A HAZARD OF HEARTS (7 page)

There was always something new to see: the hills
above, looking down on every shade of green; the banks dotted with fortresses and
pagodas; fishermen out in their sampans with cormorants fastened by one foot to
a long string secured to a man’s wrist, each bird with a ring around the
throat, tight enough to prevent it swallowing any catch. The men sat the birds
on the edge of the sampan where they peered intently into the water, plunged
suddenly, to come up almost instantly with a fish. They never seemed to miss,
and they fought fiercely to retain the prey they could not eat. Pearl was
rather sorry for them and thought the men deserved the fierce pecks they
received.

Her protector ignored her most of the time,
keeping to the quarter-deck area reserved for the Governor and his entourage. Occasionally,
however, he would spend a few minutes conversing with this oddity he had
rescued. He was with her when they passed a tributary river crossed by a bridge
hung with the bodies of several dead cats.

Meadows was shocked out of his usual urbanity. ‘What
in God’s name are they doing there?’

Pearl hid a smile. ‘They are there to prevent
the ghosts that walk by night from attacking travellers.’

‘Do you believe that?’

Pearl shrugged. Her blood told her that such
things were, while her training denied it. Sometimes she believed, sometimes
not. She changed the subject. ‘I heard the men say we do not go as far as the
river mouth, that Shanghai stands on a smaller river.’

‘That is so. Ships can’t pass the shallow sand
bars in the Yangtze delta, but the Huangpu has a good channel to the sea. Shanghai
is about thirteen miles upriver from the mouth. It’s an extraordinarily busy
port, since the British forced it open.’

Pearl had been taught that the trade treaties
forced on the Chinese by Western countries were a good thing, since they had allowed
the entry of missionaries, while the consequent flooding of opium throughout
the country was accounted a necessary sacrifice. She had her own thoughts on
the matter but kept them to herself as Meadows went on happily expounding the
value of trade through the open ports.

Another time they stood together watching a
fleet of ‘slipper-boats’ manoeuvre past the
Hermes
, so-called, explained
Pearl, because the ‘toe’ was closed in and the ‘heel’ left open where the
rowers balanced. Something about her profile must have attracted Meadows’
attention. He exclaimed and turned her towards him, peering intently into her
face.

‘Why didn’t I see it before? The skin is drawn
tight over such exquisitely regular bones, the eyes, so beautifully shaped... You’re
not a boy named Li Po. Who are you?’

Pearl tried to pull back, shaking her head so
that her braid danced.

‘No. Answer me.’

She stopped resisting him and he let his hands
drop.

‘My name is Pearl, but the rest of my story is
true. I am travelling to Shanghai to seek my brother.’

‘And the fugitive story – the mission, the dead
parents?’

‘All true.’ Pearl’s lips tightened. ‘It’s not
safe to be female in this land. Twice I have been a slave. It will not happen
again.’ Her hand darted inside her jacket, and the small, wicked blade flashed
in the sunlight.

Meadows gave a soundless whistle. ‘I believe
you. You fooled me finely Pearl, but I can’t do much about it now. We’re coming
up to Baoshan where we turn into the Huangpu River, and then it’s only about
another forty-five miles to Shanghai. You may as well stay aboard.’ He laughed suddenly.
‘I don’t know why I should worry about a little fire-cracker like you. You’ll
succeed in whatever you try. But I’d keep a surly face if I were you. In repose
your features show your sex.’ He went away, chuckling.

The following morning
Hermes
anchored to
the north of the walled city called ‘On the Sea’ and Pearl slipped ashore. Having
a good understanding of the Triads, she knew they would not be long content to
rest in Nanking. Shanghai would be their next conquest, and she intended to
stay ahead of them.

Elly woke in darkness to another living
nightmare. She lay flat on the ground, aching all over, her arm a fiery agony
that burnt through to the bone. Moaning, she looked up into the face of a
stranger, his face planed and shadowed by firelight, his eyes curiously intent
as he stared into hers from a distance of a few inches.

