by John Harris
‘You did well, my boy,’ the Minister said. ‘You’ll be suitably rewarded.’
He listened with a grave face as Willie described the massacre near Shantu, then he leaned forward and placed an envelope in front of Willie. ‘A small gift, my boy,’ he announced. ‘From Legation Funds. All the legations contributed, to say nothing of a few civilians.’
Willie stared at the packet, startled to realise he was considered a hero, then Gaselee motioned to an officer beside him, who stepped forward with a little canvas bag which he placed on the bed.
‘Somethin’ to be going on with,’ he said, faintly embarrassed. ‘Officers had a whip round, y’know. To show their appreciation. Everybody joined in. Americans, Russians, Japanese, British. Probably saved us a lot of casualties, findin’ the sluice gate.’
Finally Lady MacDonald did the same – ‘From the grateful ladies of the Legations,’ she said.
Willie was about to protest that he hadn’t found the gate but had had it pointed out to him as he’d left the city for Shantu, but before he could speak everybody turned away. Then he realised he ought to have reported Zychov for bolting, but by the time he remembered, the group was moving down the room to talk to other wounded men and he decided that, since Zychov wouldn’t have survived, perhaps it didn’t matter. He stared at the packets in front of him, a little dazed and wondering how much there was in them. When he counted it, he was startled at the amount.
He asked himself what had happened to Abigail, whom he had last seen riding on a baggage cart, and he began to realise he was missing her cheerful optimism.
By this time the streets of Peking were littered with the scarlet trappings of the fleeing Boxers, but there was still a little fighting going on to the north, where the siege at the North Cathedral still had to be raised. But the Imperial Court had fled, dressed as peasants, and were said to be wandering the countryside somewhere, wet, miserable and desperate for food. Peking was different, though, and some people, chiefly those who had kept themselves safe in the dug-outs during the siege, were already beginning to look back on their ordeal with some nostalgia. The Boxers had made themselves hated by foreigners and Chinese alike for their butchery, looting and rape, but with the end of the siege the foreign troops had proved to have even more voracious appetites. Shops and warehouses, even the Forbidden City, were not immune. The stories that filtered through to the hospital indicated that temples and audience rooms had been plundered and precious jewels had been stolen, while Chinese women of all ranks had been molested. Social rank had even seemed to increase the lust and whole families had committed suicide to expunge the shame.
When a victory parade was organised for all the Allied forces, some of the patients from the hospital were carried down to watch. To Willie’s amazement, prominent among the Russians was Zychov.
‘The Russians are going to give him a medal for his attempt to rescue the people from Shantu,’ he was told.
‘Rescue ’em?’ Willie snorted. ‘The bugger ran away!’
Nobody believed him and he watched with smouldering eyes as Zychov marched past at the head of a company of men, smart in his splendid naval dress uniform, his moustache waxed, his cap worn rakishly over one eye, his sword at the carry.
Scowling, Willie shifted uncomfortably on the litter. They had dug the old nails and bird shot from his backside and the pain was subsiding, though it was still difficult to move. It had dawned on him by now that for the first time in his life he had funds. It wasn’t the fortune he had set out to find, but it was a step in the right direction.
He was still considering what to do with it, and wishing Abigail would appear so he could tell her about it, when he heard a voice at the end of the ward, imperious and important.
‘Sarth’s the name,’ it was saying. ‘William Sarth. He worked for my father and I want to see him.’
‘Oh, Gawd,’ he said out loud. ‘Emmeline!’
She didn’t seem to have suffered greatly during the siege and he knew that she hadn’t got herself too involved with the fighting or the nursing – or even with the cooking and caring for those who did. He also knew that she had been gathering supplies round her for some time before the alarm had gone so that she’d had enough little titbits in the form of tinned, bottled or jellied foods to keep her going for a long time.
She was dressed in a smart blue dress and a wide flowered hat, and she swept down the ward towards him, brushing aside a volunteer nurse who tried to protest.
‘Willie,’ she said, arriving at his bedside.
