The Secret Mandarin

by Sara Sheridan

  While the bearers moved gingerly up the shale, Wang and Sing Hoo stood beaming. Both had spent much of their lives by the sea and were basking in the cosmopolitan air this now afforded them in the eyes of their compatriots. Also, I expect, our arrival in Foo Chow Soo clearly marked the last stage of our journey and as they reached the sea their promised bonuses drew yet closer. This proximity, however, did not seem to help the rest of the men come to terms with their amazement at the vast expanse of blue water before them. Sing Hoo laughed, mimicking their wide eyes and distraught expressions.

  ‘Stop that,’ I told him. ‘Look,’ I explained, jumping off my sedan and splashing my hands in the surf to demonstrate. ‘There is nothing to be afraid of. It will not come to you any further up the beach. It’s only water.’

  Still, the men clasped onto each other as they moved forwards, though all of them wet their fingers to taste it. Laughter broke out and it wasn’t long before they were splashing like children and eagerly asking questions of Wang and Sing Hoo about the size of this ‘lake’ and why the water tasted of salt.

  ‘We will leave on a ship,’ I said, pointing towards the port in the bay where a smattering of sampans were moored and only one vessel, I noticed, of a British bent. Robert took a deep breath of salty air. The breeze off the ocean was certainly stirring.

  ‘Come,’ he roused the men. ‘Let us get on.’

  Inside the city wall, it was strange to see that there were no European-style buildings. Foo Chow Soo did not resemble any other British port we had visited. The Consulate was a small, wooden building with a diplomatic staff of three. Aside from that there were only two British merchants in the town—both opium traders, of course—and a small barracks for the military contingent. This meant that while Foo Chow Soo was nominally British, there were scarcely fifty Europeans stationed there, and they were outnumbered easily a hundred to one by the native Chinese in the area. We had not expected so small a presence or anticipated what it might mean. From the start it was clear that the local Chinese were hostile to anything foreign—even the graffiti down by the docks proclaimed it. Unlike in Hong Kong or Ning-po or Chusan, the British were not welcome here, even on a superficial level for trade, and we passed no shops selling goods for European tastes or even those where allowances had been made for the British market. All in all, there was an unpleasant atmosphere of contention that we had not counted on. The place felt on the very verge of mutiny. This crept up on our own feelings of celebration the minute we entered the settlement and made us wary.

  As we picked our way along the main street our entourage caused quite a stir. Not one single merchant tried to sell us goods but many came to ogle as we passed. Our bearers were jostled as they carried our trunks and I heard swear words muttered behind us—not from our own men, but from those who had come to inspect the caravan. Though on our sedans we were untouched, we were certainly noted. Two mandarins, clearly friends meeting by chance outside a shop, stared and then haltingly followed us at a distance.

  ‘Lord,’ said Robert, thinking on his feet. ‘Strangers are not welcome here. I had thought it would be busier and there would be more of our soldiers.’

  He eyed the mandarins, who were pointing and whispering to each other before he continued. It reminded me of our time in the hills before Chusan where we were attacked by the crowd who had come to inspect us. This time, however, Robert was not for pressing on and ignoring the unfriendly stares.

  ‘Well, I do not judge it wise to march up to the Consulate and knock on the door, that is for sure,’ he said. ‘I think we might be better advised to stay Chinese for a while until we have assessed this place. It is most odd.’

  I agreed.

  Warily, we directed the caravan towards the port and when we got there a small phalanx of British soldiers marched towards us and ordered us to halt. This was to be expected. In every settlement it was at the port that the troops had their main presence. Here though, there were perhaps only six men on duty, the first European faces we had seen in two years, or at least since Father Edward had left us. I was excited to see these men, though it struck me that the soldiers seemed so much hairier than the Chinese appearance that I was now used to, and their faces were so unusual—another species indeed. It was surprising how strange my own countrymen had become to me. Quite apart from this, the men were armed to the teeth with knives at the belt and guns they thrust out before them. They looked like they would strike any moment.

  The captain motioned our sedans to be set down so he could interrogate us.

