Peking Picnic

by Bridge, Ann;

  CHAPTER THREE

  STANDING IN the cool polished hall of her house, Mrs Leroy called ‘Lai!’ A servant in white appeared. ‘Give money that man,’ she said in Chinese, pointing towards the door. The servant bowed and went. Mrs Leroy threw off her hat and sat down on a sofa, and began to read through a pile of notes which had accumulated during the afternoon on a silver tray near the inner door. When the servant returned, ‘Great-Man back-come-not?’ she inquired. The servant answered that the Great Man had come back, and now ride pony with No. 2 Envoy, by which communication Mrs Leroy knew that her husband was out riding with the Counsellor, Grant-Howard. She next inquired as to her nieces’ whereabouts. Niu, who like all Chinese upper servants made it his business to be minutely informed about the doings of the whole household, was prompt and clear. The Virgins had returned in the gas-cart (motor) – the one Virgin was in her room, the Enormous Virgin (the servants’ name for the massive Lilah) was walking with the Third Envoy. Laura was pleased. Derek must have nipped home from the Knudsens’ and carried Lilah off for a walk – a rather enterprising move. She refused a cocktail which Niu told her was waiting, and bade him tell Ho Kuniang (Hubbard, her maid) to get a bath ready – what she actually said was, ‘Want bath’; then gathering up her notes she went into her own sitting room to write a few answers before dinner.

  The Leroys’ was one of the three or four English-built houses in the Legation – that is to say it had an upstairs as well as a downstairs, while the servants had quarters of their own in a roomy compound outside. The room in which Mrs Leroy now sat had a southern aspect, and was somewhat darkened by the shadow of the p’êng which ran along the whole south side of the house. A p’êng is an ingenious contrivance for keeping houses cool in summer, common in Peking; it consists of a sort of extension of the roof made of straw matting, thrown out at roof level and supported on poles, which keeps the sunny side of the house perpetually in shadow, but permits a free movement of air below it. P’êngs are put up at the beginning of the summer and removed in autumn; it was fully early for one, but Henry Leroy had a theory that to keep a house cool you must never let it get hot – so his p’êng was always erected a fortnight or more before other people’s. Sitting down before a large writing table of the GHF (Government Heavy Furniture) type, supplied by the Office of Works, Mrs Leroy wrote rapidly, from time to time consulting a large red notebook labelled ‘Engagements’, and scribbling a word or two in another book bound in blue, throwing the notes as she finished them on to the floor at her side. She had nearly finished when the door opened; she looked up and saw Judith Milne poised at the threshold.

  ‘Come in, Judith,’ she said.

  ‘Oh, not if you’re busy, Laura.’

  ‘No, I’ve just finished,’ said Mrs Leroy. ‘Come and tell me how you got on while I log these up.’

  ‘It was marvellous!’ began Judith eagerly, coming forward as she spoke and perching on the arm of a sofa close to the writing table. ‘Miss Parke is a wonder! Fancy her having lived there like that.’ She went on describing her day at the Summer Palace while Mrs Leroy collected her notes off the floor, took a third book labelled ‘Chits’ in gold lettering, and began to write in it the names of the recipients under the day’s date, looking up at Judith now and then, with a nod or a laugh, as she did so.

  Judith Milne was only medium tall, but she had a strong elastic figure, like a boy’s, and extremely pretty shapely feet, legs and hands. Her hair was cendré fair, and curled by itself; she wore it shingled, rather long, so that her face was always framed in a pale fuzzy halo. The face was redeemed from ordinariness by rather fine light-blue eyes, under brows much darker than her hair, which slanted almost upwards at the corners; there was something about this slant of the brows and the winged cut-away line of her nostrils that reminded Laura of one of the Michelangelo youths at the corners of the Sistine Chapel. She talked fast and headlong, tumbling out her sentences and interrupting herself with little burbles of laughter – there was a sort of warm vibration of enthusiasm in her voice when she was excited, which made it very nice to listen to. She ended her recital as she began – it was a marvellous place, they had had a marvellous day, it was terribly good of Laura to have arranged it. ‘Miss Parke, of course, simply made it. I am sorry for people who go to the Summer Palace without her to tell them about the Empress Dowager’s picnics.’ There was always at least one word in italics in each of Judith’s sentences.

  Mrs Leroy had by this time finished entering her notes in the chit book, and rang the bell. Niu appeared; she handed him the book and the notes, and said something to him in Chinese. ‘Understand, understand!’ he replied briefly, and went out.

