The Palace of Heavenly Pleasure (19 page)

‘But this is a case where Caesar can help you,' Airton had argued, in the patient tone that one used when talking to the slightly insane. ‘And you don't have to render anything except a letter.'

Septimus's red-rimmed eyes were distracted—but he remained immovable.

‘“Put not your trust in princes,” Doctor, “nor in any child of man: for there is no help in them.” I know that you mean well. But who am I to gainsay the will of the Lord?'

Despite the implacability of his words, his tone was almost pleading. Airton could only imagine the contradictory emotions heaving in the man's breast. ‘You can't believe it's God's will for your son to be lost and in possible danger? Anyway, what about the saying “God helps those who help themselves”? What we need is a proper, well-mounted search party to go out to the Black Hills.'

‘Doctor, I would give my life to have my boy, Hiram, my beloved son, back in the bosom of his family again and walking in the way of the Lord. But He is testing His servants, Doctor. The Almighty has a purpose. It's not yet revealed, but there is a purpose. “We only see through a glass darkly,” as the Apostle said. But He has called us among the heathen to be foot soldiers in His service, and however the tides of battle turn we must await and obey His commands.'

‘Amen,' said Laetitia, who was echoed by her children.

Mad, the doctor had thought. Mad. They're all raving mad. He had heard of the strange cults that appeared to take root so easily in the United States: the extraordinary Mormons with their harems of wives, the faith healers, the speakers in tongues. He was more than ever convinced that the Millwards were no part of any ordinary vocational establishment. He had met several representatives of the Oberlin Foundation and other American missions operating in north China. They were mostly Congregationalists, a bit fervid and evangelical for his tastes, but respectable enough, dour sort of folk with a disciplined, rational commitment to spreading the gospel, and doing good work as far as he knew. The Millwards, on the other hand, were fanatics, and quite beyond the influence of any normal persuasion. He wondered what strange, overriding impulse had brought this eccentric family across the sea to China, and to Shishan of all places. They seemed to be living in a world of their own, populated by demons and angels. He knew what answer Septimus would give him if he asked: God had called him here. Airton doubted whether divine intervention would go very far in helping him find Hiram.

He was at his wit's end. In desperation he had given some money to the Mandarin's chamberlain, Jin Lao. If the state could not help, perhaps corruption could. Last week Major Lin had finally sent off one of his lieutenants and half of his men on the long-awaited training expedition to the Black Hills. Jin Lao had told him that he might be able to persuade the troop to hunt for the boy while they were there. The doctor was not hopeful of any result. It was already six weeks since Hiram had disappeared. He had imagined any number of dreadful fates that might have befallen the lad: starvation, exposure, wolves, bears, tigers. He could hardly bring himself to think about what Iron Man Wang might do if he found him. In his heart he was beginning to give up hope.

And now Nellie was sending him to intervene in another family's problems. Frank Delamere was a trial at the best of times. His moods were unpredictable. He drank. He had an uncertain temper. Say the wrong thing and it was quite on the cards that he would be hurled into the street. Airton bit his lip in irritation. This whole affair was so typical of the man. Only with Delamere could a joyful occasion, the reunion with his daughter, become tangled in complications and degenerate into a row. It baffled Airton why other people could not live their lives in the same order and certainty with which he conducted his own.

He did not feel proud or priggish about it. He felt that his own existence, compared to some others', was humdrum in the extreme. No Jesse James or Wyatt Earp, he thought, casting his mind to the western shockers and tales of derring-do he liked to read in his bed each evening. Yet he valued as a gift from Heaven the contentment and predictability with which his life seemed to have been blessed. Perhaps it had all been too easy for him. He had grown up in Dumfriesshire and Edinburgh in a large, loving family. Instilled in him from an early age was a simple faith and a strong sense of what was right or wrong. Living cheek by jowl in a ménage of unruly brothers and sisters he had learned out of sheer self-preservation how to value others' feelings before his own, and to make allowances for their weaknesses as they did for his. The Ten Commandments and the Beatitudes, when he considered them objectively, seemed to be the perfect Everyman's guide to living contentedly in a large, well-run household. The greatest merit of Christianity, he thought, was its simplicity and practicality. A Christian man was an orderly man.

