Party in Peking

by Margaret Pemberton

  They fled down one street and then another, carried on by a tide of distraught peasants and furiously driven carts and charging animals. Smoke stung their eyes and dust choked them and then, just as Olivia glimpsed the main thoroughfare bisecting the city, and could almost see the walls and trees of the Legation Quarter, the terrified cries around her shrieked in intensity.

  ‘Boxers! Boxers!’ the children screamed and Olivia whipped round to see red-sashed, blood-crazed figures bearing down on them, slashing and stabbing indiscriminately.

  ‘Run!’ she cried again, her throat hoarse, ‘Run!’, and then stood in their wake, standing full square in the path of the demented horde as if her slender body alone would halt their frenzied charge.

  A sea of swords and spears sliced the air. They were so near that she could see the fanatical expression on their faces, the glazed madness in their eyes, and then, over and above the demented shouts of ‘ Burn! Burn! Kill! Kill!’ she heard the unmistakable clatter of galloping hooves and a posse of cavalry charged into the street. She saw the uniforms. The European faces. The black stallion, its nostrils dilated, its mouth foam-flecked, and flung herself out of their way.

  ‘Missy! Missy!’ the children shrieked, clutching her hands, her dress.

  She pressed a hand against the knife-like pain in her side, struggling for breath. ‘ It’s all right,’ she gasped, ‘Stay with me. Don’t get lost.’

  She didn’t look back. Didn’t wait to see what was happening. She could hear the clash of steel and a volley of rifle shots and as the smell of cordite hung heavy in the air she hurried the children feverishly towards Legation Street. They raced down it as if the devil were at their heels and then, as they swerved left, running breathlessly past the Mongol Market and towards the British Legation, galloping hooves bore down on them. It was only one horse. She had seen it and recognized it the instant the patrol had charged into the street. Now, knowing only too well whose dark, forbidding face she would look up into, she stumbled to a halt, leaning breathlessly against a smoke-grimed wall.

  ‘I thought you were enjoying the safe protection of Monsieur Casanaeve!’ he said savagely, wheeling his horse round, one arm still in a sling, the hand holding the reins clenched, the knuckles white.

  She could see the rivulets of sweat running down his neck. The flecks of gold in the dark iris of his eyes. The spring of his hair as it tumbled low over the black bars of his brows.

  Anger at the shamelessness of her need and desire for him flared through her. ‘I don’t know what you mean,’ she snapped, her head high, her eyes flashing as they met his.

  ‘Like hell you don’t!’ His voice sliced across her nerve ends like a whiplash. ‘Why aren’t you in the legation? The Japanese Chancellor has been murdered. The entire commercial quarter has been fired. Chinese Christians have been speared and burnt to death and you’re strolling through the streets with a score of children as though it’s Sunday in St James’s Park!’

  ‘I was not strolling!’ she hissed, her eyes brilliant with rage. ‘I was taking the children from the Anglican Mission where they will almost certainly be killed, and escorting them to the British; Legation!’

  The satanically winged brows flew together in a fierce frown. ‘How many children are still there?’ he rasped.

  She shook her head, a stray tendril of hair clinging damply against her heat-flushed cheeks and temples. ‘I don’t know, hundreds.’

  He swore blasphemously and she forgot the torment of seeing him in the overwhelming relief of knowing that here, at last, was help. She moved swiftly, crossing the distance between them, pressing herself against the hot flank of his horse as she looked up into his dark-visaged face, her eyes urgent. ‘They have no protection, Lewis. No guards. Nothing. Lan Kuei and two sisters are escorting children as well. They need help.’

  ‘And you?’ His voice had lost its rasp of fury. It was smoke-dark. Throbbing with undertones that robbed her of breath and made her limbs shake.

  ‘I can manage,’ she said unsteadily, her voice barely audible as the horse moved restlessly and his booted leg brushed against her breast. ‘The Legation is only yards away.’

  ‘Cut past the Bell Tower,’ he said brusquely, ‘I’ll see to it that the children are brought safely through the streets.’

  Her throat was tight with desire and longing as she said hoarsely, ‘Rory, is he safe?’

