Kitty was beginning to suspect their task was hopeless. She’d woken that morning after, frankly, a dreadful night’s sleep, but nevertheless feeling quite optimistic about finding Amber, but that enthusiasm had dwindled as the morning hours had passed and nothing had changed except her feet were sore from walking and she’d grown tired of getting doors closed in her face and blank stares from people who couldn’t speak English.
She and Rian were now on a street about a quarter of a mile back from the waterfront that seemed unable to decide whether it was commercial or residential: on it were houses, some small shops, houses above shops, several lodging houses and a pub.
‘We’ll try in here first,’ Rian said, reading the sign on the lodging house wall saying British Patrons Welcome Only. ‘This looks likely.’
They went in. A man stood behind a counter in a poky little foyer, writing something in a ledger. He wore enormous mutton-chop whiskers, a rather snug three-piece tweed suit that had seen better days, and a bowler hat that was also too small for him.
‘Afternoon,’ he said. ‘Arnold Whittle at your service. After a room, are you?’
‘No, information, actually,’ Rian replied.
Mr Whittle’s eyebrows went up. ‘Sounds mysterious.’
‘Do you have an Israel Mitchell and an Amber Atuahaere registered as staying here?’
Mr Whittle pointed at them as though he were aiming a pistol. ‘Hang on, I’ll just have a look in the trusty registrations book, shall I?’
What an idiot, Kitty thought.
The trusty registrations book was consulted, then slammed shut. ‘No, no Mitchells or Atooraras here.’
‘They might be using false names,’ Kitty said, and described Amber and Israel in some detail.
‘Waste of time telling me all that, dear,’ Mr Whittle said cheerfully. ‘It’s usually the wife here behind the counter, not me. It’s her fortnightly day off. You’ll have to come back tomorrow if you want to speak to her.’
Kitty lost her temper. ‘Then why didn’t you say that before I spent five minutes giving you descriptions, you fool?’
‘Here now—’
‘Kitty,’ Rian warned.
‘You’ve behaved extremely flippantly regarding our request and I can assure you, it is not a flippant matter!’
‘There’s no need to get on your high horse, missus.’
Kitty glared at him, then spun on her heel and marched outside.
‘Women, eh?’ Mr Whittle remarked to Rian.
Rian shrugged noncommittally and followed Kitty out.
On the street he said, ‘Look, I know you’re upset but I’m not sure that was the wisest thing to do.’
‘That’s good, coming from you.’
‘It’s just we’ll have to come back there tomorrow and speak to his wife.’
‘Well, he was being a complete bloody imbecile. He deserved it. Anyway he won’t remember in an hour’s time. That stupid bloody hat he’s wearing will squeeze it out of him.’
‘Probably. Let’s try the pub, shall we?’
So they did. They went into the pub, with no success, the shops, which were all owned by Chinese people who didn’t speak English, and the other lodging house also with a disappointing result. There was a Chinese lodging house on the street but neither Rian nor Kitty imagined Israel would have taken rooms there, so they didn’t bother going in. For a convict’s brat he could be a little particular about what company he kept.
By sunset they’d been along all ‘their’ streets, Rian was as disheartened as Kitty, whose feet were really sore now, and it was time to meet up with the others.
At the agreed meeting place, another eating house at the very western end of Queen’s Road, the others arrived in twos and threes, all with demoralising news: Amber and Israel were nowhere to be found. Haunui felt awful.
‘I’m really sorry,’ he said. ‘I was sure we’d find them, eh? I still think they’re here somewhere.’
Rian clapped him on the shoulder. ‘Maybe they are and we just didn’t ask at the right places.’
‘Or maybe I’m talking rubbish,’ Haunui said gloomily, ‘and Longwei’s had her all along.’
‘Well, we’ll go to the shipping office tomorrow and see if passage anywhere has been booked under their names,’ Rian said.
Their meals arrived and they ate more or less in silence. No one knew what to say and, far worse, what on earth to do next.