‘Who… what are you doing?’ Elly shrank back as
the man’s fingers closed on her arm like the bite of hot pincers.

‘This will hurt you. I’m sorry.’ His voice held
a rough sympathy. A hot ember of wood appeared in the man’s free hand and
dipped towards her.

‘Don’t! Don’t do it!’ Elly’s protest ended in a scream
as awful, searing pain burst in her flesh and she fainted.

~*~

Her mind seemed to float for a time,
turning in lazy spirals that gradually ascended until she was aware of daylight
and the drift of wood smoke and, overhead, the warbling notes of the magpies’
morning song. She lay still, savouring the comfort of warmth, peace, freedom
from pain. Memories flitted across her mind, of the harsh sunlight on the
track, of thirst and exhaustion – of the snake! She jerked involuntarily and a
sharp twinge in her upper arm brought the memory vividly to life. She’d been
bitten by a black snake. What had happened afterwards? There had been darkness
and a man who frightened her, hurt her.

Footsteps crackled on broken twigs and she
looked up fearfully to see the stranger standing over her.

‘Awake at last. How do you feel this morning?’ His
voice was reassuringly normal, of a pleasant deep timbre, without emotional
inflection. It might have belonged to any educated Englishman. Nor did his
tanned and shaven face reflect the passion of a madman who attacked people with
burning coals.

Elly’s momentary panic was dispelled by angry
reaction. Heaving herself up onto her elbows, she bit her lip against a stab of
pain, saying sharply, ‘Who are you? Why did you attack me?’

‘Attack! My dear young woman, you’re delirious. I’ll
fetch you some water.’

‘Never mind the water. Answer me, if you please.
I distinctly recall you brandishing an ember in my face before... before....’

‘Before cauterising your snake-bight and
possibly thereby saving your life. Look at your arm, if you don’t believe me.’

Elly glanced down at the neat bandage on her
right upper arm and realised that, apart from that first jab, it barely hurt at
all. ‘The treatment for snakebite is scarifying, then suction of the poison
from the point of entry and washing with whatever clean liquid is available.’

‘Which I carried out, with the addition of a
native remedy, cautery, followed by application of a herb and clay covering. I’ve
know it to be efficacious.’ He squatted down beside her and she smelled the
familiar mixed odours of wool, leather and pipe tobacco that had been her
father’s particular aura.

Soothed by the association, with her interest caught
by this new bit of medical lore, Elly felt her anger dissipate. ‘Is it so? I
wish I could have told my father. He always said he’d have liked to know more
about native medicine, if only he could have communicated with the people. How
did you discover the treatment?’

‘Oh, in my travels I’ve learned a thing or two.’
The man turned his head to whistle two notes, and the bushes beside Elly parted
as a small brown body barrelled through in a flurry of barks and whipping tail
to stop short, eyeing Elly enquiringly. ‘This is Pepper, famed as a snake
catcher. And may I introduce myself also? Paul Gascoigne at your service.’

‘How do you do, Mr Gascoigne. Pepper. My name is
Eleanor Ballard and I’ve remembered my manners at last. Thank you for saving my
life. I couldn’t have survived another day on the track, even without the snake
attack.’

She studied him: a tall man of about thirty;
broad, loose-limbed; dressed sensibly for the bush in boots, moleskins and a
many-pocketed jacket. His lean face was intelligent and strong-jawed, and his
eyes were a clear green verging on grey, with sun-creases at the corners. A
mass of dark unruly waves needed cutting, unlike hers, thought Elly with a
sigh.

As for the man’s manner, he projected an air of
confidence that was comforting to someone lately brought to the edge of
extinction and not yet in a position to fend for herself. Nor did she feel the
customary wariness of a woman confronting a strange male in isolated
surroundings. Confronting was the wrong word. Paul Gascoigne’s self-possession,
his attitude of ‘take me as I am’ required no proof of good intentions.

