by John Harris
‘Sian,’ Abigail said. ‘That’s where they are, I bet. It’s the capital of the province and the old imperial capital of China.’
It seemed to be worth trying to get nearer, so they hired ponies and began to move through the mountains, eventually setting up a headquarters at Shinshi.
‘What are you expecting, Willie?’ Abigail asked.
‘I don’t know,’ Willie admitted. ‘But something.’
‘What sort of something?’
‘I dunno. But if the Imperial Court is at Sian and we’re here in Shinshi, something ought to turn up.’
It turned up, in fact, at the end of a week when they had found themselves being offered a surprising number of unexpectedly valuable articles.
Among them were seals of state, incised in ivory, jade or gold, and other valuables, some of them large and heavy, with cinnabar in the form of vermilion paste used as pigment, some of them violet or purple to indicate mourning. With her six years’ experience of China and all the reading she had done, Abigail recognised them at once.
‘You know where these are coming from, don’t you?’ she said.
She held out a jade camel for him to look at. ‘That’s no village masterpiece, Willie. That was made somewhere in the south. So how did it get up here? It came from Peking and it belonged to someone who’s left his treasure behind and is short of money.’
Two days later a caravan of ponies approached and a large stout Chinese, gesturing for Willie to approach, asked if he spoke Chinese.
Willie indicated Abigail, who was watching from a distance, and the Chinese frowned. Women in China were unconsidered chattels, but there seemed to be no way they could talk without an interpreter, and in the end he agreed to her presence. He wanted them to go to his house, he said, where certain gentlemen wished to speak to them.
That night, Willie looked at Abigail, who was studying him worriedly. ‘Are we going, Willie?’
‘I think we should.’
‘Suppose it’s a trap?’
‘I don’t think they’d set up a trap, old girl. Not now. I don’t think they’d dare.’
‘Why not? Nobody knows we’re here. I don’t like it.’
‘I don’t like it much myself,’ Willie agreed. ‘But we’ve got to go. If they’re going to do for us, they can do for us here, and if they want to they will, whether we go or not. But if we do go, we might do well out of it. Let’s give it a whirl.’
The house was twenty miles along the road to Sian and they covered the distance on the hired ponies. Abigail was still nervous, but Willie had a feeling that the fortune he was after might be concealed somewhere at the end of the journey.
Eventually at a village called Pangyan, situated on a crossroads that had been described to them, they were met by a man with a long gown and a black hat with the red button of a mandarin. He gestured to them to follow him and they were led through a round moon gate in a wall to a house furnished with some style, where the Chinese informed them they would be staying the night.
Abigail gave Willie a nervous look, but he nodded and the Chinese motioned them to follow him. Three sedan chairs, heavily carved and enamelled, with curtains of stained yellow silk, appeared, and, wilting in the heat, they set off through the village, here and there handed over the heads of the crowd, who were cleared by an officious-looking man shouting at the top of his voice for the way to be cleared. On the pavements, hawkers were offering food from portable stoves and shooing away the lean dogs that sniffed at their heels, barbers were shaving chins and heads, sellers of seed oils pushing past the vendors of fresh manure and the women buying hair ornaments and shoes with high cork soles. The air was full of story-tellers’ singsong chants, the cries of children’s puppet shows, and the chatter of bird lovers showing off their pet starlings and jays.
As they passed down a dirty rubbish-littered street, they could hear the thump of a wood carver’s mallet and the clink of hammers on metal that sounded like the tinkle of Chinese music. The smell was of excreta, charcoal, camphorwood and lacquer, but Willie made a note to visit the place later for what it might contain.
The streets grew narrower until they were mere alleys roofed with matting, then suddenly they burst out of the village and were padding along a dusty lane between overhanging trees. Eventually they came to a white wall, with a circular moon gate. Beyond it was a courtyard full of doves but littered with rubbish. Soldiers in unmilitary uniforms lounged to their feet in a sagging line that bulged out as they leaned forward, bursting with curiosity to see who’d arrived. While they were still wondering what was going on, an official with a curved sword led them through another moon gate into a garden that was so different it could have been in a different part of China. There was a green lawn, a patch of feathery bamboo and, in a paved courtyard and overhung with willows, a pool that caught the jade light of the sky. The house consisted of a massive ironwood frame filled with latticework panels, with a roof of green tiles bristling with small creatures in coloured earthenware – dragons, phoenixes, unicorns and tortoises, all animals of Chinese celestial mythology.
In the courtyard was a pool of pink lotus, surrounded by dwarf trees, rockeries and shrubs in jars, with thrushes singing in cages among the wisteria. Inside, the house was an amazing mixture of all that was best in China and all that was worst in Europe. There were cabinets of lustrous lacquer, phoenixes of carved gu-wood, camphorwood chests encrusted with mother of pearl, lacquered dragon tables and settees in vermilion, olive green and canary. But, in addition, there were cheap cuckoo clocks, a vast ugly German statue of a woman in bronze, a mahogany commode, all standing among the rosewood whatnots and exquisite tomb figures, and the camels, horsemen and musicians of the Sung period. An ugly plush elephant was surrounded by exquisitely carved muff bottles in mauve, grey and orange jade; a clockwork dog stood among tortoiseshell and ivory and lanterns of translucent porcelain like lacework; electric lamps shone on Peking rugs worked with the Imperial Ming peony device, their reds, blues, oranges and violets unfaded by the years; and temple rugs of Mongolian camel wool in turquoise and biscuit hung alongside a gramophone with a cheap tin horn. The walls were covered with silken panels embroidered with black tortoises, vermilion phoenixes, azure dragons and white tigers, and with scrolls with elegant brushwork, maxims exquisitely worked by master calligraphers of the fifteenth century, and studies of flowers, blue tits and pheasants, all alongside lurid framed supplements from French magazines.
