by V. E. Ulett
Saramago melted away, muttering that he would go hunt down the Hell-Cat.
Captain Thorpe and Miriam took seats in the great cabin, just as on so many other occasions. This time there was an especial tension between them, one that had been building since their descent into dangerous waters.
“How I hope Thrax may turn up soon,” Miriam said, clasping her hands together in her lap. “I must leave for Government House at half past the hour.”
“Just so,” Captain Thorpe said. “I hope Thrax will no be the only one you will be missing, Miss Miriam. If you choose to go, I mean to say. I was wanting to speak to you, to convince you not to leave the ship.”
Miriam frowned. “This is the mission, sir, the duty I’ve been given by your government. You would have me come all this way, and balk at the last?”
“I would. I would indeed,” Captain Thorpe said. “Marry me, stay aboard my ship, and you will be answerable to no man.”
The unexpected offer hit Miriam hard. The first thought that shot through her brain was, answerable to no man but you. Miriam realized she might be doing Captain Thorpe an injustice. She was stunned, and in grasping for a response Miriam realized he’d not spoken of love.
“You do me a very great honor,” Miriam said. “I am sensible of your goodness, in wishing to protect me from...But if I were to accept, would not that answer your kindness by bringing down on your head the wrath of your superiors?”
A strange look came into Captain Thorpe’s eyes, and he lifted his chin. “Scotsmen are notorious proud, Miss Miriam, and I will have you know I consider no English man my superior. A horn in the sides of Lords Exmouth and Q if it don’t please them. Crack ship captains are not so easy to come by.”
Captain Thorpe smiled at Miriam as though he’d surmounted the greatest objection she could discover to his proposal. Miriam felt weak and a bit lightheaded, because of the heat and anxiety of the last days—and now this. She found she wanted to say yes, yes with all her heart, to staying aboard Nonesuch, the home she’d been so bitterly regretting having to give up. She need not venture into the fearful unknown, or go ashore to the dreaded meeting with Francis. They might go together to meet her step-father, make their announcement, and let the communication of her desertion of her British masters be his problem. There would be some justice in that. Meanwhile she and Captain Thorpe would be floating hundreds of leagues away in the sparkling ether.
Miriam shook her head, to clear it of self-deluding dreams. “I dare say you are right, and you at least shall be forgiven any transgression. May I ask, pardon me if this seems obvious to you, what would become of me after the nuptials? Should I go to live with your relations in Scotland?”
Confusion clouded Captain Thorpe’s face. “Aye, aye, of course. That is what a gentlewoman would expect, no doubt.”
Miriam bowed her head, trying to conceal her disappointment. How to find the words? She had a great fondness for him, and more than that respected and esteemed Captain Thorpe.
“It is hard for me to express how grateful I am for your kind and generous offer, but I must decline. My conscience urges me not to give up on the mission your government has entrusted to me, to help those women.”
“Who are they to you?” Captain Thorpe burst out. “They are no your mother, or your sisters!”
His passion surprised Miriam, though the injury and pain in his eyes should have warned her of a squall.
“I know that. I do not venture into this because they are my sisters, or some fantasy of a better mother than the one I have.” Miriam paused a moment, a little shocked at that idea. “I do it because they are people, like you and me.”
Captain Thorpe was hunched forward in his chair, leaning toward her with his forearms resting on his knees.
“One person to another, then, Miss Miriam. Tell me what it is you want, and I shall be happy to oblige. Even if you wish me to bugger off back to Scotland.”
A little laugh escaped her, but Miriam’s heart was wrung. Lately she barely noticed those unnatural eyes, except when they were alive with strong emotion.
“One person to another then, my dear sir, I can only tell you what it is I don’t want. I don’t want to have to give an accounting of myself, and be told where I may go, and what I may and may not do. I don’t want to be told what I should value, who I should love, or what God to address in my prayers.”
Miriam paused to blot tears from her face with her handkerchief. She breathed a great sigh, to think this day was only just beginning. “Now it is your turn, Captain Thorpe. If you are not too offended with me, tell me what it is you want.”
His expression was serious and considering. Captain Thorpe looked straight at her. “Not to be judged,” he said.