  ‘Name?’ he roared in Cantonese. ‘What is your business here?’

  Robert smiled. He knew he was being followed by the townsfolk and that we must be careful; here though was the definite chance for some sport. He reached out a long-nailed finger and motioned the officer closer so that none could hear what the grand mandarin was going to say. The man moved towards the sedan warily, his soldiers ready with their arms if need be.

  ‘Come along then,’ he barked. ‘Name.’

  Robert leant towards him.

  ‘They call me Sing Wa, old chap,’ he whispered in his best English drawl. ‘And by my judgement we had best stick to that name in these parts, but we are headed for Hong Kong and Sir Pottinger. Treat us as you would any Chinese merchant, arriving in town. We will take rooms here.’

  The captain stood upright. He stared first at Robert and then at me.

  ‘I say,’ he muttered.

  I adopted a haughty expression and hid my smile as his eyes searched my face momentarily, to see what might be beneath the surface. Then he rallied.

  ‘Right, men, look at the luggage here!’ he shouted. ‘Hop to it!’

  The troops fanned out and checked over the cases, shoving our men out of the way where need be, while the young captain whispered something to Robert I did not catch. Once our inspection was completed he waved us on.

  ‘They are often under attack here,’ Robert relayed to me. ‘The man says that if we unmask ourselves it is his view that there will be an uprising. He said the situation is very hostile.’

  ‘Then let’s stay hidden,’ I agreed.

  Right on the bay we took rooms in a newly-built complex that we discovered was to let. The place smelt of freshly sawn wood and new paint. There was a courtyard to the rear that backed onto a pristine warehouse and Robert also let this accommodation for our luggage and, of course, the men. While Wang and Sing Hoo busied themselves wrangling our entourage into their quarters, we took tea upstairs and assessed the situation. Outside, the mandarins had gone, but there were two Chinese servants loitering nearby in the street with instructions to take note of our activities no doubt. In a town the size of Foo Chow Soo our arrival constituted an event and our new neighbours were nosey. This wasn’t British territory or at least not as entirely as British as we had anticipated. In fact, it was a good deal less welcoming than either of the tea countries we had come from. It felt as if the place was under siege.

  ‘I am looking forward, Mary, to seeing you a lady once more.’ Robert regarded me.

  I blushed. ‘Not in Foo Chow Soo,’ I said.

  At length, Robert called Wang and instructed him to enquire about sailings to Hong Kong on a ship that could accommodate us.

  ‘Leave by the side door,’ he instructed. ‘Be careful, Wang. They are watching.’ Robert gestured vaguely out of the half-shuttered window where the men outside were standing together.

  ‘Yes, Master.’

  ‘And how are we to let the Consul know we’re here?’ I asked.

  ‘Did you notice there was a little theatre? I think we should attend, don’t you?’

  I turned in surprise. This was most unlike Robert.

  ‘The Chinese Opera?’

  ‘Yes. We have made our own fun, far too long. Let’s see what is playing this evening.’

  ‘What are you up to, Robert Fortune?’

  ‘Oh, everyone goes to the theatre, Mary. I should imagine that even the Consul may be there this even
ing.’

  Here then was the subject of the whispering I could not catch between Robert and the captain of the guard. I stood up and stared down into the street, the teacup to my lips. This town felt murderous. We would be lucky to escape with our skins.

  ‘Have there been many attacks here?’ I asked.

  ‘I should think so,’ Robert put his hand on my shoulder. ‘Try not to think of it. We shall be gone soon enough.’

  In the meantime we set about providing for the men and seeming as Chinese as we could. Sing Hoo was sent for provisions—all of a Chinese nature—and everyone was confined to their quarters. We did not want word getting out about our intentions.

  That evening, with our charges settled and a watch set up, Robert and I ventured out. We both carried knives beneath our long silk jackets. The streets around the theatre were lively after dark, the smell of cooking and the sound of high spirits pervaded the muddy alleyways. The candle-lamps set in the doorways gave the shabby street stalls a golden glow and, though it was small, the commercial heart of Foo Chow Soo bustled the hot, dark evening long. Still, in the street, we were followed. Wang led us, sure-footed, and we ignored the stares. These servants could not trail us into the theatre, in any case. There was an entrance fee, for a start.