‘It’s here, Ab,’ Willie breathed. ‘It’s all here.’
The man they had first met came forward to meet them, now carrying a gold-mounted cane and wearing a six-ribbed skull cap with the red button of authority. His grey silk gown was voluminous and on his feet he wore elastic-sided boots. Behind him came other men, all dressed in the same splendid fashion. Sticky drinks in small glasses and exquisitely contrived cakes that looked dangerous inside, were handed round, then dinner was announced by a cracked gong, and there was a great deal of fuss as they took their places at the table. Hot moist towels were handed round to wipe faces and Willie immediately remembered a story he had heard of how enemies were given smallpox by first passing the hot towel over the face of a sufferer, and he suddenly wondered if it were a trap as Abigail had suggested.
Then he noticed the Chinese were staring at Abigail with some displeasure and a small fat man with a wide mouth with teeth like a set of dominoes appeared at his side and jabbered at him for some time, indicating Abigail.
‘He’s saying I can’t eat with you,’ she said.
‘Why not?’
‘Because I’m a woman.’
‘How the hell do we talk then? You’re the one who speaks the lingo.’
When Abigail translated, the man with the teeth looked baffled then his wide smile appeared again.
‘He says I can take my meal outside,’ Abigail said, ‘and we can talk through the open door.’
Willie tossed his towel down. ‘Tell him you eat with me,’ he said, ‘or I don�
��t eat at all.’
Abigail nervously translated and the man with the teeth explained to the others, who went into a huddle, muttering in low voices. Eventually the man with the teeth announced that a solution had been found. A group of singsong girls appeared, dressed in lace-fringed trousers, their faces enamelled and rouged, and began to chant amorous songs. Since there were now other women in the room, it appeared to have satisfied the susceptibilities of the Chinese and they headed for the table again.
It took a great deal of time to get seated because no one appeared to wish to sit down before a tall thin man wearing carpet slippers, who seemed to be the chief guest. His face was covered with tiny wrinkles and the ends of a wispy moustache hung well below his chin. He gestured with a hand with one long nail tipped with silver, to indicate he didn’t wish to seat himself before his host and the other guests and there were several half-hearted tries and a lot of embarrassment and giggles before they all managed to sit simultaneously.
On the table were scores of little bowls containing dainties. Some sweet, some apparently pure mustard. One was orange, black and gelatinous, another had the smell of sulphuretted hydrogen. Served in blue-and-white porcelain bowls, they were so highly spiced as to be almost uneatable, but Abigail whispered that they were only offered out of politeness for their rarity or because they were aphrodisiacs, and it was usual to leave the larks’ tongues, dormice in syrup and hundred-year-old eggs untouched.
There seemed to be dozens of courses, most of them consumed by the Chinese holding the bowl to the mouth and sucking loudly at what their chopsticks dug out. Noise seemed to be essential to show appreciation and, from time to time, Willie’s neighbour offered him titbits from his own bowl. Hot rice wine and rose petal gin were served, then, as the real meal started, the singsong girls, who had been doing their act in a muted fashion, burst out at full blast.
The Chinese kept clearing their throats with a noise like a file rasping on an anvil and spitting what they brought up through the window, then the thin man at the head of the table opened his mouth to speak, closed it again, glared at the girls, then gestured at them, so that they faded away to a corner of the room, their volume reduced to a minimum. He began to speak, Abigail translated as he went.
‘He’s saying,’ she pointed out to Willie, ‘that the Imperial Court feels it’s time to meet the powers in Peking and start peace negotiations, and that you should let it be known.’
Willie stared at her in alarm. ‘Are they wanting me to be some sort of ambassador or something?’
‘That’s what it looks like.’
Abigail seemed remarkably calm and Willie gave her a worried look. ‘Lor’, Ab, I hadn’t planned on going back just yet. We haven’t got all we came for.’
Abigail took a different view. ‘This could do us a power of good, Willie,’ she whispered. ‘We’d be the confidants of the Legations and the confidants of the Court as well. They want to return to Peking, and we’d be there to speak for them.’
It didn’t take Willie long to catch on. ‘It makes sense,’ he agreed. ‘Tell ’em we’ll take their messages. We’ll come back afterwards. And, when we do, they might tell us where to look. They might even provide escorts to make sure we’re safe. What’s he say?’
‘He says they anticipate heavy demands for punishment and retribution and that the Empress has therefore banished certain princes for life. Others have been confined to their homes or demoted, while others have been imprisoned or sent to the frontier with hard labour. She’s also prepared to have a few decapitated and buried without their heads.’ Willie gave her a startled look. ‘A great disgrace, because you can’t look your ancestors in the face.’