The great cabin door opened and Thrax darted in ahead of Saramago’s foot. The steward shut the door on their private conference, after casting a knowing glance at the pair of them.
Miriam rose, feeling ineffably sad, and made to pick Thrax up and spend her love upon the Hell-Cat. Thrax evaded her, and jumped into the basket with Miriam’s belongings. The animal burrowed down, while gazing up at her and Captain Thorpe.
“You may not come with me, Thrax, my dear,” Miriam said.
“Why ever not?”
“I do not mean to make myself conspicuous. People may not remember an English speaking woman in China, but one sporting a lap dog or cat is another matter entirely.”
“It seems to me you will be noticed in any case. At this point in your mission, I take it that is your intention.” Captain Thorpe cast a worried glance at Miriam in her fancy dress. “I beg you will take the Hell-Cat, remember it is a fierce and loyal companion.”
Thrax’ eyes appeared too large for its head. The cat seemed to shrink in size before them, a timid innocuous little creature.
“I’ve never seen a cat simper before,” Captain Thorpe said.
Miriam laughed, and her relief was so great she extended her hand to the Captain.
“I must certainly take Thrax. It was Megabazus’ gift to you, and yours to me.” Miriam retained her hold of Captain Thorpe’s hand. Gazing past him into his book lined private haven, Miriam was reminded of those lines of poetry.
Since in this heart he sought love of a friend,
Know that in that heart love will be sustained.
“In my country we have what is called sigheh,” Miriam said. “It means temporary wife. I will put my trust in the British exit strategy, and when I return—” she would not say if, “when the mission is done, I will be sigheh to you. If your wishes are unchanged.”
She watched the emotion on Captain Thorpe’s face change from rejection and disappointment, to surprise, and then came tenderness and even joy.
“Don’t give me your answer just yet,” Miriam hastened to say, when she saw him ready to commit himself. “Think over whether you can accept such a difficult, demanding, contrary woman, I beg. When we meet again after...then you may tell me.”
Captain Thorpe lifted her hand to his lips and kissed it. An unexpected thrill ran through Miriam, culminating in a fluttering at her core.
She withdrew her hand rather shakily from his grasp. “Perhaps you will be good enough to see me ashore, Captain?” Miriam went over and took her basket on her arm.
Chapter Eleven
Francis Blackwell dreaded the meeting with Miriam in the way a man does when he believes he’s done another an ill turn. How much worse one felt when that other person was female, and under your protection, Francis knew only too well. He’d been astonished when word of her arrival in Hong Kong was brought him by HMHV Nonesuch, and even more confounded by the content of letters sent via that ship. One was from Lord Q, under cover of another letter from Sir Edward Pellew. Francis went about his assigned diplomatic task of hiring passage on a San Francisco bound vessel for Miriam in a sort of dream, or in truth, a nightmarish haze.
Miriam swept into the British Consul in Hong Kong’s private office on the arm of Captain Thorpe. She registered
the surprise on Francis’s face to see her dressed as she was, on the arm of a Navy officer. It pleased her that Francis should behold her changed from the timid person he’d left behind in Iran to face charges of improper conduct on her own.
“Uncle.” Miriam addressed Francis respectfully, as she’d been taught to do. Gritting her teeth, Miriam moved around his desk to embrace him. “How do you do? Allow me to present Captain Maximus Thorpe, of Nonesuch. Captain Thorpe, my—, His Majesty’s consul in Hong Kong, Mr. Francis Blackwell.”
The men exchanged how do you do’s, and Francis invited them to sit down. Miriam was infinitely glad of Captain Thorpe’s presence, the situation was awkward enough, it would have been intolerable to be alone with Francis. Did that make her more like the timid self she’d tried to leave behind than she wanted to believe?
“And so you’ve come all this way in a crack ship, Miriam?” Francis said.
Not, how is your mother, how is your brother, how are you, Miriam? If that was the way it was to be between them, she was not unwilling.
“Only to turn round and sail back again,” she said in a cold tone. “Across the Pacific, this time.”
