Ladies' Day

by Steve Turnbull

  Fanning and Remy had reached the Beauty and were climbing one of the ladders mounted on the outside of the hull. Ding and Ichiro were out of sight.

  “We’ll say you chartered the ship to bring you south,” said Qi. “You do the talking.”

  Qi found the look of fear and astonishment in Mrs Cameron’s face amusing. Revenge could be sweet.

  “I can’t do that,” she said. “I mean, why would I do that?” Mrs Cameron looked across at the Beauty resting on the edge of the river’s flood plain. It might be gaily painted but it was not a pretty vessel. Just an ice cargo ship: squat and functional. “I mean, why wouldn’t I just take a scheduled air-ship?”

  “Don’t you know how to lie?”

  Mrs Beatrice Cameron opened her mouth to respond but no words came out.

  The woman’s previous comments made Qi uncomfortable and conscious of her unkempt state. She found the cloth Mrs Cameron had used to wipe her face, soaked it in one of the streams of overflowing river water and wiped the rest of her face and hands, then started on the leather of her jacket and trousers.

  She decided to put Beatrice out of her misery. “Stick to the truth.”

  “That I left my husband? I can’t tell them that.”

  “No, but if you have that as the reason you needed to get out of Delhi so quickly, and say that you hired me—which, in a way, you did—then you won’t get caught in a lie. You’ll be a woman of mystery.”

  At that moment Ding reappeared, Ichiro at his shoulder and followed by five men leading their mounts. They splashed through the river’s streams and pools in their direction.

  Beatrice glanced at Qi, lifted her chin and walked steadily towards them, Qi following close behind.

  iv

  Captain Hillary Reynolds followed the Chinaman and the huge Nipponese up the slope towards the stranded ship. It had been lucky for them that one of the older men under his command had previously worked in the merchant navy and recognised the flags the ship had run up.

  It certainly had been a hellish storm in the mountains last night; little wonder they had been downed. And lucky they hadn’t been smashed to bits against the mountainside.

  The Chinaman (he’d introduced himself as Ding something or other), the First Mate apparently, was difficult to understand as his English was quite poor. The Japanese fellow said nothing at all. Just loomed.

  After Reynolds chose a squad of four men, they all proceeded up the slope. The river water was cascading dramatically down the valley, swamping the rice fields. The peasants were out trying to reduce the potential damage. Rice was a queer crop but he had no complaints about what could be done with it.

  The peasants had alerted them to the presence of the vessel. Being peasants, they had grossly overstated both the size and the weaponry of the ship. He did not recognise the type of vessel as they approached and he really had not been able to understand the name the Chinaman had used for it. He couldn’t see any weapons at all.

  Still, it did not matter. Mrs Ruane had commanded the crew should be detained to ensure they were not connected with the rebels. They reached the flat river bed and made their way around the ship, stepping across the stones.

  To his consternation, he found himself face-to-face with two women: a woman as white and appropriately dressed as Mrs Ruane, and another Chinese, a woman in men’s clothing. However, he gathered his composure and called out in his parade-ground voice.

  * * * * *

  Qi studied the British officer. He was a Caucasian in his late twenties, wearing the khaki uniform of the British Indian Army. He was not holding his pistol, but its holster was unbuttoned. He clutched a swagger stick in his right hand. The threat was clear enough. Three of the four Sikh soldiers in his squad held their rifles ready, while the fourth hung back with the horses. They were not watching the exchange between their officer and the women; they were watching the rocks behind, as well as the crew.

  “You will surrender your vessel to me and consider yourself detained under my authority.”

  “I beg your pardon, Captain ...?” Mrs Cameron’s voice carried a tone of authority Qi had not been expecting. The soldier hesitated for a moment.

  “Captain Reynolds, madam.” He cleared his throat. “Suspected bandits are to be detained pending investigations.”

  “I look like a bandit, do I, Captain Reynolds?”