The thin man was still droning on.
‘They’ll also order others to commit suicide and even provide the silk rope for them to strangle themselves. They offer to send men to Germany to apologise for the murder of the German Minister and to erect a monument on the spot where he was killed. All officials in cities where foreigners were ill-treated will be suspended or executed, according to the wishes of the people in Peking. They’ve also agreed to prohibit, on pain of death, membership of any foreign society.’
‘Like the Boxers?’
‘Like the Boxers. There are a lot of other things I didn’t catch, but they think that it’s as well to encourage the foreigners to indulge in commerce because it would he an effective check on their ambitions. It seems the USA has already requested the powers not to interfere with other nationals and to respect the integrity of China.’ She gave a little laugh. ‘He says it’s a warning from a burglar to the rest of his gang not to deprive him of his share of the loot.’
‘He’s right, too,’ Willie grinned. ‘The Russians’ll be watching the Japanese and the British, and the French’ll be watching the Germans, and the Americans’ll be watching the lot. Anyody who steps out of line will be accused at once.’ His smile widened. ‘They’re not as stupid as Europeans think them, Ab. Did you understand it all?’
‘It was difficult, but I think I got it right. They want us to take back a ready-made offer and ask for a meeting.’
‘And us?’
‘You’re the go-between.’
‘What about you?’
Abigail turned to the thin Chinese. For a while he ignored her as she spoke, then he nodded and spoke back to her. ‘He agrees that I shall interpret.’
‘Not a man?’
‘He doesn’t object to a man, but he wants me there. He says he trusts me. I think he feels he can push me around a bit if necessary.’ Abigail smiled. ‘But I quoted their own proverb at him – a man thinks he knows but a woman knows better. As all this comes from the Empress Dowager, it has a lot of meaning and he knows it.’
Ten
They were seen off in style. A large cast-iron urn in the garden filled with prayer paper and fireworks tied like blossom in bunches to trees were set alight. With several of the officials kneeling and touching their foreheads to the floor, they left surrounded by blue smoke, staccato crackling and sprays of golden sparks, riding in the same sedan chairs they arrived in and surrounded by horn-blowers and bannermen.
Still escorted by soldiers and bannermen, they picked up their ponies where they had left them and, returning to their headquarters, ordered everything to be packed up, and headed for Tung Kwan, where the junk was waiting. Moving downriver to Yuwei they unpacked everything from the hold, repacked it into carts, and headed for Peking.
The Sumters greeted them enthusiastically with the news that everything they had brought back from their last trip had been sold, and that people were asking for more.
‘No time for that now,’ Willie said. ‘Other things to do.’
Bathing and dressing in their best clothes, they headed for the British Legation. A frozen-faced elderly official met them at the entrance and demanded their business.
‘To see Sir Claude MacDonald.’
The official looked down his nose. With the relief, things had returned to normal and he intended having nothing to do with unofficial complaints. ‘You had better submit your request in writing,’ he said.
‘I’m not requesting,’ Willie pointed out. ‘I’m insisting.’
The official smiled. ‘You don’t insist here, young man.’
‘This time – old man! – I do. I have a request for Sir Claude from the Empress Tzu-Hsi.’
The official’s face changed at once. ‘I don’t believe you,’ he said softly.
‘Try me and see. If I don’t see Sir Claude, I’ll go to Mr Conger at the American Legation. And then what’ll happen to you when he sees what I’ve brought and it becomes known what you’ve turned away?’
The official became wary. ‘What is it you’ve brought?’ he asked.
‘A request to reopen negotiations between us and the Imperial Court.’
‘You know where it is?’
‘We’ve talked to officials.’
‘You’d better inform me.’
Willie began to
grow angry. ‘I’ll inform Sir Claude and no one else and if you don’t look bloody slippy you’ll be in trouble.’
The official stared hard at him, still clearly not believing him, but the threat to his career was enough to stir him.
‘Wait here. I’ll see Sir Claude.’
Within minutes he was back. ‘Sir Claude will see you,’ he announced. ‘Perhaps the lady would like to remain here.’
‘Don’t be damn silly, man,’ Willie snapped. ‘She’s the one who knows what went on, not me. She’s the one who speaks the lingo. She’s the one who led the discussions.’
The official blenched, but soon afterwards they were being ushered through two large double doors to where Sir Claude MacDonald was standing by his desk.
‘Mr Sarth,’ he said, smiling and holding out his hand. ‘I heard you’d gone into business. And this lady? Your wife?’
‘Yes.’ The lie came easily. ‘And my partner. And at the moment we seem to have become sort of official messengers from the Imperial Court.’
MacDonald’s eyebrows rose. ‘You’ve found them?’
‘They’re in Sian.’
‘So we heard.’
‘We were working our way along the Wei when they contacted us. They’ve made offers.’
MacDonald studied them for a moment. ‘Please go on,’ he said. ‘The Viceroy at Canton has arrived here for them, but so far we haven’t seen him and we don’t know what he has to say. Do you?’
