A low stone balustrade surrounded the shaded terrace that opened onto the front garden, the sunny path lined with ornamental stone urns filled with green foliage and plants of large round flowers, all of the same genus, varying only in their colours, a beautiful mixture of red, pink, and white.
‘The peony,’ said Captain Wilson, bending to touch a bloom. ‘The flower of China.’
When they entered the house, Lachlan and Jane were very touched to discover it had been partly furnished by the tiny colony of British people in Macao, who had insisted on filling it with extra little items of English oak and English china and lace in order to make them feel more comfortable during their stay in this foreign land.
‘Don't they know that you have come from living years in India and not direct from Britain?’ Captain Wilson asked in a tone of puzzlement.
‘They know we come from India,’ Lachlan replied, ‘from a British part of India. But there is nothing British here in Macao. This house is rather nice, don't you think?’
‘Yes, yes indeed.’
The house was spacious and comfortable with a lovely view over the harbour. ‘And the cool sea breeze will be delightful during these summer nights,’ Wilson said.
Jane adored the house, but as soon as they were installed and the baggage had been unpacked, she pleaded with Captain Wilson who happily agreed to be their guide and escort them around Macao.
Travelling in rickshaws, he took them first, away from the town, up to see the temple of Kun Iam Tong, which was more a series of temples within beautiful pavilions. They passed through the ornate entrance to the dim interior of the first Prayer Hall that flickered with candles, the air heavy with the fragrance of burning joss sticks, and where they found three Buddhas staring at them steadfastly.
‘Each represents the past, present, and future,’ Lestock said, and then took them on to the second hall, within an open courtyard, to meet the Buddha of Longevity.
Jane was entranced as they climbed the steps to the various pavilions, linked by paths, each a little garden secluded within itself. It was like another world, drenched in tranquillity and the fragrance of flowers. Without demur she allowed Lachlan to kiss her under the ‘Sweetheart Tree’ – two ancient banyans with roots and branches intertwined, symbolising true love.
She bent to admire the trees gnarled old trunks, which must have been there for – ‘How long?’
Lestock Wilson shrugged. ‘The temple has been here at least two hundred years, so I suppose the tree has too.’
Then it was time to leave the serenity of the temple gardens and venture down to the noisy streets of the town where Jane was eager to spend Lachlan's money buying presents for all their friends back in India.
‘And Mammy Dinah in Antigua,’ Jane said, as they strolled through the busy streets filled with Chinese hawkers, craftsmen, peasants, and merchants. ‘Something beautiful from China for Dinah.’
‘From China for Dinah...’ sang George Jarvis as he skipped along, slyly pulling the long black pigtails of Chinamen as they passed, then looking innocent when heads turned.
Jane was in raptures at the beautiful merchandise for sale in Macao. Here was some of the most exquisite art and craftsmanship she had ever seen. Her first purchase was a Chinese robe of blue silk embroidered in red peonies; then a beautiful clock set in jade, followed by a silk shawl for Dinah.
They returned to the house that evening laden with purchases and presents, and found two Chinese servants in residence and waiting for them, having been employed that day on their behalf by Mr Reid.
A married couple, the two Chinese bowed graciously, and a short time later they beckoned to Lachlan, Jane and Captain Wilson to come into the dining-room where a beautiful table had been laid out, dressed with small bowls of miniature white orchid blossoms and circlets of white jasmine. The rest of the table was covered in steaming dishes of rice and all kinds of Cantonese food.
‘Delicious!’ Jane said, eating a forkful of shrimp rice, while Lachlan and Lestock Wilson sampled spicy prawns and had to agree that the standard of cooking was superb.
In the servants' quarters, Bappoo found himself with a whole Canton duck all to himself, which he held in both hands and continually pointed, between bites, at George Jarvis.
‘You rascally son of slave!’ he said severely. ‘You no pull Chin people's hair tomorrow!’
‘No, Bappoo,’ George said, and then let out a giggle of laughter because one Chin man had blamed Bappoo for pulling his pigtail. And when Bappoo had lifted his big fist threateningly over the head of the small Chin man, the Chin man had not even blinked as he reached for a particular point in Bappoo's wrist and twisted it in a way that left Bappoo gasping in pain, his surprised eyes standing out like huge black dates on glistening white saucers.
‘Chin men very clever,’ George said, sending up another bout of laughter that rang all the way through to Lachlan and Jane and Captain Forbes who all smiled, because the boy's laughter was very infectious.
‘He's a brat,’ Lachlan said. ‘Sometimes I wish I had left him in Cochin.’
‘How long will you stay in Macao?’ asked Lestock Wilson.
Lachlan glanced at Jane. ‘Six weeks, at the most. Then we must return to India in time for the baby to be born. When do you leave for Canton?’
‘One more day in Macao, after that I must leave.’
Jane had been struggling with a fruit pancake and now gave up, feeling too full. ‘Where will you stay in Canton?’