Not that the tenets of Confucius, which he also admired, did not display the same standards of well-regulated behaviour as the Christian canon—except that they lacked the spiritual comfort that the Gospel also promised, salvation at the end of the hard day's toil. He was grateful that at an early age he had been trained in the Chinese language and had the ability to read the Chinese classics. He believed that it was his sympathy for the Sage's wisdom that suited him temperamentally to working in China. He had no doubt that one day this intelligent race would see the spiritual advantages Christianity also offered, and graft them easily on to their own fine culture. Unlike some of his evangelical colleagues, he was content to be tolerant and wait for the labours of the missions to take effect in their own good time. Patience was another of those virtues much neglected by some of his more enthusiastic brethren. It would all take time, but God's Temple had not been built in a day and in the meanwhile he felt a certainty that what he was doing was useful and right. As a fellow human being, let alone as a missionary, he had a duty to alleviate the miseries of an ancient race reduced to unspeakable horrors of poverty and disease. His childhood, his faith, his education, the years studying medicine at Edinburgh University, and his early manhood practising his profession in the fever valleys of southern China, all combined to make his present work the natural culmination of a reasoned existence. In Nellie he had the perfect wife, and no man was more blessed in his children. Actually it had all been very easy for him, a logical progression, based on firm principles he had learned in the nursery.

But Frank Delamere baffled him. Airton could not imagine what chaotic star the man was following as he lurched through existence from one confusion to the next. He had no idea how he would even broach the subject. He had little knowledge of young love, beyond a reading of Shakespeare and a score of romances. His own marriage had been to a childhood sweetheart already loved and accepted by his family. His wedding had been as predestined as his finals examinations at university, a clearly marked waypoint on the map of life. His inclination was to advise Delamere not to play the strong Capulet paterfamilias. By Delamere's own account, this Cabot was a decent, honourable young man. He and Delamere's daughter were presumably attached to each other. Common sense argued that it was unwise to resist something one could not prevent. No doubt when his own daughters, Mary and Jenny, were of a marriageable age he, like Delamere, would feel all the jealousies and passions of a father about to lose his children, but he trusted that the reason which had so far served him so well would prevail and prevent him from turning tyrant. But how to persuade a loose cannon like Frank Delamere? A lot of the success of this interview, he realised ruefully, would depend on how much liquor Delamere had consumed in the last twenty-four hours. Between mad Millward and drunken Delamere, Airton felt that he was caught between a rock and a high sea. He stepped forward gloomily through the fish market like a man on his way to execution.

It was with some surprise therefore that when he entered the courtyard of the hotel the first sound he heard was Delamere's loud laughter booming from the restaurant. It was accompanied by a high descant of female merriment. Curiously he lifted the heavy curtain in the doorway and saw him sitting at a table with a young man and woman, all of them drinking coffee and talking animatedly. He was immediately struck by the beauty of the young woman. He had an impression of flaming red hair blazing above a white, freckled face, flashing green eyes and a wide, full smile. Her head was thrown back as she laughed, and the doctor noticed a ruby locket on a white, swanlike neck. The young man, a huge fellow with untidy yellow hair, lounged contentedly in his chair, a crooked smile on his broad, honest face, his blue eyes twinkling with humour. The only odd feature about this cheerful coffeehouse scene was that both Frank Delamere and the young man, whom he presumed was Tom Cabot, were sporting shining black eyes.

When he saw the doctor Delamere leaped to his feet, knocking his chair to the floor in his enthusiasm. He gave a huge welcoming grin, revealing a broken tooth in addition to his shiner. ‘It's Dr Airton,' he cried. ‘Marvellous. Come in. Meet my darling daughter, Helen Frances, and my prospective son-in-law, Tom.'

‘This is a turnaround,' smiled the doctor. ‘The story round town was that Armageddon was breaking out here.'

Delamere roared with laughter and turned to Tom who was also grinning. He pointed to their black eyes. ‘Well, it did take a certain amount of earnest discussion to get me round to the idea. You know what an old stick-in-the-mud I am. But Tom put his suit very forcefully.'

