02 Shanghai Dreams (The Earl’s Other Son #2)

by Andrew Wareham

  Erskine was still in benign mood.

  “A pity that this damned Hildesheim must simply disappear, Eskdale. Empingham has made it clear to me that we cannot trumpet his death to the decent people of the world. As far as we are concerned, we never knew of his presence in what is our sphere of influence in China, and we most definitely know nothing of his passing.”

  “I had assumed so, sir. His body ended up in the burning grain warehouse. Wheat and maize burn hot, I understand, and long. There were hundreds, possibly more than a thousand tons of cereal there, and the fire will not die out for a week, I believe. My Lieutenant Harborough saw the fire in the granaries a few years back close to Chatham; he said that burned for ten days.”

  Captain Erskine had also been at Chatham at the time and remembered the plume of smoke, visible for miles and lasting for so long.

  “Good thinking, Eskdale. There will be nothing left of the corpse – a few bones at most.”

  “Exactly, sir. We also threw in every other body we could see. Two more Europeans and the better part of thirty Chinese – they will not be able to sort out one from another.”

  “Even better, Eskdale. ‘Anonymous in death’ – can’t remember who said that; sure I read it somewhere.”

  “Unknown to me, sir, but I have not read a great deal in the last while. No doubt I shall expand my knowledge in coming years, becoming, as one might say, domesticated.”

  “I could envy you, Eskdale. I suspect that I might be well-advised to discover a wife myself – the prospect seems to suit you.”

  “And to surprise me, sir. I had never expected to be looking forward to settling down to respectability.”

  Eskdale shook his head – it came to them all, he implied.

  “Oh, one thing, Empingham wanted to know if you had picked up any papers.”

  “I did, sir. I thought it best not to make written reference to them. With your permission, I shall convey them directly to him. I do not read German, of course.”

  “Nor me, Eskdale. He does, I know; told me he had studied the lingo as part of his job. Damned fellow seems to wish to make a career out of spying. Grubby business, I think!”

  “It is, sir. Not the occupation of the traditional gentleman… It is a fascinating trade though, sir… Picking up bits and pieces, the tiniest smidgeons and hints, and putting them together to make a sensible whole. Was I to be condemned to a desk for the rest of my existence in the Navy, then I might well wish to take up the life of Intelligence.”

  “Every man to his own, Eskdale. Better you should see Empingham now, I think. I shall put the despatches on the next ship out to Hong Kong – there is a Holt boat sailing today and naval papers can go in the master’s safe. Commonplace to do so – no suspicions will be aroused that I have not waited for the next of our vessels to sail.”

  Lieutenant Empingham greeted Magnus with a deal of respect. He was not himself a man of action, had been delighted to take the opportunity to sit in an office onshore; his years as a midshipman and then sub-lieutenant had been a penance to him.

  “All of that damned boats and brasswork, you know, sir. Not my idea of fun. When Captain Hawkins suggested I might be the sort to work for him, I jumped at the opportunity, as they say. I transferred to the Paymaster branch of the Service, with his aid, and he has promised me that I shall remain in the Department forever. Now, sir, have you papers for me? Did you manage to discover anything of Hildesheim’s recent doings? A fine thing to bring his brutal career to an end, but writings would be better still!”

  Magnus produced the Baron’s wallet and his thin attaché case, still locked but showing the bulge of papers inside.

  Empingham clapped his hands in delight and called through the door in what sounded to Magnus like fluent Chinese.

  “Mandarin, actually, my lord. Not perfect, by a long shot, but I try. My man is much flattered that I make the effort.”

  The man appeared, a northerner, from the little Magnus knew, taller and stringier than the population to be found on the southern coast. He glanced at the attaché case, peered into its lock, shook his head disparagingly and produced a little pocket-book of his own with a selection of fine steel needles and hooks. A minute and he had opened the lock and removed the contents of the case. He made a brief remark to Empingham before nodding to both men and leaving.

