Miss Blantyre entered, Lady Eskdale would leave, Magnus reflected – an entertaining concept. He hoped she was having no last-minute regrets; he saw her smile under the veil as she joined him, was content that she was happy, as much so as he was, he no longer doubted. They faced the Bishop, professional beam plastered to his face. Magnus squared his shoulders and did his best to seem pleased while not laughing at the pomposity on display before him.
The Bishop was a plump man; he had once been a lean enthusiast, determined to save every soul in China, but had fallen back from that much-to-be-applauded aim and was now content simply to whip up and encourage his missionaries to do the job for him. The Bishop spent the bulk of his days in Shanghai, presumably bringing the English there to God and preventing backsliding among them by being present at their feasts and jollifications; it was evidently a comfortable, well-fed existence. He commenced his business and Magnus drifted into a quiet doze until Erskine poked him and he played his part in the exchange of vows and rings. He kissed the bride, happy to wake up for that, and took her on his arm down the aisle, out to the carriage amid the cries of joy of the lesser mortals assembled around the steps, predominantly the servants, and into the carriage, drawn by the men again.
“Naval tradition, my lady. The men will do it willingly for a captain who is not actively disliked. A bad captain may well find himself overturned at the first bend.”
They trotted along decorously, demonstrating that his crew was happy with him.
The wedding breakfast was long and rich and provided the opportunity to get roaring drunk, many of the male guests delighted to do so; Shanghai was not renowned for the sense of restraint among the Europeans who made their fortunes there. Magnus stayed rigorously sober, his glass remaining full; he did not believe that his lady should be presented with an incontinently intoxicated groom on her first night.
They retired to the Astor House Hotel where the largest and plushest suite had been reserved to them for a week. After that they would take up residence in their house, a small mansion with thirty servants, at least, and more rooms than Magnus had so far investigated. It was not so far from Mr Sia on Bubbling Well Road, a ‘good’ address that in itself announced their status in the settlement.
Lady Eskdale was evidently pleased with her husband and had no fears of the night, it transpired. The Countess, who had masterminded the wedding and reception, and many before, had long discovered that part of her duties was to dispel the ignorance of the brides she presented. Ellen had learned exactly what was to happen and expected to welcome it and gain no little enjoyment from the whole process and contribute her mite as well. Magnus was delighted by her enthusiasm and did all he could to encourage her activities. They woke late in the morning and he stretched and yawned and made a mental note to look up the Countess and pay her a substantial bonus. He wondered whether Blantyre had been aware of all of her functions when he had hired her services; if so, he should thank the old man as well.
“My word, Magnus, that was fun, was it not? Do you think we can do better tonight, now that I have a bit of practice in, as one might say? What shall we do today?”
Shanghai was not ideal for a holiday – the International Settlement was a small city and offered few hidden delights, but they managed to entertain each other for their week, enjoying the food and music the hotel offered to guests as well.
They paid the formal visit to Racoon and then to the admiral, still at anchor off the Bund. Centurion was just of a size to navigate the Yangtse though she would not wish to progress further inland for fear of drought further upstream; her ten inch turrets were most impressive, the population thought, reminding all that Britannia was mistress of the seas.
Admiral Seymour was at his best and glad to welcome Ellen aboard – there was much to be said for a beautiful woman in his cabin, even as a visitor in company of her husband. He managed to find a couple of private minutes for Magnus while Jellicoe was showing Ellen the bridge and the fore turret.
“Nothing from Tsingtao yet, Eskdale. They have had just enough time to discover events on the Yangtse and make a first reaction to them. Jellicoe thinks they are delaying while they try to find out what actually happened; he says that with their spymaster dead they will have no agents reporting in and will have to rely on the details we choose to publish. There is a very useful rumour circulating to the effect that the old Empress, Cixi, manipulated them, and to an extent us, to achieve the result she wanted. If you continue to say nothing, Eskdale, we shall come out of this very well and will have done the Germans in the eye. The Legation at Peking knows the truth, of course, I had to tell them, but none others on the British side yet. I shall send a despatch to the Admiralty, in a week or two, and not on the fastest boat; no need for Their Lordships to make a fuss. They will get the word second-hand, but by the time London hears from me the interest will have died away and they won’t be able to make a cock of it at their end. For the while, you are to stay here with Racoon and show yourself to be a fixture. I shall post several of your lieutenants away over the next few months and replace them with a mixture of youngsters and tired old men – intentionally so that Racoon will be seen to be insignificant. When it comes time for Racoon to go home, you will get something better. I shall make sure that your lieutenants go to bigger and better things, by the way – I must show my recognition of their services. Your man Mason will become Commander as soon as there is a place for him to step into – his past can be forgotten now.”
A year of effective idleness, Magnus reflected. He could think of many things worse, even though he would be restricted to Shanghai and its society. He returned home and commenced an overdue formal notification to his father of his marriage.
The letter was briefly written, merely detailing Ellen’s name and antecedents and pointing out that the house of Blantyre was recently ennobled and was one of the greatest trading enterprises in China and London. He closed with the hope that his father’s health was holding out under the strain of recent events and signed the letter, ‘Your son and heir, Eskdale’. He hoped that might be good for a heart attack in itself.