*
Israel had spent the day trying to get Amber to sober up.
After sitting on her bed thinking about what to do about the meeting tonight, he’d finally decided, but she’d have to be pretty well free of the effects of opium. Thank God he hadn’t dosed her again before Ip To had given him that bloody note.
But sobering her up had turned out to be far more difficult than he’d expected. First of all she’d just gone back to sleep, as though he had given her more opium. So he’d woken her, which had been tricky because she hadn’t wanted to wake up and had grumbled and grizzled and burrowed under the bedclothes, and then he’d tried to get her to sit, which had been hopeless. He’d prop her up, let go and she’d flop over sideways or onto her face, her hair getting tangled with everything. So in the end he’d slapped her across the face quite hard, which, he was sure, had hurt him more than it had her. That had certainly jolted her awake. Well, awake but still groggy, because she didn’t know where she was or seem to recognise him.
He’d really been quite shocked because he’d thought opium would be like rum or whisky: you drank it, you got swattled and went to sleep, then you woke up sober, albeit with the horrors. But the effects of opium seemed to drag on and on. Mind you, he’d given her a fair bit over a couple of days. Maybe it just needed time to wear off.
The trouble was, he didn’t have time.
As the day had passed, though, she’d become more lucid. Getting her to eat and drink had helped. By mid-afternoon she seemed in charge of her arms and legs again, though she was moving very slowly, like a creature called a sloth he’d once seen in the London Zoo. She’d used the chamber pot, and she’d recognised him, though she was still having trouble remembering where she was and why they were here. That, he hoped, would also pass in the next few hours.
He’d told her she’d been very ill and that he’d been caring for her.
‘Ill with what?’ she’d asked, frowning. Though whether she’d been frowning at the thought of being ill or at the way her words had come out, he didn’t know.
‘An ague, I expect. You got quite wet and cold in the sampan when we came back from Hung Shing Yeh Bay.’
‘Why isn’t Ma looking after me?’
So he’d had to remind her yet again: ‘They’re not here. The Katipo’s gone to Shanghai, remember? Lee Longwei asked your father to talk to the British customs and excise men there about the opium. It’s one of the conditions of your release.’
‘Opium’s bad,’ Amber said.
‘Yes, it is.’
‘And Tahi’s gone too?’
Israel had had to clench his fists then, because no matter what state she was in, no matter how drugged or distressed, she always remembered who he was. ‘Yes, he’s gone as well. They all have.’
But the more Amber improved, the worse he felt. The dread had returned, churning in his belly and making his mouth so dry he could barely speak. When he’d gone out for food, locking her into her room, he’d shot into the pub down the street for another jug of ale, which was nearly all gone. He might have to go out for another.
Now, he looked at his watch: a quarter to seven. God. He’d tell her the first part shortly – he’d have to, to get her to the Lotus Pond Gardens – but he couldn’t quite decide whether to tell her the second part tonight or in the morning. Either choice would mean hysterics, but he had the opium. Tonight, probably, to give her a chance to get used to the idea.
Then he stood in front of the mirror on the wall, inspecting the damage the door had done to his face. He did indeed have a pair o
f black eyes, and he was sure his nose was crooked. It was definitely swollen, and there was blood crusted around his nostrils, but they felt like they were packed with broken glass and were too sore to clean properly.
‘What happened to your face?’ Amber asked.
‘I walked into something.’
‘Looks sore.’
‘It is.’
‘Amber, I have to tell you something.’ He sat on the end of her bed. She drew up her knees to give him room. ‘You know how the Katipo’s gone to Shanghai? Well, I’m sorry to tell you this but they’re in trouble.’
‘Who are?’
‘The crew. Your mother and father.’
She looked alarmed. That was good.
‘What do you mean?’
‘Your father failed.’ Oh, it felt good to be able to say that, even if it wasn’t true. ‘He couldn’t talk the customs authorities around. They wouldn’t agree to stop letting the opium through at Shanghai.’