“I appeal to you, Captain Thorpe, as Lord Exmouth informs me you know all and are part of his exit strategy. Is not this a most pernicious scheme Miriam has entangled herself in?”
What answer Captain Thorpe might have made they did not find out, because Miriam said, “Pernicious, sir? Should you like to know how I came to the notice of a man like Lord Q? How I came to be indebted to the British, and involved in pernicious schemes?”
Francis Blackwell blanched visibly. “Perhaps Captain Thorpe has business he would like to attend to in town, and then you and I can have a private discussion.”
“I am obliged to you, sir,” Captain Thorpe said. “But I won’t be taking my leave unless and until Miss Miriam invites me to do so.”
During this brief exchange Miriam thought better of making any accusations. She’d been on the point of blaming Francis for her acquaintance with Lords Exmouth and Q; that was true enough, she would not have known them but for moving in Francis’s diplomatic circles. But it was not in the least true that she was there in Hong Kong ready to take part in what he called pernicious schemes, and she called trying to help other women, because of him. At worst he was guilty of having run, of insufficient courage in facing the backlash of scandal that linked them together in criminal congress.
“I should like to know, Uncle,” Miriam said, “of the ship and passage you’ve arranged for me. And about the lodging I am to take up here in Hong Kong, if you please. I’m sure I have imposed long enough on Captain Thorpe’s hospitality.”
“Not in the least,” Captain Thorpe said, an arch expression spreading over his weather-beaten face. “If the lodgings your uncle has arranged do not suit, or you are in the least uncomfortable, you must return to Nonesuch at once. The entire crew shall welcome you back aboard as one of their own.”
This last Captain Thorpe said directly to Francis Blackwell.
The lodgings Francis found for Miriam did suit, as she discovered when taken round to them that first day ashore by both her step-father and Captain Thorpe. It was in the home of a merchant, the supercargo of the ship Caldera that Miriam was to take passage in. Goh Cheng Cheng was a man of fifty, a man of substance, the owner of several warehouses in San Francisco and Canton, who opened his part-Eastern, part-Western establishment to the British Consul’s honored guest. Miriam had to admit Francis knew his business as a diplomat, and wasn’t at all unwilling to spend lavishly on her comfort.
During her stay in Goh Cheng Cheng’s house, it was inevitable that Francis should sometime find her alone. One morning Goh Cheng Cheng, who was aware of and cooperating in the British counter-piracy plan, led Francis Blackwell through the large and complex dwelling to Miriam’s apartments rather than entrusting him to a servant.
Miriam turned round from where she sat in her bedchamber before a dressing table. “Uncle Francis, how kind in you to call so early.”
Goh Cheng Cheng bowed and took his leave. Francis seated himself without an invitation.
“You will forgive me for calling on you before the usual hour,” he said, “but I wished to speak to you alone. We both know I have far more to beg your pardon for than just an untimely visit.”
“Shall we walk in the gardens?” Miriam said, glancing round her apartment. It was a beautiful and intimate room filled with blossoms, musical instruments, lacquered furniture, ancient art, and opium-pipes and cigarettes. “I never expected to see such fine gardens in an outpost like Hong Kong.”
“I should be offended for my new home town,” Francis said, rising from his chair.
The complex was surrounded by verandahs both outward facing toward the street where business was often transacted, and leading from the interior rooms on to enclosed gardens. Miriam and Francis passed through apartments where lanterns of different shapes and materials hung from the ceilings, made of glass, gauze, and colored paper, with shades fringed, tufted, and bedecked with bells. Beyond carved wooden screens through which the perfume of tropical flowers, the scent and bird song of the outdoors drifted into the interior of the house, they descended the verandah steps into the maze of gardens.
After pacing a short ways, Francis said, “Before this kingdom in miniature and by all that’s holy, Miriam, my intention was never to hurt you, nor see you indebted to Lord Q. I left because I—” There was a hitch in Francis’s voice, and he paused. They were surrounded by perfect little worlds with grottos, rivulets and pools, and small stone castles atop miniature mountains. “I was a coward, and so wounded by Zahraa taking up with that Prancer—”
“Did you know Mama wants to marry me to Haris Reza? Solves everything, for her at least. She would have Haris, and I would keep my good name.”