He barely managed to meet her eyes. ‘’Lo,’ he muttered.
‘You might sit up when a lady appears.’
Willie glared. ‘If you had a lot of old nails and pieces of scrap metal in you,’ he said indignantly, ‘you’d be careful how you moved.’
She managed to look interested. ‘Were you wounded?’
‘Yes.’
‘Where?’
‘In the bum.’
‘I meant where did it happen?’
‘Near the tennis court. Last shot of the match I reckon. I was lucky. It killed five other fellers.’
She found a chair and sat down by the bed. ‘They tell me you’re going to get a decoration. For leading in the relieving forces.’
‘I didn’t lead ’em in. I just showed ’em the way, that’s all.’
‘It was brave.’
‘No, it wasn’t. I was surrounded by soldiers. Nothing brave about that.’
‘All the same it will be nice to have a medal to show for it. I shall be coming to take you home.’
Willie made no comment and she went on without noticing his lack of enthusiasm. ‘Father’s home already,’ she said. ‘Tired, of course, but making more of it than he need. He wasn’t hurt. He’s thinking of letting us take over the business.’
‘Us?’
‘You and me.’
‘Emmeline, I–’
‘Just don’t worry, Willie.’ Emmeline’s voice was as aggressively certain as ever. ‘I’ll handle everything. Just leave it to me. I’ll be back tomorrow.’
When she’d gone, Willie lay staring at the wall, his mind busy. How was he going to get out of this one, he wondered. Until the siege, he had accepted Emmeline’s forceful attentions because he was too inexperienced to do otherwise. But he hadn’t enjoyed playing second fiddle, summoned to the presence like a – like a bloody bull to serve a cow, he thought savagely.
How the hell did he get out of it, though? Emmeline clearly had plans for him and he wondered if he could get a job with the British Legation. They obviously thought highly of him and there would be a lot of new jobs going now. The city had been carefully partitioned, different nations governing different zones, but the population of Peking had shrunk, thousands of people fleeing before the relieving force and a lot slow to return. He was still wondering what the future held when he heard Abigail’s voice.
‘Hello, Willie.’
In his eagerness to see her, he heaved himself round too quickly and yelped with pain as it tugged at his wounds.
‘Oh, my God,’ he whispered, sinking back, tears in his eyes.
‘What is it, Willie? They said you were hurt. Is it serious?’ Through the blur of tears he saw the concern in her eyes.
‘No,’ he managed. ‘It’s not serious. I was lucky. I missed most of it. All I got was a couple of rusty nails and a bit of bird shot in my bum.’
She stared, giggled, then stopped and composed her face. ‘I’m sorry, Willie,’ she said. ‘I shouldn’t have laughed.’
‘No, you shouldn’t,’ he agreed. Then he managed a grin. ‘But it’s a barmy place to get shot, isn’t it?’
‘Will it take long to get better?’
‘Few more days then I’ll be able to sit properly. I can walk a bit already.’
‘Willie, I was worried. You disappeared. I thought I’d never see you again.’
‘Did it matter?’
‘Of course it did. After all we went through.’
‘Ab,’ he said, ‘you’re ever so pretty.’
She blushed. ‘Am I?’
‘Didn’t you know?’
‘I was always told it was sinful to think about yourself like that.’
‘What happened to you?’ he asked. ‘Where are you living?’
‘In the city. I’ve found a room with two Americans called Sumter.’
‘Missionaries?’
‘Sort of. They took me in when they learned I had nowhere to go. They said I could take you there, too. There’s room.’
Alarm flooded over him at the memory of Emmeline. ‘When, Ab?’
‘As soon as you’re better.’
‘Let’s go now.’
‘You can’t, Willie. You might start bleeding again.’
‘You’ve done some nursing. You told me so. You can bandage me.’
She stared at him, shocked, then her face creased in a wide grin. ‘Willie!’
‘Somebody’s got to. Nurses do it here. Why can’t you do it there?’
‘Well, I guess I could. But not yet, surely?’