A month and Magnus was thoroughly used to married life, and wondered just why he had ever been so frightened of being caught in parson’s mousetrap – every man should be wed, he thought, if only there was an Ellen available for each. He began to think of the house as ‘home’, while knowing that a naval officer could have no such thing – there were merely lodgings that he inhabited for a few years at a time before passing on elsewhere. He reported to Captain Erskine every week, spent much of the rest of his days inventing exercises on Racoon, so that the men had something to do. He had just decided on a sailing trip upriver in their boats, a ‘banyan’, the Navy had called it for years, for some reason unknown to any surviving officer - one half of the crew, including the stokers, one week, the other half the next - when he was called to the Senior Naval Officer out of turn, on a Wednesday, the mid-week day that Erskine normally devoted to sport. Magnus was aware that little short of cataclysm brought Erskine through the doors of his office on a Wednesday.
“Not out riding the horse today, sir?”
“I shall be, Eskdale, but the strangest thing has happened! A despatch from the Legation in Peking, referring to you. Most peculiar!”
Magnus wondered if the Legation had heard from London. Perhaps his brother had turned up alive?
Erskine stayed silent, rereading the four page document in his hand as if he could not believe that he had understood it correctly, might have missed something in the verbiage.
“It has been copied to Hong Kong – in fact, it appears to have been approved by the Admiral before actually being sent to me. Most peculiar!”
Magnus had no doubt it was; he wondered if he would be permitted to know what it said.
“The whole thing appears to have originated in London, in the Foreign Office, of all places, and sent from them to the Admiralty as well as to the Legation.”
“Very interes
ting, sir, and most unusual, no doubt.”
“So it is. You must read it for yourself, I suppose… Here, it is not marked ‘Confidential’, so you can see the original.”
Magnus read and then reread the first words, understanding just why Erskine was so amazed. He started to laugh.
“That’s rich, sir! Priceless, one might say! What a foolish fellow this Kaiser must be.”
That was too much for Erskine.
“Steady on now, old chap. He is the grandson of Her Majesty, remember!”
Magnus responded properly to the grave voice of reproof.
“Of course, sir. As such he cannot possibly be foolish. Good of you to point that out.”
Erskine preened – he thought he knew what was right and proper for a naval officer.
“Let me see now, sir. Stripped of the diplomatic nonsense, the Emperor has been informed that the villainous Chinese – barbarians to a man – fell upon a German nobleman who was performing his innocuous duty, visiting a German commercial enterprise.”
“That is how I read it, certainly, Eskdale. He knows nothing of Hildesheim’s real nature.”
“The Royal Navy, hearing of the wicked doings of the Chinese, came to the rescue with all speed but were after the event, naturally. The poor gentleman was dead, butchered with his entourage and in company with all of the Germans employed there. Killed by the Chinese, who may have been pirates but might have been in the employ of the evil Empress.”
“That is so, Eskdale. You must read the rest.”
Magnus sat to the table to peruse the remainder of the document, not the easiest of tasks for being written in Civil Service jargon.
Ten minutes passed. Magnus looked up from the sheets, chuckling very quietly.
“This is a success for the Navy, sir. We have achieved more than we could possibly have hoped when you sent me upriver. This will become known among the Chinese, sir, and they will believe that the Germans have made complete fools of themselves; they will never recover the face they have lost, sir. They may have Tsingtao but the Chinese will give them nothing more after this.”
Captain Erskine had not considered the aspect of ‘face’, mostly because he did not quite understand it.
“You mean that Germany will now be considered an inferior power, for allowing themselves to be shamed by the British?”
“Fairly much so, yes, sir. Berlin has given London its thanks for our actions at the Ebert and Sohn compound. The Kaiser has publicly praised us for attempting to rescue his subjects, while the Chinese know that we actually killed them ourselves and stole the guns they were trying to put into the hands of their friends in the region. The Chinese, both the Imperial authorities and the various warlords and triads, now will know that we not merely outmanoeuvred the Germans, we also set them up as a laughing-stock. Add to that, the Kaiser has proposed that I should be awarded his medal – the Iron Cross – for my actions. Fortunately, the Admiralty has vetoed that – naval officers not to wear foreign decorations, against policy. I would have some explaining to do if there was a war against Germany and I was wearing a German decoration! But the Chinese will know that the award was offered, and that will make them even more scornful of Germany – to try to give a medal to the man who killed their spymaster!”
“Perfectly correct, Eskdale – that will be the greatest of jokes to the Oriental mind.”
“I do not quite understand this last part of the despatch, sir.”
“No more do I, Eskdale.” You are to be informed of Their Lordships wholehearted approbation for your actions while being warned that consideration is being given to your court-martial for firing upon a Friendly Power in time of peace. “Make sense of that, if you can.”
“I cannot, sir. Am I to be placed before a court, do you think?”
“No. Impossible. Court-martials in peacetime are always open to the public, like any other court. So it says in the Regulations. Their Lordships cannot permit evidence to be publicly given that you made an attack upon Baron Hildesheim and his ship, destroying both. Casus belli, that would be; the Kaiser must see that as an act of war.”