‘I’m not surprised. Pa’s not God, you know.’
‘No. Anyway, Longwei must have spies in Shanghai because on the way back the Katipo was run down by his ships and everyone aboard taken captive.’
Amber’s hand flew to her mouth.
‘As far as Longwei’s concerned the deal’s off. If I don’t return you to him, they’ll all be killed.’
‘No!’
Israel grabbed her hands. ‘No, Amber, please, it’s all right. We’ll think of something. It’s not the end of the world.’
‘It is!’ Slowly her hands slid out of his. ‘How do you know all this?’
He was prepared for this question. ‘When I went out before, I saw Ip To on the street. He was coming to speak to us. He told me.’
‘But he doesn’t speak English.’
Whoops. ‘He had a letter, from Longwei.’
‘Can I see it?’
Israel made a show of patting his pockets, thinking that Amber’s mind had sharpened up a lot in the last hour. ‘I think I threw it away.’
‘You don’t seem very upset,’ Amber said.
‘Of course I’m bloody upset but I’m thinking of you. And someone has to keep a cool head.’
‘There’s nothing wrong with mine.’
‘You haven’t been well.’
‘I feel fine now.’
‘You might feel fine, but you could easily relapse.’
Israel didn’t want her to think herself too capable. She might do something using her own initiative, which wouldn’t do at all.
‘What, exactly, did the letter say about what I have to do to get him to release Ma and Pa and the others?’ Amber asked.
‘We’re to meet him at the Lotus Pond Gardens tonight at eight o’clock. After that I’m not sure what will happen. The letter didn’t say.’
He was sure, actually. He and Amber were going to run like hell. He knew the area reasonably well, no doubt better than Longwei did, a man who spent most of his time at sea, and he, Israel, was clever. Cleverer than most, in fact, even if he did say so himself. Then they would spend the night holed up somewhere out of sight. One night hiding in an abandoned, flea-ridden shack was nothing compared to a lifetime of happiness with Amber. In the morning they’d board the Ann Marie and then they’d be gone, leaving all the lies he’d told behind them. Well, except for the biggest one of all.
There was no other way. She just wouldn’t leave Hong Kong with him otherwise. It would break her heart, and probably his to see her so upset, but she’d mend after a while. And he’d be the one to care for her and ease her grief and soothe her fears and help her to forget the life she used to have, and eventually she’d come to see that he was the one she should have been in love with all along, not bloody Tahi. He’d get a job ashore somewhere in England – no more sailor’s life for him – and when they could afford it they’d buy a little cottage with a garden in a village far away from any ports the Katipo might visit, and one day children would come along and he’d give them the childhood he’d never had. And, yes, Amber might have strange, modern ideas about doing things for herself but that would all change once she realised how content she could be as his wife, and after he told her it would have to change. She’d stay at home and wear pretty dresses and cook good, plain English food for him and raise the children, and if anyone ever asked him why her complexion was a little dark, he’d tell them she was from Italy. They sometimes had dusky skin. It might not do to admit she was part native New Zealander. He was so close now to his dream he could smell the beef roasting in the range and the roses climbing up the wall outside the cottage.
‘Will Ma and Pa be there? At the gardens?’ Amber asked.
Christ, I bloody well hope not, Israel thought. ‘I wouldn’t think so, not if he’s holding them prisoner.’
‘So I’ll have to go with him?’
‘I don’t know.’
‘And then he’ll let everyone go?’
‘I said I don’t know!’ She was asking questions about a situation that wasn’t even real, and it was starting to irritate him.
‘Well, you read the letter.’
‘And all it said was we’re to meet him.’
‘What time?’
‘Eight o’clock.’
‘What’s the time now?’
Israel looked at his watch. ‘It’s just past seven. We should have some supper.’
‘I don’t want any supper.’
‘You’ve hardly eaten anything for four days.’