  “He said that the manufacturer was an amateur. No poisoned needles inside; no gunpowder charge to blow if it was opened incorrectly. Very boring.”

  It had not occurred to Magnus that any of those traps were possible. He suspected he was an amateur too.

  “Are the papers written in code perhaps, Mr Empingham?”

  “Doubt it, sir. No precautions on the lock, so he is probably the sort who never expected his bag to be taken. Arrogant. Happens, I am told, to men who have never experienced a setback in their career. They grow far too confident.”

  Magnus reflected that his career so far had been one long setback; it seemed that he would never grow overconfident.

  Chapter Nine

  The Earl’s Other Son Series

  Shanghai Dreams

  The big front door was thrown open before Magnus could knock, the butler bowing and smiling, as always.

  “Missy stop long top, lord.”

  “Thank you.”

  Magnus had a strong suspicion that the butler only spoke to him for the pleasure of being thanked. It was a certainty that Ellen would be in her sitting room, would be waiting privately there having been informed that he had been seen in the street. He ran up the stairs because the maidservants all giggled happily at the sight of the lovestruck lord hurrying to his lady’s side; it was a simple treat to give them.

  “You are unhurt, Magnus?”

  Ellen surfaced from his arms to make the anxious enquiry, running her hands over his chest and shoulders, far too decorous to come even close to any other part of his anatomy while unwed, though not without some degree of curiosity.

  “Wholly so. There was almost no return fire – we took the villains by surprise out of the dawn. A brief action, overwhelming the pirates and sinking their ship in a very few minutes. They had been a day in possession of the compound – they had left none alive, I fear. We returned the compliment.”

  She shook her head – the pirates were brutal beasts, a menace to all in China. She demanded a full account of the action, required an explanation of the nature of the torpedo.

  “I shall welcome you aboard Racoon when you are my wife, my love. My officers must be formally introduced. We shall explain the ship and its whole armament then. Simply expressed, the torpedo has its own small engine and is sent ahead of the ship, carrying an explosive charge much larger than our shells and hitting the target underwater, thus doing far greater damage to the hull. Our present torpedoes are effective only at four or five cables, but they are being made faster and longer ranged, will soon be much more effective. As it stands even now a small torpedo boat could sink a battleship, if only it could get close enough. Hence the new torpedo boat destroyers, which themselves now carry torpedoes. It is the weapon of the future, I believe – but only silently. The Admiralty knows nothing other than the great gun of twelve inches or more.”

  She was indignant that Their Lordships could not appreciate his wisdom in recognising the torpedo.

  “Most of them are aged and stuck deep in the mud of Portsmouth, wishing only to board HMS Victory and take her out to sea then thrash the French in a second Trafalgar. Under sail, of course.”

  “Truly shocking, Magnus! It will be many years before you are able to change such a mentality, I doubt not.”

  He shook his head at her naivety.

  “I am unlikely ever to lead a fleet to sea, my dear. Intelligent men only rarely become captains and then admirals in this navy of ours. Jacky Fisher is an exception and John Jellicoe may well be another, but it is said of both that they are ‘clever’, and that is a condemnation, I fear. Better far in the eyes of the majority to be no more than a
Beresford, a man who has a degree of intelligence but is far too wise to use it.”

  She could not understand why that should be. In business, she said, the cleverest became the richest and the wise man was the one who used his intellect.

  “Exactly so – the landed gentry have no use for those who make money, and who have eclipsed them in terms of wealth. Intelligence is the enemy of the aristocracy. Many a time I remember my dear father telling me I was ‘too clever for my own good’. Better far to be a dullard like my brother, who was destined for a place in government for being a ‘sound, reliable sort of fellow’.”

  “Yet, Magnus, he is now dead, poor man. So sad for you, sir.”

  She had never ventured into discussion of his brother and his apparently shocking end. Magnus recognised the half-question in her voice. They would be wed within the week – she need not perhaps be so much protected from the nature of reality as was right for the young maiden.