  “Of course not, madam. However, these”—he indicated the ship’s crew with a wave of his stick—“look very much like bandits.”

  Beatrice Cameron smiled. “And you think I would be in the company of bandits, Captain Reynolds?”

  “You might be a prisoner.”

  “This is Captain Qi Zang” (she emphasised the title to ensure there was no mistake) “of the Frozen Beauty, an ice cargo vessel. These others are her crew.”

  “And you are, madam?”

  “Mrs Beatrice Cameron, late of Delhi. I must get to the Fortress in Ceylon, and I required a ship. This was the only method of transport available where I considered I would be safe—if you take my meaning.”

  The army captain stared at Qi Zang, who acknowledged him with a nod of her head. He understood Mrs Cameron’s unspoken point: A female travelling alone would feel safer aboard a ship captained by a woman.

  “You will vouch for them?”

  “Captain, we would not even be here if the ship had not been injured in the storm last night. Captain Qi is in need of materials for repair.” She was getting into her stride. “Quite frankly, Captain, I am quite put out by this delay, and to be treated as a common criminal rather takes the biscuit. Now if you and your men would care to assist me instead of presenting a problem, I would be most grateful.”

  Captain Reynolds, however, was not so easily deflected. “Naturally, Mrs Cameron, you are not under arrest. However my orders are clear. You, Captain Qi and the crew must accompany me to the barracks.”

  Qi spoke up. “I’m afraid I can’t agree, Captain. My vessel must be repaired as soon as possible. We have a schedule and we are already late.”

  If Captain Reynolds was surprised by her command of English, he did not show it. “I do not wish to be indelicate, madam, but I must insist. Once your bona fides have been established you may repair your ship and depart.”

  As their argument had intensified Remy, Otto, Terry and Fanning had come to the railing on the top deck and were looking down. Qi glanced at them. Terry in particular was looking at her hard. Qi was aware he would not be willing to go. He and the British Army had a history. He had not told her what it was and she would never pry, though since she had found him in China it probably had something to do the Boxer Rebellion.

  “Captains,” Mrs Cameron interrupted. “I’m sure we can come to some arrangement.”

  “I will not leave my ship unmanned.” Qi glared at him. “Four of my people will remain to guard the ship and make repairs. Shoot me if you must.”

  “You could leave a guard,” said Mrs Cameron before Captain Reynolds had a chance to argue further.

  The officer hesitated for a moment. “Very well. You can leave three but I will require their names.”

  v

  The British captain had permitted Mrs Cameron to ride in the artillery carriage that had accompanied the troop. Qi and the rest of the crew had to walk with mounted soldiers behind them.

  They followed the track that led between the rice fields and the other crops further up the hillside. The peasants in the fields paused in their work and leaned on their tools to watch the procession pass by.

  Qi glanced back one final time at the Beauty perched precariously on the edge of the high river bed—she could see Terry, Remy and Ichiro watching them—before it disappeared from sight as they rounded a bend in the valley. Behind her tramped Dingbang, Otto and Fanning, who had drawn the usual double-takes from those who had never seen the like of her before.

  The fields continued and then ran up against a thick wood. From behind the trees a thin line of smoke rose into the now still air. />
  Captain Reynolds walked his horse alongside them.

  “How are you planning on verifying our bona fides, Captain?” she asked.

  “Copies of all relevant records are held at the main air-docks in the city. We will take your details and send a man to check them.”

  “And how long will that take?”

  “We should receive a reply by tomorrow at the earliest, perhaps the next day.”

  Qi had decided not to antagonise their captor since it would probably be unhelpful in the circumstances. Although the British were sticklers for detail, they were efficient enough. The delay irritated her but the repairs had to be done. She had the list of requirements from Remy and Terry.

  “And where will we be staying?”

  “Mrs Cameron will be invited to stay at the house I expect. We have suitable accommodation for suspected bandits.”

  “You’re going to put us in cells?”

  He at least had the manners to look slightly embarrassed. “They are not prison.”