  We entered as the huge, carved doors were opened by a burly doorman. Inside we were greeted by a man dressed in black, and asked if we preferred the gallery (where one must stand) or a table by the performing area. The six-man orchestra was already playing mesmerising Chinese music that I knew Robert would hate. Caterwauling he called it, and he had never got used to the Oriental rhythm or the high, haunting tone. We decided, however, upon a table, which was the choice most consistent with Robert’s rank as Sing Wa. Robert stood for a moment, considering what was on offer and then he directed us silently with a long arc of his finger to the other side of the room.

  There was a table of off-duty Chinese soldiers a few seats away, and they shifted to get a look at us. Robert had worn a jacket studded with crystals and, sure enough, it was this that caught their attention and in my plain, dark secretary’s outfit I happily paled into insignificance. As I sat down on a mound of bright, satin cushions, and a pretty waitress in a plain yellow robe with a red sash served little cups of sham shoo, I realised that when we were seated the soldiers were obscured from our view and, more importantly, we were obscured from theirs. The fact there were Chinese troops, off duty or not, in a British port was unheard of, and it made me even more uneasy as if I had to keep checking around to see who might be looking or what they might guess.

  ‘Well, now,’ I whispered, trying to put us at our ease, ‘I never knew you were a lover of Oriental music, Robert.’

  He knew I was being facetious and didn’t reply. Instead I surveyed the crowd in the gallery, brightly dressed women with intricate hairstyles standing demurely with their men. Some of these ladies no doubt worked at the town’s brothel and were being paid (well, I hoped) for their attendance. Robert noticed my line of vision.

  ‘At home the audience is no different, Mary,’ he smirked.

  I smiled. At home the programme at this time of year comprised of new plays and some classics. Congreve, often Marlowe, and sometimes a production in French.

  ‘In that case, the ladies will be scurrying around backstage. Completely engrossed with their make up.’

  ‘And at the Royal Society,’ Robert mused, ‘there may be a lecture.’

  ‘Oh, yes. Mosses of the Highlands?’ I ventured.

  ‘Mosses and lichens, more likely.’

  ‘Of course.’

  ‘Well,’ said a deep, unfamiliar voice, ‘I can’t imagine why you would want to tarry here, then.’

  I spun round. A tall, fair man with a grin on his face had taken a place at the table behind us. He seemed too large for the cushion he was seated on. I was immediately reminded of playing with the children, when we might seat a teddy bear, far too large, at a table with some smaller dolls and serve them all tea. It is odd how unfamiliar the sight of a white man had become. I marvelled at him.

  ‘Rum game this,’ the large man smiled.

  ‘Mary,’ Robert whispered, leaning towards me, ‘you must take that look off your face and turn towards the stage.’

  Quickly I pulled myself into check.

  Major Gilland introduced himself properly and then apologised.

  ‘Couldn’t resist it,’ he explained. ‘I must say, your disguises are excellent.’ He peered over.

  We did not turn around. Seated at the table directly behind us with Mr Morrison, a secretary from the Consulate, and I suppose it would appear that Gilland was talking to his companion, and that Robert and I were talking to each other, when in fact we were, all four of us, engrossed in conversation together. Or at least three of us were, as Morrison remained silent throughout the meeting. I was so unused to congenial company that it was like daydreaming and I said so. Gilland laughed.

  ‘Fun and games, eh?’ he observed. ‘Mind you, I can’t imagine them not spotting you in the interior, ma’am,’ he continued. ‘If you don’t mind me saying so.’

  ‘Let’s hope they will not spot me here, Major.’

  ‘We had given up on you for lost, Fortune. Had notice almost two years ago now that you might come this way. Plucky expedition of yours and they did not mention you had a lady in your party. Wish I could hear all about it. Good show.’

  ‘Thank you. But the show is not over, is it?’ Robert chipped in.