  “My brother died at his own hand, it would seem, Ellen. Why he chose that course is easy to see, although more than regrettable. He had descended into vicious conduct, indulging in perverse pleasures, so-called. He had broken the law as well as the code of decency and was exposed in his wickedness. Had he not died then the police would have executed a warrant on him. He would have stood in court and then been sent to prison, for much the same reason as the deplorable Irish playwright, Mr Oscar Wilde.”

  She knew almost nothing of Oscar Wilde, except that his name was not to be mentioned. She was not at all sure what ‘perverse pleasures’ entailed, having only an as yet unclear imagination of what the legitimate sort might be. She would ask the Countess – she had already received a number of hints from her and suspected that she might not be discouraged from demanding a full exposition. She returned to the matter of Magnus’ wicked brother.

  “Oh! That was very bad of him! Should he not have considered the harm he did to his whole family?”

  “I fear that he considered nothing at all, so lost as he was in the world of self-indulgence. I cannot understand such a man, for I have no understanding of his actions, of how he found them pleasurable. How can I condemn what I do not comprehend? Perhaps he saw nothing wrong in what he did. Possibly he was suffering some sort of illness of the mind. He was my brother – I am unwilling to condemn the poor fellow, more than he has already, himself.”

  Magnus found that particular half-truth to come more easily the more frequently he repeated it. He did not entirely despise his brother’s actions, because he suspected that the poor fellow had been in some way driven to them by his inherent nature. Magnus himself had indulged casually in sexual adventure, of a wholly conventional nature, as was easy in Society of the day; had he been driven to an alternative form of pleasure, he as well might not have been able to resist his own inclinations. That said, being caught with one’s trousers down was to make oneself a laughing-stock, except when the actions were in no way funny; his brother should have known better than be exposed!

  “You are tolerant indeed, Magnus. You turn the other cheek, in fact!”

  “I am no good Christian hero, Ellen, to offer kindness in exchange for evil. I merely remember the brother of my childhood days.”

  That was an actual untruth, he thought. His brother had been an overbearing bully and he had no liking for him at all as a boy, and very little for the adult.

  On the eve of the wedding Blantyre sought a quiet word.

  “I hear that there was a pirate attack on the Ebert and Sohn compound, my lord. The word is that the hong was involved in running guns and that one of the warlords to the west received word somehow and attacked the compound to take the rifles for himself. Then the Navy picked up a rumour of the business and sent you to make all tidy.”

  “Fairly much so, yes, sir. I am not to make detail public, I am ordered, so can say little more.”

  “Quite right, too. Sounds like a bad business to me. Do you know – rather can you tell me – what the rifles were?”

  Magnus put an elaborate finger to his lips, looked theatrically about him to be sure they were not overheard.

  “Mauser magazine rifles, the military pattern. That is a piece of knowledge that should not be revealed, if at all possible, sir.”

  “Silent as the grave, my lord. The whisper that has come to me is that the rifles came through Tsingtao, and that the word of their presence on the Coast must have come from there, a Chinese spy serving the Empress. I have heard the rumour that the German diplomats wished to undermine the Qing, and that the Empress herself arranged for the rifles to be taken in retaliation and then sent word to the Navy in order to cover her own tracks and prevent any access of power to the warlord she used.”

  Magnus thought that was a good rumour to enhance. It contained a little of the truth and hid his own actions tidily. Ping Wu would approve, he was certain; he might be the source of the rumour, in fact.

  “I can say not a word to that, sir.”

  “You do not deny its possibility, my lord?”

  Magnus laughed and shook his head.

  “Nothing must mean nothing in this case, sir.”

  “So be it, my lord. You do not object to my repeating the rumour as one that I support?”

  “While you attribute nothing directly to me, sir…”

  Magnus knew that coming from his father-in-law, he would be seen as the source of the tale. He thought it would serve the needs of Empingham and Hawkins.

  “Changing the topic, who is to be your groomsman tomorrow, my lord?”