  He nodded, his eyes so dark that she felt as though she were drowning in their bottomless depths. ‘ Sir Claude sent a small force out yesterday to bring him and other children from the Cathedral to the Legation.’

  From the far side of Legation Street a great arc of flame spat skywards and there were shouts and terrified cries. In a swift, purposeful movement he leaned down, seizing her chin between his fingers, tilting her face so that it was only inches away from his. ‘ When you reach the legation, don’t leave it,’ he rasped, and then his head swooped low and his mouth was on hers, his kiss searing and savage, robbing her of every last vestige of self-control. She heard herself moan, knew that she was swaying in near insensibility and then he was looking down at her, breathing harshly, his eyes burning like live coals.

  ‘I’ll be back,’ he said thickly, digging his heels into the stallion’s flanks, wheeling round and away from her.

  ‘Lewis, please!’ She flung herself after him, catching hold of the reins, panting for breath. ‘Listen to me! Just for a moment.’

  She could see his muscles tense; see the whipcord hardness of his shoulders and chest as he looked down at her, his eyes dark with expectancy.

  ‘Phillippe has threatened to kill you,’ she gasped, her voice catching in her throat, ragged and torn.

  She heard his swift intake of breath and then the heat in his eyes was crushed and he was regarding her with an expression that made her drop her hand falteringly from the reins. ‘I’m glad that you reminded me of Monsieur Casanaeve,’ he said at last and his voice was ice-cold. ‘ I was in danger of forgetting about him. Goodbye, Miss Harland.’ And without a backward glance, he spurred his horse, galloping away from her and towards Legation Street to the west of the city and the Mission.

  She stared after him in stunned disbelief and then pressed the back of her hand to her mouth, shaking uncontrollably.

  ‘Missy? Are you all right, Missy?’

  The children were staring at her with large eyes. Lewis’s arrival had scattered them but now they edged towards her, frightened and uncomprehending.

  ‘Yes,’ she replied with difficulty. ‘ I’m all right. Look, you can see the legation walls from here. We have only a little way to go now. Hold each other’s hands tightly.’

  She was shaking, lost in a miasma of pain and bewilderment. For one brief, earth-shattering moment she had forgotten everything but her need of him. Had capitulated utterly. And he had spurned her. Icy indifference had replaced the heat of desire with such devastating speed that even now she could not quite believe it.

  She pressed a hand to her burning lips. It would have been better if she had not seen him. If she had never seen him. If her heart had remained dormant and had not been awakened to the savagery of a passion that could never be fulfilled. The dust gouged up by the hooves of his horse settled. He was gone and she was left once again with only the memory of him. Sick at heart she turned and shepherded her small charges to safety.

  There were so many people milling about the legation grounds that she was momentarily disconcerted. The spacious front pavilions were piled high with the luggage of those taking refuge. Swarms of Chinese servants hurried backwards and forwards, unloading handcarts piled high with furniture and household items. A heavy-bosomed Belgian lady was agitatedly supervising a dozen coolies as they carried her mahogany wardrobe and dressing-table into the legation and the room so kindly assigned to her by Lady MacDonald.

  The cases of provisions littering the lawns were in stark contrast to the preciously hoarded bags of rice in the Anglican Mission. Imbeck’s and Kierrulff’s, the two sho
ps in the Legation Quarter, had been rifled and stocks of tinned salmon and caviar and chicken in aspic were piled high. A cow wandered incongruously past a dozen cases of champagne and a small flock of sheep grazed where once only garden parties had taken place.

  She forced her way through the crush, the children pressing close behind her. French, Russian and Belgian voices assaulting her ears on all sides.

  ‘Olivia! Thank goodness! Letitia was most dreadfully worried about you,’ Lady Glencarty boomed, bearing down on her, majestic in purple silk. She flicked an eye over the children and then said peremptorily, ‘Where is Sister Angelique?’

  ‘She would not leave the Mission,’ Olivia said, realizing with amazement that she was actually glad to see Lady Glencarty again.

