The Palace of Heavenly Pleasure (10 page)

As Mrs Dawson snored beside her, Helen Frances lay awake on the iron bed, thinking of the conversation about Boxers and her talk with Pritchett, and of Manners and Countess Esterhazy. Of Manners, in particular, turning in his saddle, his blue eyes and white teeth and sleek black hair. What had Dr Morrison said? Adviser to the Japanese army? And something about railways. Was he really going to be with them in Shishan? He was very different from Tom. Dearest Tom. Tom with his wide chest and strong arms. His lopsided grin and deep laugh. Imperceptibly, however, her picture of Tom began to merge with that of Manners, and suddenly, vividly, there was only Manners—his broad shoulders, his agile body, his small, fashionable moustache. Dangerous. A black panther, a prowling black panther. And what was Tom? A lion? No, a big, shaggy dog. A prowling panther and a shaggy collie, a sweet shaggy collie …

She woke with a headache. Serve her right, she thought, for drinking so much champagne. She followed Mrs Dawson sleepily back to the lawn. There she saw Tom standing with Henry Manners.

‘Dearest, it's the most wonderful thing,' said Tom. ‘Guess what? Here's a chap who's also being posted to Shishan. Henry Manners. My fiancée, Helen Frances Delamere. We can all travel together. Isn't that topping?'

‘Enchanted,' said Manners, lifting her hand to his lips. She felt the brush of his moustache on her fingers. His eyes, crinkled with humour, held hers.

‘Manners is going up there to build the railway. He'll be living in the camp, but it's just outside the town so we'll be able to see a lot of each other. And when I'm away up-country you and he can go riding together. It's fine riding up there, apparently, and there's even some hunting.'

‘That's what they tell me,' said Manners. ‘But I think it's mainly bear hunting. Some deer.'

‘I saw you on your horse this morning,' said Helen Frances. The words seemed to blurt out.

‘Did you?' said Tom. ‘You saw the race? Wasn't that fine? Manners and I are going to try a gallop on the way back, aren't we? If there's enough light, that is. HF, old girl, isn't this terrific? You know, I was a bit worried before—never told you, of course—about us going off to Shishan all alone, where there's no congenial company except your father and the old doctor. But having Manners with us is just the thing.'

She was spared the need to respond because Sir Claude MacDonald appeared beside them. ‘Manners,' he acknowledged.

‘Sir Claude. Grand picnic,' Manners replied.

‘That's what we call these little affairs. It's all part of the diplomatic round. I'm very glad the three of you have met. So, you're heading off to Shishan together?'

‘It appears so. It couldn't be a more fortunate coincidence, could it?'

‘Aye. Well. These days I'm happier when there's a big group travelling together. As you know, I don't hold with this Boxer nonsense but there have been incidences of banditry and it's wise to take precautions. Trust you'll go well armed. Mind you, in Shishan you have an excellent man in Airton. Very sound, and he knows the Mandarin well. You should be safe enough there.'

‘I look forward to meeting him, Sir Claude.'

‘He's a wise head, young Henry. Listen to him, is my advice. Listen to him.' Sir Claude looked intently at Manners as if to press the point. Manners smiled and dropped his eyes. Sir Claude turned towards Tom and Helen Frances. ‘I've not met your father, Miss Delamere, but Dawson tells me he is doing well by his company in those parts. Incidentally, I understand that congratulations are in order. The two of you are engaged, are you not?'

‘Well, not officially yet, sir. More an understanding.'

‘You have still to get the father's permission. I quite understand. Well, I'm sure he'll agree. You're a lucky fellow. You're going up there to be Mr Delamere's assistant, I believe?'

‘Yes, sir. Looking forward to it.'

‘Good. Good. Well, I won't detain you. You have a long ride back. Thank you all for coming. Look after yourselves in Shishan. And, Manners, mind the advice I've given you.'

‘I say,' said Tom, as they made their way towards the horses and carriages, ‘that was a bit like being put in front of the old headmaster again.'

‘Silly old fool,' muttered Manners. ‘Head in the clouds. Doesn't know what's going on.'

‘What was this advice he was giving you? He seemed pretty strong about it.'