  ‘I think that’s such a killing way of carrying on one’s correspondence,’ said Judith, looking after the man. ‘Do you never post letters?’

  ‘Not to people in Peking,’ replied Laura. ‘It’s much quicker to send the chit coolie.’

  Judith was idly handling the things on the writing table. ‘Profit and loss account,’ she read out, holding up the book bound in blue, in which Laura had been making entries as she wrote her notes. ‘What on earth is this?’

  Laura smiled. ‘Lunches and dinners given and received,’ she said. ‘They are all written up in that, and when I am giving a party I can turn anyone up and see at once what I owe them, and work them off. I balance it once a quarter or so and start afresh.’

  Judith Milne turned the leaves thoughtfully, and then looked at Laura. ‘I think it’s rather frightful,’ she said.

  ‘Why?’ asked Laura, interested.

  ‘It seems so horrible to run one’s entertaining like a bank,’ the girl said slowly. ‘Making friendship a sort of business. Don’t you want to see any of these people?’

  ‘Some of them,’ said Mrs Leroy.

  ‘Then why do you have the ones you don’t want to see?’ persisted Judith, still looking at the book. ‘Mrs Brownlow,’ she read out. ‘That’s that awful fat woman who’s so badly made up, with the husband who was screwed the other night at the hotel, isn’t it? She looks like a barmaid. You can’t want to see her or him, ever.’

  ‘She was a barmaid,’ said Mrs Leroy coolly, ‘and I don’t want to see her very much, though there are plenty of people in Peking who are duller and less kind than Mother Brownlow. But he represents a big British commercial interest, and one must be civil to them.’

  ‘But can’t you be civil to people without having them to dinner?’ asked Judith, still studying the blue book, horror at the number of meals the Brownlows were asked to clearly visible on her face. ‘It seems so awfully insincere!’ She paused. ‘It isn’t like you, Laura!’ she burst out.

  ‘It isn’t like anyone,’ Laura answered, wondering what idea the girl had been forming of her. ‘It’s just part of the job. This entertaining is simply a system.’

  ‘Well, I call it a rotten system,’ said Judith. ‘Such a fearful waste of time. One never sees enough of the people one really wants to see – one never gets to know anyone well enough. And to spend ages feeding people who bore you seems to me simply crazy.’

  Laura was more interested than ever. ‘I agree with you that as a life it would be crazy,’ she said. ‘But as I keep telling you, it’s a job.’

  ‘But why is it part of the job?’ said Judith. ‘Does it help Uncle Henry, for instance, to dine with duds?’

  Laura laughed out. ‘Not exactly,’ she answered. ‘Yes, indirectly it does. Look here – everyone in Peking is here to transact business of some sort with someone or other – we are, the colleagues are, the business people are. And in practice it’s been found that business is transacted more easily between people who know one another socially than between those who only meet officially. Hence the system.’ She rose and took the book from Judith and put it in a drawer. ‘And hence that book,’ she added. ‘One may as well be efficient about things. Come on – we ought to go and dress.’

  ‘No – wait a moment, Laura,’ said Judith. ‘Surely all this must make
people very insincere?’

  ‘Perhaps it does,’ said Laura a little wearily. ‘I think sincerity is often very much overrated, though.’

  ‘Laura! What do you mean?’ Judith began. But she was interrupted by the entrance of Niu, with the information that the Big Envoy wished to strike electric talk with the Great Man. Mrs Leroy went towards the door. ‘The Minister is on the telephone,’ she said as she went. ‘I must go.’

  On her way upstairs – ‘I’m so sorry, Sir James,’ Judith heard Laura’s voice, ‘Henry is out riding with Mr Grant-Howard. Shall I send him across when he comes in?’

  Sir James was perturbed. His Counsellor was out, his Commercial and Oriental Attaché was out. ‘I can’t even get that felloh Fitzmaurice,’ he complained. Laura’s voice became very soothing. ‘Aren’t you dining with the Schuylers too?’ she said. ‘Well, then, won’t you come across when you’re dressed and have a cocktail and talk to Henry quietly here, and we can all go on together. Do – I’ll make you one of your special ones.’

  Sir James was soothed. He thought perhaps he would. That would be delightful, Laura said – in about half an hour? She hoped it wasn’t anything tiresome? Oh, that felloh Tu – there was a telegram from that felloh at what’s-its-name, a jumpy felloh, seemed to think he was on the move again. ‘Your husband’ll know what it’s all worth,’ said Sir James. ‘Half an hour, then.’