“Oh, Miriam!”
“You may well exclaim. I went to Lord Q, and then I ran, just like you.”
Francis halted beside a pond where orange and black and white carp swam in the shadows round the pool’s edge.
“Everyone knew you were my favorite, I was always so proud of you,” he said. “And then to have my fondness for you become suspect, to be accused of taking advantage of you...” Francis shook his head. They’d sat down on a stone bench beside the pond. “It was unthinkable and in my confusion of spirit I decided the best thing I could do, was to leave.”
Despite the tranquil setting, Miriam felt belligerent. “Best for who exactly, Uncle?”
Francis winced. “You would oblige me ever so much if you would just call me Francis. With all my heart I beg your forgiveness. Maybe I should have stayed, and tried to face down Zahraa and her schemes.”
Miriam stood abruptly and with a rapid stride started down the gravel path.
Francis hastened after her. “Most of all,” he said, “I didn’t want to be the one...I couldn’t bear to be there when you realized—”
“It was Mama started those rumors, about you and me?” Pain gripped Miriam’s heart as she uttered those words, and saw the truth confirmed in Francis’s gaze.
She slowed her pace, the footpath becoming blurry because of her tears. The track wound round the base of a hill forested with flowering shrubs. Ahead on the path, they both caught a glimpse of the rich garments of a lady fleeing on unnaturally small feet.
“One of Goh Cheng Cheng’s harem,” Francis said. They stopped to allow the woman to make good her retreat.
Miriam sniffed and searched in the pocket of her gown for a handkerchief. “I wonder how long I would need to be here, before I could be permitted to visit Goh Cheng Cheng’s wives and daughters.”
Francis handed her his own handkerchief, and as Miriam dabbed at the tears and moisture on her skin, he said in a gentle tone, “Merry, my dear, family relations are complicated. That might take generations.”
Miriam didn’t have a lifetime to wait. After passing a few tranquil days at Goh Cheng Cheng’s establishment, visited everyday
by the people of Nonesuch and the British Consul, she was summoned aboard Caldera. Miriam, Francis Blackwell, and Captain Thorpe had agreed that Captain Thorpe alone would see Miriam aboard the merchant ship. Francis could not appear and give Caldera’s commander, Captain Clooney, nor anyone else, a whiff of the foreign office. Captain Clooney had fallen victim to pirates once before in the South China Sea, according to Francis, and Caldera sailed like a slug. These reasons for choosing Caldera for the mission naturally couldn’t be revealed to her captain. Captain Clooney was given to understand Miriam was an English speaking lady, possibly of European descent, traveling to San Francisco on the advice of her physician.
On a muggy overcast morning Miriam boarded Caldera with her own personal medico at her side. Wearing a black frock coat and disreputable bob wig pinned to a rusty misshapen hat, with green spectacles to conceal his eyes, Captain Thorpe glanced round Caldera’s disorderly deck and sniffed in a disdainful way. Together they sought out Captain Clooney, weaving round bails of tea, chickens stacked in wooden crates, and untidy coils of line that made Captain Thorpe shake his head. A low, vaguely Scottish sounding noise of disapproval kept coming out of him. They succeeded in finding the captain’s steward, who conducted them to Miriam’s assigned berth.
“Well now, Miss Blackwell,” Captain Thorpe said in an officious tone, while Caldera’s steward stood in the cabin doorway gaping, “it will be no indoor journey. No indeed, all the way across the Pacific to San Francisco, but you must undertake it, so you must.”
In the cramped cabin was a wooden berth where Captain Thorpe tossed the bundle of mattress, blankets, and pillows he’d carried in for Miriam. A low writing table combined with a wash handstand completed the furnishings. Miriam set her basket, with Thrax perched atop her belongings, on the deck.
“That will be all, my mon.” With a show of reluctance Captain Thorpe eased sixpence out of his pocket and put the pennies in the steward’s hand. “The young person suffers from the falling damps,” he said, in a confidential tone to the steward. “She must escape the humid air or I shall not answer for her constitution.”
