!” he chortled. “You are amused, if I am not mistook, by the domestic pleasures of my little palace?”
At last I found my voice. “I am amazed, sir, and I do not mind admitting it. I have not been inside such a cellar before, and your refinement is to be admired. But I have to thank you, sir, for I am convinced that you have saved my life........”
“Think nothing of it, Madam. Those bastards have caused no end of trouble in China in recent weeks, and it was time for me to show who is in charge. My Rodneys have been following them all day, and knew they were out to pick up a scapegoat and to carve it up as a sacrifice. Your bad luck to have been in the wrong place at the wrong time.”
I managed to grin. “I am far too old and tough to be a sacrificial goat. And your name, sir.......?”
“John Wylde, Emperor of China, at your service.”
“And the good lady behind the oil painting? Your wife, I assume?”
“Not good, not a lady, and not my wife, Missis. But she is the Empress, and her name is Mags Williams. And she’s a hell of a fine mother, to boot.”
“I have heard of you, your majesty. And I have heard of your Empress too -- she’s the one who controls the girls in the Shanghai Arms?”
“You are well informed, Missis. Napier, that scheming bastard of a Chief Constable, calls it a house of ill repute, but Mags says it is a very respectable establishment, a place of repose and refreshment for gentlemen of discernment. She is in the business of providing a valuable service, and I give her a little assistance in the matter of protection. Without the likes of Mags and me, Missis, the bloody economy would be in bad shape and the world would be a miserable place.”
He gleamed, and bellowed with laughter once again. Now I was able to take in his appearance, which was as extraordinary as his dwelling. He must have been six feet and six inches in height, and the ceiling of the “palace” was too low for him to stand erect. He had a smooth chin and a very eccentric black droopy moustache which, I assumed, was an imitation of something he had seen on a portrait of a real Chinese emperor. He wore a green silk smoking jacket, and on his head he wore a little red hat with a tassle attached. He was a portly fellow, and his military trousers were held up by a belt with a massive silver buckle. On his feet he wore shiny black boots, no doubt acquired in the course of some encounter with the military.
I thought I had better not discuss the role of brothels in the local economy and in the provision of happiness, so I changed the subject. “So why did you rescue me, sir? You could have left me to my fate; and as you know from your Rodneys and your bullies, I see it as part of my function in life to encourage nymphs -- and maybe even some of those belonging to Mags -- to seek education and a better life.”
“That’s what we all want, Missis -- a better life. The girls don’t stay pretty for very long, and then what are they to do? Grovel about on the iron-ore patches with their soft hands, or wade knee-deep in clay at the brickworks? Two of the old girls from the Bridge Inn did that, and they were dead inside a fortnight. Mags! Come out here with little Billy, and meet Missis Ravenhill!”
“Coming, Cariad, you old bugger!” shouted Mags, and a minute later she emerged from behind the oil painting carrying a very pretty child who was maybe six months old. “Good day to you, Missis,” she said, without the slightest trace of deference. “I heard your chattering. Rescued you, did he? Oh yes, he’s a very chivalrous fellow. If he weren’t the Emperor of China, he’d be King Arthur, and we wouldn’t be able to squeeze into this palace because of the bloody big round table he’d have in the middle of the floor.” Then she laughed too, causing her voluptuous body to ripple and wobble beneath a loose Chinese silk gown that covered some parts of it, and revealing that most of her front teeth were missing. Her red cheeks glowed, and I judged her to be maybe thirty-five years old, and nowadays more interested in motherhood than whoring. Young Billy gurgled with delight, and I noticed that he was pink and well fed.
Suddenly the mood changed, and Mags said to John: “Well, Johnny, you going to ask her?”
The Emperor thought for a moment, and then said: “Well, bugger me, I might as well.” He turned to me, approached and sat on a very delicate chair next to the bed on which I was still reclining. He twirled his moustaches with dextrous, greasy fingers. I noticed that he had dark eyes, and that like his moll he had more gaps than teeth in his mouth. I wondered idly what it must be like to kiss a mouth like that, but then banished the thought when I became aware of the alcohol on his breath. “Mistress, it was my pleasure to rescue you today from those bastards. There was no plan to it, you understand. It just happened. But all’s fair in love and war. You owe me something, perhaps?”