  In Laura’s room Hubbard, the maid, waited with a face registering resignation. ‘This is the second bath I’ve drawn you, madam. I hope it won’t be cold.’

  ‘Run in some more hot, Hubbard,’ said Laura.

  ‘I’ve put the gold dress out for you, madam,’ Hubbard went on, moving towards the bathroom.

  ‘No – I’ll wear the black lace,’ said Laura.

  ‘You wore the black lace the last time you was at the American Legation, madam,’ said Hubbard reprovingly.

  ‘Oh, did I? Very well, the gold then,’ said Laura indifferently, as the maid left the room.

  A few moments later Mrs Leroy plunged into her bath, found it boiling hot, and blessed her servant. Hubbard was an undersized skinny little woman, the wrong side of forty, with a sallow complexion, beady black eyes, and tightly frizzed black hair; she was, as Henry Leroy often said, much uglier than sin. But she was also from Laura’s point of view a jewel. It was not only that she sewed like an angel, and could really copy French frocks – that usually legendary accomplishment; it was not only that she always remembered, as now, what frock her mistress had worn where, and ruled the wash man and the house coolies with a rod of iron and three words of Chinese; nor that every garment, shoe, and stocking flourished like a living entity under her skilled care. These things were much. But in all the eight years they had spent in China together Mrs Leroy had never seen her maid frightened, and never known her go sick. Her mincing gentility concealed a highly adventurous spirit, and her plain little person housed, most improbably, a raging and successful coquette. None of the young and pretty maids and nurses of the Legation had a tithe of her success – she simply walked through the hearts of the British and American Legation guards. And though she grumbled like any Tommy, baths were always hot, and cigarette cases always filled, and clothes and handkerchiefs always scented. Happy the woman who lights on such a maid; happier still the one who, like Mrs Leroy, contrives to inspire in such a paragon an unexpressed devotion.

  ‘So we’re likely to have another war then, madam,’ remarked Hubbard conversationally, as she put on her mistress’s shoes and fastened her suspenders, while Laura, before the mirror, dealt rather perfunctorily with her face.

  ‘Oh, are we?’ said Laura. ‘Who with this time, Hubbard?’

  ‘Well, the boys were saying at the “Y” this afternoon that one of these Doojoons, as they call them, was setting out to attack Peking,’ replied Hubbard. ‘Doo, I think they said his name was; though I can’t make much of these names after all these years, and that’s a fact.’

  Laura, remembering the Minister’s words, smiled to herself. It would not be the first time that Hubbard had proved to be at least as well informed as anyone in the Legation. The YMCA was a mine of information.

  ‘Well, that will make your – what, sixth siege, Hubbard?’ she said cheerfully.

  ‘Seventh, madam,’ replied Hubbard, with modest pride.

  ‘Where is he supposed to be coming from?’ Mrs Leroy went on, hoping for more.

  ‘Well, madam, Howard, one of the Marines at the American Legation, has a friend in the Posts at a place called Why Lie? so he says – though it seems a funny name,’ said Hubbard, with a discreet giggle; ‘and Howard has been wanting to go on leaf to Tientsin, to see a friend, you understand, when the weather should be warmer. So he asked this friend to tip him one in good time, if there should be any trouble up that way, so that he could make his arrangements before leaf was stopped. And he had a telegram today about this Doo, or whatever his name is. He must be quite a personage,’ Hubbard went on, ‘for Howard’s friend said he had a hundred thousand men with him. He seems to live near Why Lie? Shall you wear your pearls, madam?’

  ‘No, diamonds with the gold,’ said Laura.

  ‘So Howard put in for his leaf after tiffin,’ Hubbard continued, clasping the diamonds round her mistress’s neck, ‘and he’s going on the 7.30 tonight – gone, I should say,’ she added, with a glance at the clock.

  ‘Well done, Howard!’ said Laura laughing. ‘Was the Bridge good at the Y.M.C.A., Hubbard?’

  ‘Mahjong it was today, madam, and rather a poor table,’ said Hubbard critically. ‘Shall you take a fan, madam? I’ve put out the gold.’

  ‘No, the jade – and jade bag too. Change over my things – sorry, Hubbard,’ said Mrs Leroy. ‘Bring them down with my cloak.’