He held out his hand. ‘Come, Miss Ballard. Rise
and join me for breakfast. You may perform your ablutions down at the water
hole beyond that stump.’ He handed her a cloth wrapped around a sliver of soap.
‘And then you may give me an explanation for your presence alone on the bush
track, close to expiry.’

Elly accepted his help to extricate herself from
what must be his own bedroll, waiting until the world had steadied around her
before taking the wash-cloth and making her way barefoot through the scrub to
the water hole. This lay well back off the track, screened by mimosa bushes. Alone,
she’d have passed it by, never knowing it was there. The pool, dark, cool and
deep in the shadow of the gums, was so entirely inviting that, with a glance
around, she removed her bodice and knelt to plunge head and shoulders into the water,
scrubbing the worst of the dust and sweat from her hair and leaving it standing
in short damp spikes all over her skull.

Wriggling her top back over her wet chemise, she
brushed down her gown while deciding how much of her story she would tell her
autocratic saviour. Still raw from her recent ill-treatment by the people she
had once called friends, she hesitated to expose her humiliation to a mere acquaintance.
Then she shrugged at her reflection. There was precious little dignity left for
her to clutch. Besides, she owed the man the truth in exchange for his honest
help.

Pushing aside a mimosa bush in full golden bloom
she re-entered the small glade where a camp fire burned with a tripod and a
billy pot on the boil. A saddle sat on a stump beside a couple of packs and a
sheet of canvas hung across a branch, shielding the bedroll. As she watched,
Paul Gascoigne took down the canvas and rolled it tightly, securing it with a
leather strap. Elly heard horses grazing nearby and smelt the gum bubbling in
the eucalypt branches on the fire. She stepped forward as Paul raised the pot
lid.

‘Would tea suit you, Miss Ballard?’

She thought his low-pitched voice the sweetest
music she’d ever known. ‘Tea! I could die for a cup of tea. You can’t know how
I’ve longed for one.’

His face lightened in a half-smile which seemed
to hover on the edge of commitment, then disappeared. ‘Well, hold onto life a
little longer,’ he said. ‘The water has boiled already.’

Elly sat on the bed-roll sipping from a steaming
mug, watching the light change the trees from shadowed sepia to all shades of
green against the dawn sky. She felt oddly content. Pepper lay in similar
repose across her feet, his acceptance complete, while Paul Gascoigne moved
about the camp, tidying and packing, soon to move on.

Elly felt a flutter of panic at the thought. What
about her? Would he take her with him? Where was he headed? To The Settlement? She
couldn’t go back there. That life was finished. She had to start a new one,
somehow, somewhere far away.

When Paul brought his mug of tea and took a seat
on a stump, with one eye on the bubbling porridge pot, Elly collected herself,
ready for an accounting. But he forestalled her.

‘Miss Ballard, are there any others of your
party lost and wandering in the bush? Should I try to arrange a search?’

Elly cleared her throat. ‘No. I had no party. I
was alone.’

His brows rose and he waited.Elly burst into her
speech. ‘My story sounds incredibly strange, I know, but I beg you to believe
it is true. I come from a small village called The Settlement, back in the
hills above the Myall River. It services a cedar cutters’ camp and, as far as I
can see, that’s its only reason for being. My... my father was the doctor. He trained
me as his assistant, and when he died recently I took over his practice as well
as I could.’

Paul Gascoigne raised his mug and blew gently at
the rising steam. Elly noticed his hands, long and muscular, burnt brown by the
sun.

He said, ‘This Settlement was singularly
fortunate in having two medical people in residence.’

Elly’s mouth twisted sadly. ‘One would have
thought so. However, a newcomer, a so-called Doctor Harwood, arrived and set
about undermining people’s faith in my skills. At first I felt there could be
room for both of us, but he obviously did not. When I offered to act as his assistant
he rebuffed me. I now realise he was waiting for the opportunity to discredit
me totally.’ She paused. ‘He did so at the cost of a child’s life. Blaming me
for his own incompetence, he swayed the people against me, turning them into a
mob lusting for blood. They attacked me and drove me out, knowing that without
help I would die on the bush track.’