‘So I've noticed,' said Airton. ‘You probably want some salves for those big bruises. It must have been quite a discussion indeed. My dear lady,' he said, turning to Helen Frances, ‘I'm so very pleased to meet you at last. I've heard a lot about you from your father, but the reality beggars the description.'

‘She's a looker, isn't she?' said proud Delamere. ‘Too good for this oaf here, but what can you do?' He and Tom both laughed. Helen Frances smiled. ‘Pull up a chair, Airton. Pull up a chair. Boy!' he roared. ‘More coffee.
Kwai kwai kwai!
'

As the coffee arrived Airton addressed Helen Frances: ‘I'm afraid, my dear, once you come to know Shishan a bit better, you'll realise that in this tiny community rumour spreads like wildfire. We were all very concerned about what we were hearing about your father and fiancé's—discussions. I'm so pleased that they appear to have had such a positive and happy outcome. May I be the first to offer my congratulations.'

Helen Frances's smile was infectious, as was her spirited laugh. ‘Why, thank you, Dr Airton,' she said, in an attractive, slightly husky voice. ‘Don't worry about Papa and Tom. I assure you they're quite manageable. Indeed, my only concern is how to decide which of the two boys is the bigger child—my father or my fiancé?'

‘The nerve, HF!' grinned Tom. ‘You can imagine what sort of marriage I'm going to have! Henpecked Tom, they'll be calling me in no time. Sir,' he said stretching out a large hand, ‘I'm honoured to make your acquaintance. Sir Claude MacDonald was telling us all about you.'

‘You're a very fortunate young man, sir. Have you decided on when the happy day is going to be?' Airton wrested his hand back from Tom's vicelike grip.

Delamere broke in quickly: ‘Thought we'd give it a few months so we can all get to know each other better,' he said. ‘Tom's got to muck down to the new job, and I'd like a few months with my little girl before handing her over for good to this bruiser. There's plenty of time. No hurry. It's not as if we won't all be together in the meanwhile. Eh, Tom?'

‘Quite right, sir,' said Tom, somewhat morosely.

‘Very sensible,' said the doctor, ‘but surely we can celebrate the engagement? Things as momentous as this don't happen in Shishan every day. I mentioned that Nellie and I would like to throw a small welcoming party for you all. It would be an honour if we could combine it with an engagement party at the same time.'

Helen Frances looked questioningly at her fiancé. She put her hand into his. ‘What do you think, Tom?'

‘Fine by me. It sounds a capital idea. Very generous of you, sir.'

‘Then that's settled,' said the doctor. ‘What about next Friday? We'll ask all the foreigners in Shishan and have a grand party.'

‘Not the bloody Millwards,' muttered Delamere. ‘We don't want a prayer meeting.'

‘No, perhaps not the poor Millwards. They don't get along with the nuns and they aren't cheerful company at the moment. You know they still haven't found their boy who ran away?'

Helen Frances wanted to hear all the details, so for the next half hour the doctor chatted to the happy trio, answering Helen Frances's inexhaustible questions about life in Shishan. He was impressed and charmed by her intelligence and vivacity. He also liked Tom for all that he looked like a man who had just stepped off the rugger field.

Helen Frances was describing incidents on their journey from Peking when Delamere looked at his pocket watch. ‘Sorry to have to break things up,' he interrupted, ‘but Tom and I have our lunch with old Lu and the other merchants. You're welcome to come along with us, Airton. Sorry, my darling.' He turned to Helen Frances. ‘Have to leave you on your own for an hour or two. Business. Tom, be a good fellow and bring those presents I wrapped up in my room.'

‘I'll go with Tom,' said Helen Frances. ‘There's still a lot of unpacking to do. Goodbye, Doctor, it was such a pleasure talking to you. I do look forward to meeting Mrs Airton on Friday.'

‘Are you sure you want me at this lunch of yours?' asked Airton, when the couple had left. ‘It's a business affair, isn't it?'

‘No, just introducing Tom to the merchants. Makee fliendly with the Celestials, that sort of thing. What do you think of my little girl? She's a stunner, isn't she? The image of her poor mother.'