The Palace of Heavenly Pleasure (57 page)

‘So you patched him up as best you could and brought him here?' said Airton.

‘That's right. That was the most hellish part of the whole affair,' said Frank, in a more sober tone. ‘We couldn't travel fast, you see, not with Tom in that condition, but every moment delayed we feared more for his life. After two days he had dropped into almost permanent unconsciousness and … well, I thought he was done for. It took another day to get to you.'

‘I think that you and Lu Jincai and the others did a magnificent job,' said the doctor quietly.

Tears were welling in Frank's eyes again. ‘You see, it was going off to save our silver that got Tom almost killed. If he'd … if he'd been … for that! How could I forgive myself?'

‘Tom was wounded saving the life of one of his comrades,' said the doctor. ‘The silver doesn't come into it. As the Evangelist says, “Greater love hath no man than this, that a man lay down his life for his friends.” You have nothing to be ashamed of, old fellow, and you are right, Tom has behaved like a hero.'

‘You're very tired, Mr Delamere,' said Nellie. ‘Stay with us here tonight.'

‘Tomorrow we'll go to the Mandarin and report this outrage,' said Airton, ‘but Nellie's right, first you need some rest. And perhaps a bath.' He chuckled.

‘I suppose I am a sight,' said Frank. ‘Look, you're very kind, but first I think I ought to see Helen Frances. I suppose she's down in the infirmary with Tom? She must be very upset.'

Nellie and the doctor exchanged glances. Nellie nodded almost imperceptibly at her husband.

‘Delamere,' said Airton gently. ‘She isn't at the infirmary. In fact, she doesn't know anything about this yet. She's here, in one of the bedrooms, asleep. I'm afraid she's not very well.'

‘Not well?' repeated Frank, stupidly. ‘Why, what's wrong with her?' He half rose from the sofa. ‘If she's ill I must go to her.'

‘Sit down a moment longer. I'm afraid that I have some rather bad news for you,' said Airton. ‘You see, since you were gone, we discovered that Helen Frances has…' He coughed nervously. ‘That Helen Frances has…'

‘Contracted an influenza,' said Nellie quickly.

Airton looked at his wife in amazement.

‘She's caught a cold?' asked Frank, with some bewilderment. ‘Is that all?'

‘Well, it's more serious than a cold,' said Airton, conscious that his cheeks were burning. ‘It's a new strain of influenza, quite contagious, and—she's been very ill,' he finished lamely.

‘She's all right, isn't she?' asked Frank, now very bemused. “Flu's not usually life-threatening, is it? It's not pneumonia or anything like that? She's not in danger, is she?'

‘Oh, no,' said Airton, ‘It's just a ‘flu. But she really has been very ill, and well, for the moment…'

‘You're not telling me I can't go in and see my own daughter?'

‘We don't think that she should be upset now, Mr Delamere,' said Nellie soothingly. ‘She really is quite weak, and I think that the doctor fears that if she were to hear about the terrible things that have happened to you, it would excite her. Isn't that right, Edward? Why don't you have your bath, Mr Delamere, and a good night's sleep? In the morning when we're all quite recovered, and your daughter is feeling stronger, we can acquaint her with the news that you're home again … and also tell her about Tom.'

‘Very well,' said Frank, a little grumpily. ‘Tomorrow, then. But she is all right? Recovering and all that?'

‘Oh, yes,' said Nellie. ‘It's just that the doctor feels she should not be disturbed tonight.'

After Ah Lee had been called, and Frank had been led off to his bath, Nellie lay back in the armchair and sighed. ‘What on earth got into you, dear?' asked Airton, dumbfounded. ‘Why the lie?'

‘Oh, don't you see, Edward?' she answered. ‘With Tom hanging between life and death, how can we tell him the truth? Frank Delamere, bless his heart, is the most temperamental and indiscreet man we know. Goodness knows how he'll react. And what if he told Tom? Letting Frank share a secret is like making a public announcement. I will not have the life of that fine young man on my conscience when we can delay a week and tell him when he is strong enough to withstand the shock. If he hears now he'll lose the will to live. Surely you comprehend that?'