  “Why, sir, who but Captain Erskine? Admiral Seymour is in the river now, his flag captain with him. We dine tonight and they are to be honoured guests tomorrow, and Captain Erskine must prance in front of them. Naval etiquette demands that it shall be so. I cannot break with that tradition, you know.”

  The dinner aboard the flagship was long, bibulous and noisy, as was only traditional for the sending off of a bachelor. Magnus thought that Jellicoe seemed a fraction withdrawn from the jollity, wistful perhaps. The impression was confirmed when he gave his personal good wishes.

  “You are a wise man, Eskdale, to settle yourself, even if somewhat early for one of us. I suspect I may have delayed too long, you know, turning into a crusty old bachelor, soon to become an eccentric in my lonely cabin.”

  “Your turn will come, sir. I did not expect to wed, and I’m now delighted that the occasion has arisen. How often in the past have I mocked the sobriety of the happily married man, counting down the minutes until he can leave the wardroom to return to domestic bliss. Now, sir, I am to be one of that sort, and I am so pleased at the event that I cannot but be amazed. How are the mighty fallen!”

  “Perhaps King David did not have your case in mind, Eskdale, yet Miss Blantyre has made a triumph of Biblical proportions. I do wish you both happy, my lord.”

  “And I you, one day, sir.”

  “One can but hope, Eskdale. By the way, I can only express admiration for your work upriver a few days since. The use of the torpedo especially was admirable. That deserves to be recognised, but cannot be too publicly, as you know. I can assure you that Admiral Fisher has already been made aware by my letter – he has long been an advocate of the torpedo.”

  “My two lieutenants deserve the praise there, sir. Mr Mason had the tubes under his direct command and the Navigator, Lieutenant Mornington, calculated the time of firing to the second. Together, they achieved a success for Racoon that I had hoped for but could not be sure of. Both should be borne in mind, sir.”

  “I believe it has been said before that a good captain turns his lieutenants into fine officers, Eskdale. Their success is the reward of your efforts, my lord. But I shall bear them in mind, be certain of that.”

  That was almost the end of rational converse for the evening; Magnus was poured into his boat two hours later and helped to his cabin in the most proper fashion. The Navy could not tolerate a bridegroom going to his bed sober on the night before his wedding and most efficiently carried o
ut the task of making him drunk.

  The ceremony was timed for noon; Carter ruthlessly roused Magnus from his bunk at eight and dropped him into his bath before shaving him and pointing him to the first of several cups of coffee. By eleven o’clock he was fit to be seen and made his way to the pontoon, there to be cheered by the lower deck and put into a carriage, the horses removed and manropes in place to be drawn by the crew in the old way. The watches changed place at the half-mile, the men enjoying the honour, Magnus saw. He stood, raised his bicorne and bowed as they reached the cathedral, receiving a roar of cheering in response.

  He stepped down in front of the undistinguished Gothic monument to colonial taste and joined Captain Erskine at the steps. The Dean greeted them and led them inside, gravely chatting the while.

  “Strictly, my lord, the Holy Trinity Church is not a cathedral. The Bishop has North China as his Diocese, not Shanghai – but so trivial a distinction hardly matters in the greater scheme of things!”

  Magnus raised an eyebrow to Erskine, but he did not understand either.

  “Gentlemen, the Bishop of North China, the Right Reverend Charles Percy Scott.”

  “My lord,” Magnus bowed his head, as was right.

  “Lord Eskdale, a pleasure, particularly on so joyous an occasion.”

  Captain Erskine had, in the nature of things, met the bishop before; he led Magnus to his proper place to wait on the bride.

  The cathedral had no organ but Blantyre had arranged for a massive choir and the strings of the amateur, but talented, symphony orchestra to be in attendance. They played and sang Mendelssohn softly until the bride entered the doors and then the strings broke into the Wedding March, exuberant and loud. Magnus was thankful that Blantyre had not hired the brass as well.