  Lady Glencarty’s rocking-horse nostrils flared and her lips compressed into a tight line. ‘Foolish woman,’ she said gruffly. ‘Are those children hungry?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘Then let’s feed them.’ She swept an elderly Russian aside, sent a knot of harassed looking diplomats scattering and with regal aplomb led Olivia and the children through the crowds and towards the legation with the ease of a Moses parting the Red Sea.

  ‘What on earth is happening?’ Olivia asked. ‘Is the entire legation quarter taking shelter here?’

  ‘Very nearly,’ Lady Glencarty said tightly. ‘It is the largest of the legations and isn’t overlooked by the Tartar Wall. That means, of course, that it isn’t immediately exposed to attack. The other legations will hold out for as long as possible but the plan is that they will be able to fall back here if it is necessary.’

  As they shepherded the children indoors they were jostled and pushed by teams of coolies carrying provisions. ‘ Everything is chaotic,’ she said bad-temperedly. ‘Lady MacDonald has tried to ensure that different nationalities are quartered together. The stable house is full of Norwegians. The Russians have another of the outbuildings and the missionaries and the children evacuated from the American Mission are camping in the Legation’s chapel. I think the chapel would be the best place to quarter your little band, though they’re grossly overcrowded as it is.’

  ‘There are more children on their way,’ Olivia said as they squeezed into a crowded corridor. ‘Doctor Sinclair is escorting them across the city at this very moment.’

  ‘He’ll have to be quick,’ Lady Glencarty said grimly. ‘Our ultimatum runs out at four this afternoon.’

  Olivia caught her arm, halting her brisk stride. ‘ What ultimatum?’ she asked, her heart beginning to slam in slow, thick strokes.

  Lady Glencarty stared at her. ‘I thought you had heard. I thought that was why you had left the Mission?’

  ‘We’ve received no news, apart from the burning of the grandstand, for days. I came because it was obvious no troops were going to be sent to us and the burning and pillaging was only streets away.’

  Lady Glencarty’s heavily boned face was rigid with suppressed emotion. ‘The Empress sent the ultimatum yesterday. It said that China could no longer protect us and that we must protect ourselves by leaving the city by four this afternoon.’

  ‘But she has never had the slightest intention of protecting us!’ Olivia cried, scandalized. ‘And how can we possibly leave the city when the countryside is swarming with Boxers whose avowed intention is to kill us?’

  ‘We can’t,’ Lady Glencarty said briefly. ‘ Though at the time the ultimatum arrived there were those who were foolish enough to believe that she would grant us safe conduct.’

  ‘There are so many missionaries and converts in the city that the number of Peking carts needed to transport them would be over a mile long,’ Olivia said sharply. ‘It would be impossible. They would be slow-moving and unprotected. What answer did the diplomatic corps give the Empress?’

  ‘It was decided that the German minister, Baron von Ketteler, would speak with the Empress’s ministers this morning.’ She paused, and Olivia could see that under her lavish dusting of powder, her face had taken on a sickly tinge.

  ‘What happened?’ she asked, filled with foreboding.

  ‘He left the legation quarter in a sedan chair, indicating his official status and with two Chinese outriders. Fifteen minutes later the outriders galloped back, with the news that he had been killed. His assassin was a Manchu, a soldier in full uniform. Since then there has been no further talk of flight. Only of defending the legation quarter until help should arrive.’

  ‘Are more troops on their way?’ Olivia asked, appalled.

  ‘They’ve been sent for, but no one knows when they will arrive. Telegraph and rail communications have been severed. Sir Claude has told us to prepare for a siege that could last for weeks, maybe months.’

  They began to force their way once more down the noisy, crowded passageway. Olivia thought of the hundreds of converts milling the grounds. The scores of missionaries who had converged on the city. The diplomats and their families and their servants. ‘ Does anyone know how long the food and water supplies will last?’

  Lady Glencarty shook her head. ‘ It’s impossible to tell. We don’t even know how many people are taking shelter here. Every last tin of food from Imbeck’s and Kierrulff’s has been purloined and the Hôtel de Pekin has provided us with what appears to be unlimited cases of champagne. If the water supply runs out we’ll be able to have a fine party.’