There were alarm bells inside my head, and I could not see where this might lead. “Well, your majesty, I am certainly greatly indebted to you for getting me out of a tight corner........”
“You think I’m after your money?”
“Well, sir, that was after all a strange question to ask a lady.”
“Never fear, Missis Ravenhill. I don’t want for money. What I want -- and what Mags wants -- is to get out of this hell-hole. Will you help us?”
I was thoroughly taken aback, but there were still alarm bells inside my head. “Do you mean,” I asked, “that you want me to help you to evade the police and get out of China?”
“Not at all,” said Mags. “We could walk out of here any time, and Cap’n Napier wouldn’t be able to touch us. Ain’t that right, Johnny?”
“Correct you are, my sweet. We are not stupid, Mistress. There is nothing Napier would like better than to get us two onto a transportation ship. But they wouldn’t dare to come near this palace of ours, right in the middle of the cellars, even if they had a contingent of fifteen policemen. And they can’t tie anything on either of us. That’s what bullies and Rodneys are for -- they do the thimble-rigging and the thieving and the bits of necessary blackmail on the fancy men who come to visit our nymphs and would prefer their wives not to know. We are always two or three stages removed from the dirty work. No -- evading the law is not our problem.”
“So what is the problem? Why don’t you just take your baby and move on?”
“Because we want to go and settle in America, Missis, where we can make a good life.”
“But you are the wealthiest man in the whole of China, Johnny. May I call you that?”
“If I can call you Susanna.”
“Very well. Can you not afford to pay for a passage?”
“We need at least fifty pounds, Susanna, to get from here to Cardigan and then on to Liverpool and New York. And another fifty pounds for a piece of land that my brother, who is over there already, says is a piece of paradise. I fancy paradise, Mistress, after twenty years in this hell-hole.”
“But our total savings are twenty pounds, Mistress,” said Mags. Then she gestured around her, to all the furniture and wall hangings. “And all of this will have to be left behind, and cannot be sold.........”
“Stolen?”
“What do you think? Every item has come from one or other of the grand houses in this district. Dowlais House, Cyfartha Castle, Penyard House, and all the others. If any of it was to be put up for sale, or even taken out of China on a cart, Napier’s men would be onto us like a flash, and then it would not just be a matter of transportation. Half of these things have come from the houses of the magistrates! That means the gallows, for sure, for anybody who has touched them.”
The three of us sat in silence for a while, and I was aware that I felt sorry for them. I tried to remonstrate with myself, for I knew that these two people were responsible for much of the thieving and thuggery that caused despair in and beyond China, and which caused outrage in the Merthyr Guardian and in the chapels and churches of the district. How many murders had they had a hand in? How many Rodneys, bullies and nymphs did they directly control? I wondered what the answers to my questions might be, but I did not ask them. Instead,
I reminded myself that the inhabitants of China were ruled over, and protected by, this man with his immense bulk and soft heart, and that this voluptuous lady provided better working conditions and better wages for the unskilled, than the Crawshays and Guests of this world. Crime was a profession and a way of life, involving the redistribution of wealth from those who probably could afford to part with some of their assets and towards those whose needs were desperate indeed. I still felt sorry for them......
“You are thinking a great deal, Susanna.”
“So I am, Johnny. I have to admit to mixed feelings about Emperors. A friend of mine knew another Emperor once, when he went away from here and into West Wales.”
“Not that filthy pig Shoni Sgubor Fawr?”
“The very same. He is dead now. He was not a nice man.”
“He was as bad as they come, Susanna. He lived in this very palace. He was a killer, I know it for a fact. The best thing that ever happened to China was when that policeman beat the shit out of him in a bare-knuckle fight, and he could not hold his head up after that. So he went off to cause mayhem elsewhere. He killed an old woman once, somewhere near Llanelli. Bastard! Bastard!”