‘Well, how are we to maintain the secret?'

‘You keep Helen Frances in bed and treat her for influenza, and any other plausible illness you can conjure out of your medical books. Don't worry about her not looking ill enough once the withdrawal symptoms for the opium habit begin. And together, tomorrow morning, before she sees her father, we will tell her what is at stake. Believe me, she will cooperate. She doesn't have any choice.'

Airton nodded compliantly and meekly sipped his whisky. ‘Nellie,' he said, after a long pause, ‘there's someone else I'm even more concerned about.'

‘Who?'

‘After Frank's story today we cannot deny the danger of the Boxers. And Sister Elena's out among the Christian villages.'

‘I know,' said Nellie. ‘It's been on my mind too. But there's nothing we can do about it tonight.'

‘I'll send Zhang Erhao after her first thing in the morning.'

‘Until then we can only pray that she's all right. Oh, Edward, what a day! What's suddenly happening around us? Our little world is falling to pieces.'

*   *   *

Evening was falling when Sister Elena reached the outskirts of Bashu. Pastor John and his two daughters, Mary and Martha, had been waiting for her on the hill and they were as relieved to hear the sound of her horse's hoofs as she was to see them.

The two girls were as merry as she remembered them. Mary was fourteen, and in village terms a beauty. The high cheekbones and snub nose were those of a northern peasant, but the peach pink of her skin, the mischievous eyes, which curved upwards like phoenix tails, and the oval red lips, cheeks dimpling with smiles were those of a coy princess from opera. Her shining plait, tied with a blue ribbon, swung behind her as she walked, or rather danced, along the path, reminding Elena of a colt or a deer, frisky with the joy of springtime. She could not imagine a less likely bride of Christ, but it was Mary's ambition to be a nun, and Elena and Caterina had promised, with her father's approval, to take her to the convent in Tientsin when she was sixteen. Twelve-year-old Martha was the opposite of her sister, a small, serious child, whose wide eyes, when fixed contemplatively on Elena's, had a knowledge and a sadness within them that made Elena want to clutch her to her bosom and squeeze her tenderly. Elena loved both the girls, whom she had known since their infancy.

Laughing, they were singing the verses of the hymn, which Caterina had taught them two months before:

‘Yesu ai wo, wo zhidao

Shengjing shuoguo wo hen hao…'

‘Jesus loves me, this I know

'Cos the Bible tells me so.'

Usually Sister Elena would have walked along beside them, singing with them, but this evening she was not in the mood—and it was not just the tiredness from her journey. Walking beside Pastor John, she noticed that he also was more than usually subdued. Despite the girls, it had been a sombre walk the last mile into the hamlet.

Mother Wang greeted her warmly, but Sister Elena noticed a look of concern behind her smiles. After a quick supper of corn broth and chicken, they retired early. Sister Elena lay awake for some time listening to the others breathing on the
kang,
rehearsing in her mind the strange events of the day.

It was not that the roads had been deserted. Any number of reasons might explain that. Nor was she particularly surprised by the tension she had discovered among the Christians of Bashu. It was natural to be worried about the rumours, of Boxers and burnings of property. That was one of the reasons why she had made the journey.

What had alarmed her was the meeting that she had had at her midday halt with the company of militia led by Major Lin. They had been watering their horses at the well when she arrived. She had greeted them in her usual hearty manner, but had received silent stares from cold faces in return.

The major had strolled up to her as she was eating her meal alone in the shade of a sheep byre. ‘You speak our language?' he had asked sardonically. The scar and the twist of his features gave him a menacing air.

‘I speak a little,' she had answered.

‘Will you tell me where you are going?'

‘I am going to Bashu,' she had replied.

‘The Christian village,' he said scornfully, and spat, the sputum narrowly missing her boots. ‘Your Christians are causing much trouble these days.'

‘I have heard that much trouble has come upon them.'

‘It makes no difference,' he said. ‘The peace is being disturbed. Why are you going to Bashu?'

‘They are my people,' she said simply.

‘They are not your people. You are a foreigner. They have only been affected by your foreign ideas. They refuse to pay taxes.'

‘They do not pay temple dues, but they obey the law.'