  She said nothing for a while but trudged along the track. She had long since given up trying to avoid the mud and squelched through an area where the thinly distributed cobblestones had subsided into the field.

  “Who owns the house?”

  “The Ruane family.”

  The name meant nothing to Qi, but then she did not have a need to keep up on well-to-do British families, and said as much.

  “The family is Irish.”

  * * * * *

  It was coming on to midday when they broke through the wood and crossed a flat grassy area with not the slightest bush or shrub. Here and there across its surface she could see light reflecting on pools. Ahead of them was a crenelated wall that looked as if it could withstand the attack of an army.

  It was apparent the threat of attack from bandits was taken seriously and the open space they now crossed was a killing field for any force attacking from the mountains.

  But if the bandits had an airship of any sort then the woods, open space and wall were nothing more than an empty threat.

  The track approached within twenty feet of the wall and then turned parallel to it. As the only safe path through the mire, its attractiveness was another trap.

  Finally it closed on the wall and intersected it at a solid gate of oak and iron. It was open but they had been under observation for some time from the lookout above it. Had they been attackers, the closed gate would have presented almost as much defence as the stone wall itself.

  * * * * *

  Beatrice was grateful when the artillery carriage came to a complete stop outside the gates. The constant noise from its huffing steam engine and the grinding of the metal wheels on the stones of the path had made any sort of conversation, even with the driver next to her, quite impossible—even if she could have thought of something to say to the fellow.

  The driver disengaged something and the noise level dropped considerably. Then he rotated a lever a few times until it seemed to resist him and came to a stop. Perhaps it prevented the wheels from moving, though she could not imagine any force on God’s Earth that could force it to move except its own colossal, and extremely noisy, engine.

  Satisfied, the driver clambered to the door and opened it. She climbed carefully to her feet; she was small enough to stand upright in the cabin but the constant vibration of the machine seemed to have had a bad effect on her strength and balance.

  She held on to the open door as she climbed down the steps. Fanning was there and stretched out her hand. “Grab hold, Beatrice.” She was grateful for the support and finally made it down. She staggered for a moment but Fanning tucked her arm behind her elbow.

  “I got ya.”

  “I think I may walk next time.”

  “Better get you something a little more practical then,” said Fanning with a grin. “Those skirts and fancy shoes wouldn’t last half the distance.”

  Beatrice shook her head. She still could not manage the strange duality of Fanning, the male attitude in the female body. Sometimes it was better just to think of her as him.

  They made their way across to the rest of the group, with Fanning taking the lead, of course.

  Captain Reynolds stepped forwards. “If you’d like to walk ahead with me, Mrs Cameron?”

  Beatrice glanced at the others, surrounded by casual but alert soldiers. Not close enough to be oppressive but the intent was clear .

  “Thank you, Captain, but I will walk with the crew.”

  “As you wish.”

  And with their armed escort they headed up towards the house. Behind them the artillery carriage fired up again and, with a roar of steam, headed away.

  vi

  The track wound through an apple orchard that hid the buildings ahead for a short while. They passed through another gate, this one in a low stone wall that separated the orchard from carefully tended gardens.

  Away to their right, the north, were a series of utilitarian buildings. Rising up in front of them was the smoke and steam from the still audible puffing of the artillery carriage. Probably the barracks for the soldiers, thought Qi.

  Ahead and slightly to the south was the mansion, built in a combination of British and Indian Gothic. Tall glazed windows with wide vertical separation gave light to the lower three airy floors, and further windows in the roof areas illuminated rooms for the staff.

  The family must be very rich to maintain such a place.

  The light of the day was too bright to allow her to see into the rooms but she had been in places like this before. It would be marble and oak, high ceilings and steam-driven punkhas to keep the air circulating. There would be Indian staff in every room to wait, hand and foot, on the ageing bastions of the British ruling elite.