‘I’ve got to, Ab.’
‘Why?’
‘Because – because–’ Willie paused, then gave her the whole story. At least, not the whole story, but enough of it to let her know how Emmeline had her eye on him and wanted to take him back to run the business.
‘I don’t want to run the bloody business,’ he said.
‘What’ll you do?’
‘I’ve got some ideas.’ He reached out for her hand. ‘Ab, I’ve come by some money. They’re going to give me a medal and they all had a whip round for me because they said that by leading them into the city, I’d saved a lot of lives. Everybody was at it. You’d be surprised how much it comes to.’
‘What are you going to do with it, Willie?’
‘Use it to make my fortune, like I always planned.’ He was suddenly alarmed. ‘What about you? You’re not going back to Shantu, are you?’
‘I couldn’t.’ She shuddered.
‘So what then? Missionary somewhere else?’
There was a long silence before she spoke. ‘I think I’ve become a bit disillusioned with missionary work, Willie,’ she said eventually. ‘I think I had been for some time. Ever since the day I was talking to the converts about Jesus and one of them said “Who’s he? He’s nobody from here.”’ She managed a little giggle. ‘I think they thought he was a tax collector. I don’t think they were very interested, anyway. I think we got more spiritual comfort out of it than they did.’
‘Let’s set up together then.’
‘To do what?’
‘I don’t know. Anything. Business. Whatever you like. Open a teahouse.’
‘You won’t make a fortune at that.’
‘There are a lot of people in this city who’d like a good cup of tea and some buns. First thing, though, you’ve got to get me out of here before Emmeline comes back.’
‘She’s come back!’
The voice, sharp and authoritative, made Willie’s head jerk round. Emmeline, not Willie, had always made the running, but now she even seemed to be dictating everything he thought and did.
‘I’ve got a sedan chair outside,’ she announced.
Willie scowled. ‘I can’t sit down.’
‘You’ll manage, I’m sure. Father’s waiting for you. I’ve got a proper contract drawn up. In two years he relinquishes the business – if he doesn’t kill himself with gin first.’ She turned to Abigail. ‘Get him up, please, nurse. Where are his clothes?’
Abigail’s small face set. ‘I’m not the nurse,’ she said.
‘Then who are you and what are you doing sitting there?’
It seemed to be time for Willie to speak up. ‘She’s with me,’ he said. ‘We went all the way down from Shantu to Fansan together.’
Emmeline stared down her nose at Abigail, then she turned again to Willie. ‘Ask for your clothes, Willie,’ she commanded. ‘We have better things to do than stand here chatting to some cheap little chit you’ve picked up.’
‘Hey–!’
Willie was just about to protest when Abigail saved him the trouble. Just as she had with Willie, she swung her arm with all her strength and her hand connected with a whack against Emmeline’s cheek. As Emmeline staggered back, her hat over one eye, a livid red mark on her cheek, she caught her heels against a stool, lost her balance and sat down heavily.
‘Nine,’ intoned one of the wounded Americans at the other side of the ward, ‘ten, out. Boys, we got a new champion.’
For what seemed minutes, Emmeline sat staring at Abigail, her face suffused with fury. Abigail stood over her, her small fists clenched, as though she were prepared to go the requisite number of rounds if necessary. Then she turned away abruptly and, taking advantage of her indifference, Emmeline climbed to her feet, shoved her hat straight and stalked for the door.
‘You as good with your left, Miss?’ the American asked. ‘That sure was the prettiest right hook I ever seen.’
Blushing furiously, Abigail turned to Willie. ‘I’ll get your clothes,’ she said.
Eight
The Sumters, the American couple who had loaned Abigail a room, had set up a small dispensary in the Chinese City. They were a quiet couple, dedicated to their work, and they asked no questions.
When Willie appeared, they supported him to his room and helped him to sit down, still without asking questions, then they provided tea and left them to it.
‘I think,’ Willie said, ‘that we ought to get away from here before too long.’