He didn’t want to tell her that they might not get the opportunity for food until they were aboard the Ann Marie. She didn’t know they were going to England at all, yet.
‘Well, I’m not hungry.’
Israel sighed. He was. ‘You need to get dressed. Why don’t you put on your new gown?’
Longwei thought Amber was coming to the gardens to meet William Eastwood; it wouldn’t do for her to turn up looking like a drab.
‘What for? I’m probably only going to end up in Longwei’s cabin again, aren’t I? I’ll wear the tunic and trousers you bought me.’ She frowned. ‘Did you buy me those or did I just dream it?’
‘I bought them but you can’t wear them. They’re dirty. You slept in them.’
Amber looked down at the nightgown she was wearing. ‘I’ve been sleeping in this, haven’t I? This isn’t mine. When did I get this?’
‘I bought it for you.’
‘How did . . .’ Outraged, Amber exclaimed, ‘Israel Mitchell, did you look at me naked?’
‘No! I didn’t, I promise. I made sure I didn’t.’
Amber spied the chamber pot. ‘And . . . what about that? God, Israel!’
‘You used that yourself,’ he lied. It would be too complicated to explain how he’d managed to get her on it without looking. He decided not to mention the wet bed sheet.
‘I don’t remember that.’
‘You’ve been very ill.’
‘Stop saying that!’
‘Well, you have.’
‘What about the clothes I had on when we came back from . . .?’ Amber screwed up her face, obviously trying to recall. ‘Christ, I can’t remember that either. Wherever it was Longwei’s ships were.’
Israel thanked God he hadn’t got around to having any laundry done. ‘They’re still dirty too. It’ll have to be the gown.’
He was beginning to think she didn’t like it.
‘Oh well.’ Amber folded back the bedclothes, put her feet on the floor and looked at him.
‘What?’
‘Can I have some privacy, please?’
‘Oh. Right. I’ll go next door and pack. You should, too.’
‘What do you need to pack for?’
‘Well, we don’t know what’s going to happen, do we?’ Israel said.
While her back was turned he slipped the half-empty bottle of opium into his pocket. He’d need it tonight when he gave her his bad news, which raised the question: how was he going to drag her around the city when she was insensible? He’d have to dose her aft
er they’d found somewhere to hide, then go easy on the amount in the morning when they boarded the ship, just enough to keep her calm and quiet. Once she was in her cabin he could give her more and she could sleep for a day or two, then he could help her get used to the idea that everything had changed for her. He’d tell the others on the ship her tragic tale. They’d understand and leave them alone.
In his own room he gathered together his few possessions and tied them in the shirt he’d used to staunch his bleeding nose. They were woefully underprepared for the time they’d be at sea but they could go ashore at their first port of call and do some shopping. At Singapore, probably, which was full of Chinese and Indians but was owned by the British and was a good-sized trading port. He looked around to make sure he hadn’t forgotten anything, then went next door again.
Amber had put on the gown and she looked absolutely beautiful. The shape and size suited her perfectly. So much for her mother saying that clothes bought ready-made never fit properly.
‘You look lovely,’ he said. ‘Really lovely.’
‘Thank you.’
On her feet Amber wore the shoes he’d bought with the Chinese outfit, which he could see weren’t quite right, but they’d have to do. She’d brushed her thick hair so energetically that now it was lifting up as though it had a life of its own.
She caught him eyeing it. ‘I know, it won’t behave. It needs a good clean. I need a good clean. I’m quite smelly.’ She pulled out the neck of the dress, sniffed and made a face.
‘We’ll get you a decent wash on the—’ He stopped himself just in time. ‘I’m sure we can get you a decent wash somewhere. You still look beautiful. Are you ready?’
‘I think so.’ She pointed to her own little swag, made from her nightgown and holding her hairbrush and bits and pieces, then hesitated. ‘Israel?’
The Cloud Leopard's Daughter Page 28