  Before going downstairs she went to her husband’s room. Sounds of splashing through the half-open door of the bathroom beyond told her that he had returned. She sat down on a settee at the foot of the bed, and they talked through the door. It was the quiet, rather desultory commentary on the day that people who know one another’s lives well exchange almost mechanically – but miss if they do not get it. She heard that the shoeing had been successful, and the ride too – Grant-Howard had bought the cross-bred, and might buy the roan as well. Then it was her turn. She reported the Kuniangs’ successful outing at the Summer Palace, and told her husband of the arrangements for Nina’s weekend picnic. ‘We go on Friday – Nina’s doing the food and Touchy the drinks. I thought of taking Niu and Number Three to wait – you can manage with Li, can’t you? And one of the coolies for beds and washing up? I think it’s rather a good plan.’

  To her surprise Henry didn’t. ‘What an ass Nevile is!’ he growled through the door. ‘Trust the Military Attaché for ignoring movements of troops! He must have heard about Wang.’

  ‘What about Wang?’ Laura asked – she had expected another name, and was surprised.

  ‘Oh, he’s made some new combination, and has paid off three battalions – so he says. Paid off!’ he snorted. ‘We all know what that means. “Returning honest peasants to civil life,” he said in his manifesto. Letting the bandit return to his banditry, I should call it.’

  ‘But, Henry, Wang is miles away, surely,’ his wife expostulated. ‘Right off beyond Hsiao Wu T’ai Shan. That can’t affect us at Chieh T’ai Ssu.’

  ‘Oh, can’t it?’ grumbled Leroy’s voice. ‘The Hills will be swarming with T’ao-pings (deserters, leaderless soldiers) now for weeks – pure-bred brigands resuming their normal avocation, without any pay, and fully armed. These fellows always get away with their rifles. I call it a rotten plan.’

  ‘Oh, well, we shall have to see,’ said Laura pacifically. ‘It may turn out to be a rumour, mayn’t it? Anyhow, we shall be a large party, and close home, and we can always chuck it at the last minute. By the way,’ she went on, prudently changing the subject, ‘the Minister is coming round before dinner – he wants to see you.’

  ‘What does he want?’ asked Leroy,
still from his bath. He was a large man, and believed in prolonged soakings after exercise for keeping down weight.

  ‘Oh, he’s had a telegram that fussed him – something about Tu Yu-jen,’ said Laura. ‘You and G.-H. and Derek were all out, and he seemed to be stewing, so I told him to come over and have a cocktail later on, and see you. It was you he really wanted,’ she added, diplomatically – and truthfully.

  ‘Well, keep him in play, there’s a good creature,’ groaned Henry. ‘Out of this bath I don’t get for another ten minutes, not for twenty Ministers.’

  ‘Right – I’ll go down and see to him,’ said Mrs Leroy.

  ‘And look here, Laura!’ her husband called after her.

  ‘Yes?’ She turned at the door.

  ‘Did you say it was Vinstead, the Psychology of Neutrality man, who’s going to Nina’s?’

  ‘Yes,’ said Laura again.

  ‘Well, book him for dinner one night, quietly, as soon as you can. I want to talk to him.’

  ‘All right – can-do!’ she said, and went out.

  CHAPTER FOUR

  THE MINISTER had not arrived when Mrs Leroy got down. She made the cocktails rather perfunctorily, while Niu stood looking on in disapprobation. To use his own words, ‘I before-time bar-room man’; he was an expert on drinks and felt that he lost a certain amount of ‘face’ if his employers mixed their own. What did the T’ai-t’ai (lady) know about a mix-wine (cocktail) that he did not? He did not say any of this, but Laura knew it perfectly well and ignored it; in a way she rather enjoyed scoring off Niu, who was as tyrannical as any old family butler in England, and much more subtle and persistent in his methods of attaining his ends. She told him of the weekend arrangements: luggage and beds for three to be at Chieh T’ai Ssu at four on Friday. Niu repeated all the orders with additions and corrections of his own – Laura crossed these out, verbally, inexorably. Once a Chinese servant understands – or rather agrees to carry out – orders, he will do so perfectly, but his contempt for the mentality of foreign devils is so engrained that it is usually some time before this stage of agreement is reached. He can always think of some new and more ingenious combination of his own, which he will employ unless ruthlessly prevented. But at last, ‘Understand, understand,’ said Niu again, and left the room.