Abigail’s face was concerned. ‘Because of – of her?’
‘Yes.’
I saw her this morning, Willie. When I was out with Mrs Sumter. She was riding in a chair, looking very high and mighty. She was just stopping at their office. It’s open again and they’ve got a clerk in there. Mrs Sumter says he’s a deserter from the French army. She says they have to sleep under the counter or something. She’s a wicked woman.’
‘She is?’ Willie was all innocence.
‘Mrs Sumter said she’s the reason why they could never keep their clerks. Did she–’ Abigail’s eyes were large. ‘–did she ever try – well, you know – with you.’
‘Never!’ Willie lied stoutly. ‘But I hadn’t been there long. Perhaps she hadn’t got round to it. All the same–’ he frowned ‘–she’s not going to like being pushed about. They worked me to the bone.’
‘She’ll not find us here.’
‘And we’ve got a little money to live on.’
Emmeline never turned up and at the end of the fortnight Willie was walking normally, itching to be using the money that had been given him to make that elusive fortune he was after. Not for one minute did it occur to either of them to go their separate ways.
‘What about tea?’ Abigail suggested. ‘Everybody wants tea. You could sell China tea in England, buy other things in England, and sell them in India, then pick up Indian tea and sell it here.’
‘It sounds pretty complicated,’ Willie said. ‘And bulky too. And we’d have to charter a ship for it, or part of a ship, and I haven’t that much money.’
‘Cotton? The Chinese like cotton cloth.’
‘I don’t know much about it, do you? I reckon I’d get diddled.’
Loath to commit too hurriedly the money Willie had been given, they discussed the making of his fortune day after day, moving about the narrow streets of the city, studying the shops in the hope of deciding on some useful commodity that was easy to import, cheap to buy and profitable to sell. But for the most part the ordinary Chinese didn’t appear to have enough money for there to be any profit in selling anything to them and the wealthy Chinese who had sides with the Empress had fled into the hinterland with her, while the Europeans and those wealthy Chinese who had remained behind obviously weren’t going to buy from an unknown like Willie.
&
nbsp; He was beginning to grow depressed. For the first time in his life he had a little money and he didn’t know what to do with it, and the longer they remained idle the less it became, because, though the Sumters didn’t ask for it, they had to be paid for food and the roof over their heads.
Then, sitting in Willie’s room, sharing the edge of the bed because there was nowhere else to sit, Abigail had an idea. Willie had flung himself back on the blankets and was staring at the ceiling with blank eyes, his mind a void, drifting and empty of ideas.
‘Willie,’ she said slowly. ‘I went back once to Seattle. I was sick and, because I had some money of my own, they sent me home to get over it. I took a few things I’d bought here with me to show people. Little bits of jade and carved ivory I’d found. That sort of thing. My uncle said they were junk and threw them away, but I rescued them and, when I became short of money, I tried to sell them in a shop. They said the same. But when I went to San Francisco to catch the ship back, I tried again and they thought they were good. They gave me a lot of money for them. ’Least, I thought it was a lot, but it wasn’t really, because the next day I went past the shop again and there they were in the window, being offered at three times the price I’d been given.’
‘That was a rotten thing to do!’
‘Perhaps. But it’s business, Willie. Suppose you bought a lot of these things and took them to the States. Or to London. And offered them. You could, because they’re not very big. Would people buy them?’
Willie stared at the ceiling. ‘They might,’ he agreed. ‘They’re going for oriental things a lot these days. Fans. Japanese pictures. That sort of thing. Perhaps it’s the beginning of a fashion. Where did you get ’em, Ab?’
‘I bought them in Shantu. They’re all over the place in Shensi province. They carve them all the time. They don’t think much of them there, though, and I even had several given. When someone was ill and we nursed them that’s how they tried to pay. We once went as far south as Sian, the capital. It’s one of the cultural centres of this part of China. I found some more there and bought them for myself. There are a lot of them here in Peking, too. I’ve seen them. Loot. Picked up by soldiers after the relief.’