Magnus had thought that to be the case.
“Then…”
“Exactly, Eskdale! Then, what? All I can imagine is that Their Lordships recognise that you took the correct action but know that action to have been incorrect in any law. So they must simultaneously commend and condemn you.”
Magnus could understand that.
“Ah! Just a case of the Admiralty thinking two wholly opposed things at once. It is no more than putting a pair of screw propellers in a ship and three fully-rigged masts at one and the same time. Logic, rationality and simple common sense have never been friends to the Admiralty. They are the sole institution capable of having their cake, eating it and vomiting it out, at one and the same moment!”
Captain Erskine thought this might be the least bit disrespectful to their Lordships.
“Possibly, Eskdale, they are merely placing their opinion on the record for future inspection.”
“Ah! Covering themselves against all possible criticism, as is their common trick. ‘Heads I win, tails you lose’, their normal policy regarding risk.”
“That might be seen as a little hard on the Admiralty, Eskdale.”
“Impossible, sir. One cannot be too hard on the Admiralty. Old men who have reached the heights by dint of taking no risks at all and wish only for a quiet existence in which nothing changes and certainly no gun is ever fired. We need a First Lord with fire in his belly, sir, and instead have a dotard with water on the brain!”
Captain Erskine had not achieved his promotion by ever being critical of any officer senior to him; he was appalled to hear such heresy.
“It is our job to loyally obey, Eskdale. Nothing other than that, sir!”
“As you wish, sir. How do we go about publicising this despatch, sir? The Chinese must come to hear of it if it is to do us good. Is there a spy in your office who could copy the document for his masters?”
“I should jolly well hope not, Eskdale! A spy! The very concept is outrageous.”
“Perhaps, sir. I’ll have a word with Empingham, sir. May I show him the document?”
Eskdale agreed reluctantly.
“I suppose you will come up with a spy, between you. I would trust every man who works for me, you know.”
“The Chinese have families, sir. That gives them no choice if they are ordered to give information. They will not be paid, but if they obey, then their children will not be killed.”
“Shocking, Eskdale! Where do you hear these things?”
Magnus thought of telling him that he heard them in exactly the same way as any other man who did not choose to blind himself to the realities of life in China. It would be unkind, however, to ask Erskine to grow up and accept the world as it was; it would probably be fruitless as well.
Lieutenant Empingham was pleased to be shown the document; he had heard of it, naturally, and thought he had been told all it contained but it was always as well to read the original.
“I have already spoken to Sia, and thus indirectly to the triad now controlled out of Hanshan, sir. For some reason, as yet unknown to me, they are being referred to as the Green Triad. I would have expected ‘Jade’ if that were to be the case, but no, they prefer to Europeanise their name. I wonder whether that might not be a deliberate statement of opposition to these popular nationalist movements that are building out in the sticks.”
Magnus had no opinion to offer there.
“Thing is, my lord, that these new organisations are peasant based. Instead of being led properly by the masters of the land, they are throwing up their own popular, local people, normally because they can orate and organise. Dangerous men, of course. Rather like the French Revolution where the insignificant gained power for a few years before being killed off by the old elite. As it stands, of course, China is effectively ungoverned, which suits the local lords who can snatch power to themselves, especially w
here they are able to use the triads to add control of the urban masses.”
Magnus had not considered the question of where authority lay in China. He was not entirely sure he was interested in it, as well, but thought he should show willing.
“You imply that lords such as Ping Wu in Hanshan are benefitting from the decline in imperial power to strengthen themselves, Empingham?”
“Yes indeed. He is a particularly fine example of the breed. He has built his strength, with our assistance, very wisely granted, I believe. He will last for a good few years unless Peking moves to squash him; if the Empress is able to survive with her power enhanced over the next few years, then Hanshan must be destroyed. The odds are, of course, that she will fall instead – she has no aim, no plan other than to survive in personal luxury. The chances are that she will fail because she looks no further ahead than the present crisis, whatever it may be. A man like Ping Wu, who plans for decades at a time, must have the advantage over her while he retains the power to survive the little upsets that arise. He now has the potency of one of the greater triads as well as his more overt status as a warlord. With the guns that we have put in his hands, and now the additional modern rifles as well, he has a sufficiency of military strength to discourage any and all of his neighbours who might wish to crush him on behalf of France, Germany or Peking.”
“Might he become Emperor in his turn if he survives the anger of the Empress?”
“No. That would encourage every other warlord to unite against him. He must be wary of becoming famous. He will seek to retain his own lordship and possibly will make familial alliances by marriage along the coast and to close inland neighbours, but he will probably not risk any attempt to augment his rank. I believe him to be expanding into the ports of a few minor warlords, but he will attempt no greater aggrandisement. He may well, in fact, try to send wealth overseas, to create a safe haven for his family out of China. I have heard the odd whisper that he might be examining the possibility of setting up in London or San Francisco or even Paris. It would be a sensible move, to leave the uncertainties of China to become a hugely wealthy merchant prince in the West.”
02 Shanghai Dreams (The Earl’s Other Son #2) Page 21