‘Advice? Just the old Polonius. “Neither a borrower nor a lender be.” Feels he owes it to my pater to keep me on the straight and narrow. Some nerve, actually.'

‘Are you intent on becoming the black sheep of your family then, Mr Manners?' asked Helen Frances.

‘HF, golly, you can't say things like that!' Tom looked anxiously at his new friend, but Manners laughed.

‘I already am the black sheep of my family, Miss Delamere,' he said, swinging into his saddle. ‘By the way, I saw you too this morning. The vision of you listening on the side quite enlivened Morrison's dreary homily. Cabot, Sir Claude was quite right. You're a lucky man. I'll see you on the ride.'

Helen Frances watched Manners manoeuvre his horse skilfully through the carriage park to join B. L. Simpson and several other riders who had already mounted. She and Tom walked among the shining collection of barouches, buggies, landaus and coaches, each attended by uniformed grooms in conical hats, looking for the Dawsons' carriage.

‘Do you like Henry Manners, Tom?' she asked quietly, putting her hand into his.

‘Why, yes, he's a terrific fellow. Great sportsman. Why do you ask?'

‘He seems so different from you.'

‘More worldly, you mean?' grinned Tom. ‘Well, he has bashed about a bit. Done lots of interesting things.'

‘That's partly what I mean,' said Helen Frances. ‘He seems to have a bit of a reputation.'

‘Jolly well deserved, I would think. He's been a soldier, an engineer. Lived in India, the East Indies, Japan. Probably got some good stories to tell us round the campfire on the way to Shishan. You don't mind him coming with us, do you? I'm sure he won't get in the way.'

‘Of course I don't mind, Tom, if it makes you happy.' She gave him a quick hug and a peck on the cheek. ‘You're a very kind man, you know that, Tom?'

‘Steady on, girl, someone might see,' said Tom, but his eyes were gleaming with happiness and pride as, giggling, she kissed him again. She rested her head on his breast, and the two stood modestly embraced together, between a brougham and a landau, under the uninterested gaze of a Chinese groom. When they heard voices behind them, they quickly broke apart and turned with innocent smiles to greet Mr and Mrs Dawson, who had come to take Helen Frances into their carriage for the journey back to Peking.

*   *   *

‘Who's the filly?' asked Simpson, as Manners rode up beside him.

‘Helen Frances Delamere,' drawled Manners. ‘It seems she's to be my travelling companion to Shishan.'

‘Well, there's a piece of luck for you. Nothing like a bouncy redhead to calm the troubled brow.'

‘She might be a bit of a challenge. Apparently she's engaged.'

‘What, to Cricketing Tom over there? Shouldn't be any trouble to you, old man.'

‘Certainly makes the prospect of Shishan more interesting. Now, what's the wager?'

‘Twenty guineas I reach the city walls before you do. Or, tell you what, double the stake and I get an hour with that new Mongolian bint you've been pleasuring at Mother Zhou's.'

‘She wouldn't even look at you. But all right, you're on. Make it fifty guineas. You'll owe me before sundown.'

‘Ride hard, my boy, ride hard.' Simpson laughed harshly.

‘I always ride hard,' said Manners, and whipped his horse to a cantering start.

*   *   *

Sir Claude stood at his favourite spot overlooking the plain, a cheroot between his lips, his hands clasped behind his back. In the distance he could make out puffs of dust where his guests were straggling back to the city. He could just identify the towers and the walls in the haze on the horizon. The sun was sinking behind the trees. It had been a tiring but a satisfying day. He had spent half an hour talking to the Russian minister and, as he had expected, the initial bluster had given way to smooth platitudes about harmony between their two empires and a common purpose to civilise Asia. He was confident that a cable would be despatched from the Russian Legation this evening, and that he would soon be hearing something confirmatory from Kashgar. He had also had a useful conversation with the Japanese minister and was pleased that he seemed to share the same view of the Chinese situation. One never knew with the Japanese, but he was glad on this occasion to have an ally in what promised to be another confrontation with Monsieur Pichon during the Ministers' Council on Tuesday. What was Pichon thinking about? Arming the Legations? How provocative could one get!

Behind him the servants were clearing the tables, the gardeners were sweeping up cigar ends from the lawn. His wife had drawn a bath and was resting after the party. He looked forward to a quiet evening reading a volume of Trollope, with a glass or two of good malt.