‘Foreign laws.' And Major Lin spat again. ‘Do you realise that it is dangerous to travel the roads alone? Things can happen to a woman.'

‘I am confident that soldiers like yourself can protect honest citizens going about their business.'

‘My men and I are returning to Shishan. We have been keeping the peace among your Christian villagers for these last weeks. Now we are returning home. You may ride with us—for your protection.'

‘I am going to Bashu.'

‘I strongly advise you against it.'

‘It is my duty.'

‘I, too, have done my duty. I have warned you of the dangers you face.'

‘What dangers are there for me in Bashu, Major?'

He looked at her coldly, then turned on his heel.

‘What dangers are there for me in Bashu, Major?' she called after him.

He turned to face her again. ‘You have been warned,' he said. ‘It is not my responsibility what happens to you.'

He barked an order and his men began to mount up. His sergeant brought him his own grey pony and he swung himself into the saddle at the head of his troop. Soon they were clattering in a cloud of dust down the road.

Now she lay on the
kang,
hearing again the major's hostile words. ‘
You have been warned,'
he had said to her. Warned against what?

It seemed that she had only just fallen asleep when she was woken by the sound of cocks crowing, and the shuffle of her fellow sleepers as they roused themselves for the day. They were the natural sounds of the morning.

‘You have been warned.'
She heard the words again in her mind.
‘It is not my responsibility what happens to you.'

Twelve

This city is so big—but we stride through the streets like the heroes of old.

 

Helen Frances was sitting on her made-up bed fully clothed, a defiant, surly expression on her face. She had opened the shutters and bright morning sunshine suffused the room. Nellie, who had remained with her back to the door, noticed that Helen Frances had packed all her clothes into three portmanteaux, which were lined up in front of the emptied sideboard. The room was light and airy; the Scottish scenes framed on the white walls gave the place a cheeriness that none of the three people contemplating each other felt.

‘Why are you out of bed?' asked Airton quietly, pulling up a wooden chair so he was facing her.

‘I've changed my mind,' said Helen Frances. ‘I want you to give me my money and then I'm leaving—after you've given me the morphine you promised me last night. I'm taking the train away from here.'

‘Did I promise you morphine last night?' asked the doctor, ignoring her last remark. Helen Frances's eyes widened, then her face pinched as she frowned. Nellie was reminded of a snarling fox. ‘You did. You know you promised me, Doctor.' It was a harsh, shrill sound; to Nellie, it was the voice of a stranger. ‘I need it. It's been twelve hours. Last night. You promised you'd come again in the morning.'

‘I have come again in the morning, my dear,' said Airton.

Helen Frances's suspicious eyes flickered from the doctor to Nellie to the sideboard. ‘Well, where is it? The tray? You brought it on a tray last night. Where is it?'

Airton looked at her impassively. She had been sitting in a composed position but now she began to shake and her pressed knuckles were as white as the counterpane she clutched in her trembling fingers. ‘Please, Doctor, don't torment me. Give me my dose. Just one phial.' Her eyes gleamed with sudden hope. ‘Or my pipe. Give me back my pipe with the paste. The one you took from my drawer. That's mine. Mine, Doctor. Please give it back to me. You can't take away what's mine. Mrs Airton,' the imploring eyes turned towards the figure by the door, ‘please ask your husband to give me some morphine. Or my pipe. Please.'

‘I think you should be getting back into your bed,' said Nellie.

‘Listen, I saw my father this morning, as you wanted me to.' Helen Frances's words were tumbling out one after each other, and a bead of sweat was running down her forehead. ‘I let him come in and I lay there, and pretended I had flu. I lied to him as you told me to. I did my part. Now you've got to do yours and give me the morphine you promised me. And then I'll go. And you won't have to see me again.
That's what we agreed,
' she screamed suddenly. ‘That's what we agreed.'

Airton tried to reach for her hands but she wrenched them away, and rolled over the bed so she was standing on the other side, breathing heavily, her fists clenched. ‘I'll tell my father the truth,' she hissed. ‘That you're keeping me here against my will. That you started me on the drug. I'll tell him—I'll tell him—'