  ‘We’ll see what we can do. We’ll come up with something.’

  ‘I hope so. Don’t know how you are managing here, Gilland. It’s dreadful. Not come across the like of it before.’

  The major did not answer this.

  ‘Well, we have a plan of sorts for you, in any case. The boat leaves in three days,’ he said. ‘It’s a shoddy bucket, but the best we can muster on this notice. Captain McFarlane is a good fellow though plagued by his crew, I should imagine. Chinks to a man. They will get you to Hong Kong in something over a week. We are hoping Pottinger will send us reinforcements. I am not sure how long we can hold out, to be honest.’

  My blood ran cold. Only ten days now. Only ten. Robert pressed his leg against mine.

  ‘Well, I’m looking forward to some decent English food,’ Robert said. ‘We thought we’d be able to unmask here. Don’t worry—I will see Pottinger myself, Gilland. I am sure he will send what you need.’

  ‘Good thing you turned up,’ Gilland said. ‘Is there anything else I can get you?’

  ‘You wouldn’t happen to have any marmalade, would you?’ I blurted. It came out of the blue.

  ‘They are set to cut us to pieces and the lady wants marmalade!’ Gilland hooted.

  I felt ashamed for asking but everyone laughed.

  ‘I’ll see what I can do, ma’am,’ he swore.

  At this moment the actors came on stage and we fell silent. The main female character was clearly played by a man, who lumbered unconvincingly around the platform.

  ‘The provinces!’ I joked and we settled down to watch the show.

  ‘See, my love,’ Robert whispered, ‘we will be fine.’

  That night I sat up by the bedroom window. There remained a watch over us in the street below—two Chinese house servants huddled in a doorway opposite. We had set up a vigil of our own at each corner of the compound. I was glad the warehouse was to the rear of the property and not easily accessible, for this would make it difficult for our adversaries to find the nature of our cargo. With our men confined to quarters we were confident that no one would give our game away and it was only a matter of passing the time, staying safe until we could leave. To keep the bearers occupied Wang ordered the repacking of all the boxes one by one and the construction of Ward’s cases from glass and wood, which Robert had ordered from a local merchant and which had been delivered at the end of the day. The intention was once more to bolt the portable, sealed glasshouses to the deck and cultivate plants during the journey—th
is time the seedlings would be tea, of course, interspersed with mulberry bushes.

  ‘Never been done before,’ Robert had told Gilland that evening, when the entertainment had ceased, ‘but it will work, I am sure of it. If the tea plants thrive, then we will have a way to transport any fragile seed—you will have chestnuts in the tropics, Gilland, and oak trees too, I’ll warrant.’

  ‘Ingenious,’ the major had replied. ‘I miss the trees at home.’

  I had felt sorry for him and admired his bravery too, for he was risking his life every day here.

  The night was colder than usual and I pulled my loose silk gown around me as I watched the men over the road, silent in the darkness.

  ‘You cannot sleep?’ Robert asked from the bed, waking as he turned.

  ‘No. They are still watching.’

  ‘Come here, Mary.’

  I crossed the room silently, let the gown fall from my shoulders and slipped naked back under the satin sheet. Robert’s body was warm and he wrapped himself around me.

  ‘It is the last hurdle,’ he whispered, ‘and we will take it flying, Mary.’

  He had a gun, I knew, next to the bed. I tried to forget everything that was going on. And when I fell asleep I swear I was kissing him still.

  The next day we decided to explore the town. There were some supplies we wished to procure and, with our Chinese shadows in tow, we made our way along the main street, inspecting the shops one by one. The weather was stormy now and the daylight marred by heavy cloud. We found some interesting antiques along the thoroughfare—small wood carvings and lacquerwork. Robert bought them and dispatched Sing Hoo home to the warehouse, hauling them on his back. As we strolled on we passed several mandarins, all peering more closely at us than was remotely polite. One said something in a strange tongue, trying to address us. With Sing Hoo gone, Robert gave the man a condescending stare and then retreated, hurrying me onto my sedan and back to the house. It felt very dangerous.