He heard a cough and was surprised to see Pritchett standing uncomfortably behind him.

‘Pritchett, man, what are you doing here? Everyone's long gone home.'

‘I'm sorry, sir. I rode off together with them, but then I decided that this couldn't wait until Monday, so I—I came back again.'

Sir Claude had a sincere admiration for Pritchett's professional qualities. He fulfilled his ostensible function as interpreter to perfection. He was a fine Orientalist. He was also more than competent in his other role as intelligence gatherer for the Legation. But the man was maddeningly diffident. ‘You could have taken me aside at the picnic.'

‘Yes, sir.'

‘Well, go on, what is it?'

‘We've received another letter, sir.'

‘Boxers again?'

‘Yes, sir.'

‘Oh, Pritchett. Pritchett. You and your Boxers. What is it this time?'

‘It's from our agent in Fuxin, sir. That's in Manchuria, west of Mukden. It's on the edges of Chinese cultivation, close by the Mongolian regions. There's a tomb there.'

‘I know where Fuxin is. Go on.'

‘Well, sir, our agent writes that there was a Boxer disturbance there, apparently after the arrival of a mendicant priest. It's not the first time we've heard of this priest, sir—'

‘Or others like him. There are thousands of mountebanks in China, all rabble-rousing in one way or another.'

‘Yes, sir. Whether or not it's the same priest may not be important. What distinguishes this incident was that there was a death, a murder, sir.'

‘A murder? Of a missionary? Of a white man?'

‘No, sir. There were missionaries there, Dr and Mrs Henderson, of the Scottish Missionary Society. They were terrorised, surrounded in their house by a mob, but not hurt in any way. They were very frightened, of course. They've left Fuxin, I gather, and are on their way back to Peking now.'

‘That could start a panic. We'd better get to them before they start talking to the papers. But you said somebody was murdered?'

‘Yes, sir. A Chinese Christian. A well-known merchant who had trading dealings with several of our companies. He was … hacked to death, sir.'

‘By the Boxers?'

‘Yes, sir.'

‘You have that on good account? He was murdered by the Boxers because he was a Christian and consorted with foreigners?'

‘It doesn't say, sir.'

‘But you presume it? Your agent presumes it?'

‘Yes, sir.'

‘What's the situation there now? In Fuxin?'

‘The local authorities sent in soldiers, and dispersed the riot. Several ringleaders were arrested, including the murderers of the merchant. The mendicant priest disappeared. Things seem to be back to normal now. There's going to be a trial at the local
yamen
and probably some executions.'

‘Well, in that case it seems to be an internal Chinese affair.'

‘I beg your pardon, sir?'

‘A law-and-order issue, man. Townsfolk riot, whatever the reason, and the authorities reassert control. How do you know this merchant was not a corrupt, unpopular person in his town and a natural object of mob violence, maybe the cause of it?'

‘He was a Christian.'

‘That's no guarantee of anything. I've known some pretty corrupt Christians in my time. This merchant might have been storing grain. Anything. No, there's nothing to be read into this. It's a common riot. Happens all the time.'

‘My agent talks of Boxers. And there was a killing. The first, sir.'

‘Everybody talks of Boxers nowadays. No, Pritchett, it seems to me that we would be irresponsible if we overreacted to this. Forget it, man. Have your weekend. What's left of it. We'll talk about this again on Monday.'

‘Sir, could we not investigate this incident further? It may be important.'

‘Oh, Pritchett, you have Boxers on the brain. What are you suggesting?'

‘Well, sir, Manners is passing in that direction on his way to Shishan. It's not too far out of the way, sir. Perhaps we could ask him for an independent report.'

‘I don't share your trust in young Manners. He's much too much in bed with the Japanese for my liking, and anything else with two legs for that matter. He's disreputable, Pritchett. I've helped him because his father asked me to, and you seemed to think it was a good idea, but I really have my reservations. I don't approve either of this extraordinary gunrunning scheme that you and London have concocted behind my back. It'll explode in your faces, you mark my words.'

‘But to counter Russian influence in Manchuria…?'

‘Yes, yes, I've read your report. I still don't like it, and when I think that you will be relying on young Manners of all people…'