  She was glad she was not part of this world. Unlike Beatrice. Qi glanced across at the woman. She had chosen to walk with them, which had seemed odd in a way—but then, they had rescued her and perhaps she felt she owed them a debt. Though, if anything, the debt was in the other direction. If not for Beatrice, she would have lost the Beauty.

  The party circled around the building. The path changed from a muddy track to clean gravel that crunched beneath their boots and shoes. The Indian gardeners—so many of them and of so many different ages—watched the strange parade as it passed them by. Qi laughed to herself at the sight they must make.

  “Something funny, Cap?” asked Fanning. Qi flushed and shook her head.

  “Just a thought.”

  She glanced to the other side where Dingbang was watching her with his look of serious concern. Qi shook herself. He was right; this was potentially dangerous. They needed to get out of here as quickly as they could.

  The garden at the front of the house was a glorious riot of flowers, plants with leaves of purple, blue and grey interspersed with pools and streams over which hung willows. Paths traced and criss-crossed through the whole chaotic mix.

  Mrs Cameron stopped and stared. “It’s so beautiful.”

  “Thank you.”

  The voice came from behind them. The whole party turned and gawped. This must be the lady of the house, thought Qi. Mrs Kathleen Ruane was certainly a very striking woman. She was taller than most men. Her red hair was in a thick braid that hung across her shoulder. A white, wide-brimmed hat shaded both her face and her bare freckled shoulders from the sun. Her dress was practical rather than decorative. She wore leather gloves and carried a wicker basket that held small digging tools.

  When she stepped among them Qi had the impression of looking up at a giantess. The soldiers put up their guns and glanced at the captain.

  “Are these our bandits, Captain Reynolds?” There was a laugh in her voice along with a tone of absolute command.

  He saluted. “Yes, Mrs Ruane.” He hesitated. “If you would not mind stepping away from the prisoners so my men can keep their guns trained.”

  Mrs Ruane ignored him. She looked at each of them, pausing only on Fanning. She finally turned to Qi. “You are their lea
der?”

  Her words carried a soft lilt of an accent Qi did not recognise. “Captain Qi Zang ... Mrs Ruane.”

  The woman smiled at her. “Excellent. And these are all your crew?”

  “All save our passenger, Mrs Cameron.”

  Beatrice Cameron seemed as taken with the impressive Mrs Ruane as Fanning, both of them quite captivated. Qi glanced at Dingbang and Otto; the latter looked as if his tongue might roll out of his mouth if it were not shut. Even Dingbang’s attention was fixed.

  Qi frowned.

  “Mrs Ruane, we are not bandits, we are traders, and we would like to be away as soon as possible. If that is possible.”

  The woman took as much notice of her words as she had of Captain Reynolds’s. “I think we should have some lunch. Don’t you?”

  * * * * *

  After Mrs Ruane silenced Captain Reynolds’s protestations by completely ignoring them—as seemed to be her way when faced with a question she had no interest in answering—she guided them inside.

  The interior of the house did not disappoint Qi’s imagination.

  Mrs Ruane would not permit the guards to enter the house, but permitted Reynolds to keep his gun readied as long as he did not draw it. The staff, as numerous as Qi had expected they would be, handed out refreshments.

  So within a few hours of crashing down and being arrested on suspicion of banditry, they were sipping fruit juice in a cool wide lounge filled with expensive furniture, with walls that featured a selection of severe-looking ancestors, many with the red hair Mrs Ruane displayed.

  It was like attending a party in a place you didn’t know and with too few people to allow casual chit-chat.

  Mrs Ruane appeared at Qi’s side, took her left hand and tucked it under her right arm. She seemed utterly unconcerned at her familiarity. “Come along with me, Captain.”

  She led Qi through double doors and along a corridor to a much smaller sitting room. Mrs Ruane released Qi’s hand, threw herself into an armchair and let out a long sigh.

  “I am so sorry about the imposition of you having to come here with Captain Reynolds,” she said. “But perhaps it is not all bad.”