  She stopped at the entrance of what had previously been a games room and was now a makeshift and crowded dining-room. ‘I’ll see that the children are fed and taken to the chapel. Your uncle and aunt have been given rooms at the rear of the Legation.’ She paused and then said gruffly, ‘ Sister Angelique should have come with you. She will stand no chance of survival in the west of the city. None at all.’ Her eyes suspiciously bright, she turned and swept into the dining-room, the children following in her wake.

  Olivia circumnavigated a group of soldiers, marvelling at the way adversity had altered Lady Glencarty for the better. Even Lewis would have been impressed by the concern she was showing for Sister Angelique. Her hands clenched, the nails digging deep into her palms.

  Lewis. How was it possible not to think of him? He was in her blood and her bones and she knew with a surge of despair that she would never be free of him. As she hurried up a flight of stairs and along the passageway leading to the rear of the building, she wondered if Pearl Moon and Rory were in the chapel with the American missionaries and their Christian converts. She determined that as soon as she had seen her aunt and uncle she would make enquiries to ascertain exactly where they were and ensure that they had enough food and adequate sleeping accommodation.

  An empty chill seeped through her veins. Fate was indeed cruel. She had no desire to make the acquaintance of the woman she was so envious of, yet she had no choice. Ensuring that his wife and child were well cared for was the least she could do for the man she loved.

  The door of her aunt’s room was ajar and she could hear her asking plaintively how long it would be before they could leave the city. She sighed with impatience. Adversity had not had the same effect on Aunt Letitia as it had had on Lady Glencarty.

  She stepped into the room and her aunt whirled round, crying out in surprise and relief.

  ‘Olivia, oh Olivia! How could you do such a thing? My poor nerves have suffered most terribly. William, come quickly, Olivia had returned!’

  She was hugged and kissed and then her uncle asked, his voice grave, ‘What is the situation in the Tartar City?’

  ‘It is very bad,’ Olivia replied, a shiver running down her spine. ‘The whole of the commercial quarter has been burnt to the ground, bands of Boxers are pillaging and looting and nowhere is safe.’

  ‘Have you heard about the ultimatum?’

  She nodded. ‘ Lady Glencarty told me.’

  ‘The situation couldn’t be worse. We have no way of knowing if troops are on their way to us, or what opposition they are meeting with. We have no heavy artillery and are dangerously low on ammunition.’
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  ‘And the refugees,’ Letitia cried in consternation. ‘ Have you seen how many of them are here, Olivia? They will all have to be fed and how we will manage, I don’t know. It’s my belief that we shall be reduced to eating the horses.’

  ‘Hush, Letitia,’ her husband remonstrated. ‘ Let Olivia tell us what is happening at the Mission.’

  ‘Sister Angelique would not leave,’ she said briefly. ‘Doctor Sinclair is bringing the remaining children across the city and into the Legation.’

  ‘Lewis Sinclair?’ Letitia’s plump face was ashen. ‘ Oh, dear, how terrible. He cannot know…’

  ‘Know what?’ Olivia asked tightly, the blood beginning to pound in her temples.

  Letitia’s hands fluttered nervously. ‘Sir Claude despatched a small group of men to the Peitang. They were to being back Doctor Sinclair’s son and other children. Only…’ She faltered at the terrifying expression on Olivia’s face. ‘ Only it was not possible to reach the Peitang. Instead, the American Mission was relieved.’

  ‘Bishop Favier is completely cut off,’ Sir William said, his lean face gaunt. ‘It was decided that lives could not be risked in trying to reach him.’

  A swirling blackness threatened to suck Olivia into its vortex. She fought to remain conscious. To remain upright.

  ‘Do you mean that Lewis is bringing other children to safety when his own son is still in danger?’ she asked aghast.

  ‘Conditions are chaotic,’ her uncle said, unable to meet her eyes. ‘It has not been possible to tell Sinclair.’

  She stared at him for one long, unbelieving second and then spun on her heel, running for the door.

  ‘Olivia!’ her aunt shrieked, ‘Come back! No one can reach the Peitang! Not even the troops!’