‘In my own house,’ Lestock replied. ‘I've had a home in Canton for many years now. And if you two have six weeks to spare, then you must come and spend at least two of them with me in Canton. It is worth the journey. And my house is very charming, up in the hills.’
Another shout of laughter rang through to them. Lestock Wilson grinned. ‘You can even bring the laughing little Cochin brat with you!’
*
Later, when they were alone, Lachlan and Jane decided to delay going to bed for a while longer. Lighting a candle, they left their bedroom and climbed the stairs to the sloping attic of the house. One wall was comprised solely of large leaded squares of glass, which gave a lovely moonlight view of the harbour.
They looked around, seeing there was no furniture in the attic save for one small bamboo table and an old ornate armchair, placed together by the window, as if some previous occupant had often sat up here alone, staring out at the harbour.
Lachlan set the candle on the small table and they stood quiet for a moment watching the bright sails of the junks on the dark water.
Then he took her hand, sat down in the armchair and she sat down on his lap, her arm moving companionably round his neck as she settled herself against him like a kitten in a basket. She then gazed out at the sea with her cheek pressed against his, and he gazed with her.
‘How pretty the harbour looks with all the colourful lights of the lanterns,’ she said. ‘And the little dots of lights bobbing up and down on the junks. Would you like to live on a boat?’
‘We did, for six weeks,’ he reminded her. ‘On the boat that brought us here.’
‘Oh yes, I forgot ... but travelling in a boat is very different to living in one.’
‘All one and the same, I suppose, to a sailor.’
She giggled softly.
‘Are you happy, Jane?’
‘Yes, happy, very happy.’ She slipped out of his arms and sat forward, staring at the dark line where the land ended and the glistening water began. After a long silence she said in a low voice, ‘Isn't it wonderful to know that we are really here, in China, the largest empire in the world.’
It was true, now that he thought about it, China was the largest empire of them all, and Macao was just a pebble on its shore.
He looked at her as she stared at the harbour, at the Chinese robe of blue silk which she had bought that day and changed into, at the tumble of hair which moved in light glints and dark shadows in the candlelight. Oh yes, she was happy tonight. Did anythi
ng else matter?
His eyes moved back to the waters of the harbour and he felt a great welling of peace seep through him, a satisfied contentment that had something to do with her excitement and delight in Macao, a romantic and strangely genteel place, despite the busyness of its streets in daytime and the cargoes of opium smuggled into its harbour by night.
She lay back quietly against him. Time passed unnoticed. The moon made a silver river on the surface of the dark water.
She stirred and put her hand in his. ‘We did so many lovely things today,’ she said softly. ‘Seeing so many strange and exotic sights. Buying this beautiful robe and all those sweet presents; then that superb dinner waiting for us. So many lovely things.’
She turned towards him and smiled sleepily. ‘Tell me that you love me.’
‘I love you.’
The room was tranquil with silence, filled with the salty scent of the ocean that gently lapped its waves against the boats in the harbour. She studied his face thoughtfully and he returned her gaze, both isolated in a world that had no space for anyone else.
She tightened her arms about his neck and he felt the touch of her warm mouth as she kissed him lovingly and endlessly, until the dying candle finally quivered and spluttered in a thin smoke of extinction and left them in darkness.
He put his hands under her arms and gently lifted her to her feet, taking her hand and leading her through the shadows to the door. It was time to leave the dark attic and the view of the harbour. Time to light a candle in the bedroom below. So many lovely things today, but now came sleep and the night.
*
The night ached with an excess of tenderness and unspoken expressions of love. The night was also the moons, brightly glowing, and moving slowly in a sky of crowding stars.
Peacefully, the stars began to dim in the moon's afterglow. Then the night ceased, and the house became still in the long silence that spread over the sleeping junks and seven hills of Macao: until, once more, the sun began to rise in the east.
TWELVE
The following day Lestock Wilson escorted them on a tour of the town of Macao itself. All the streets were very narrow, and those that had names were in Portuguese.
Outside doorways, venerable old Chinese men sat at small tables playing a game of mah-jong, and never batted an eyelid if they had a foreign audience. Not even when George Jarvis peered curiously over their shoulders as they rattled the mah-jong pieces did their concentration waver from the game. Only once did a white-haired sage glance up as the foreign group strolled on, and that was simply because he had felt a tug on his pigtail.
‘The Chinese are inveterate gamblers,’ Lestock said. ‘They will gamble on anything, but a game of mah-jong is their daily favourite.’
He then took them up one of Macao's seven hills to the beautiful Church of Sao Paulo, a monument to the Jesuit missionaries who had succeeded in getting into China long before the traders.
The flight of stone steps up to the church seemed endless. Jane stood between her husband and Lestock Wilson, laughing as each held her hand and the three mounted and counted the steps in unison, ‘... twenty-three, twenty-four...’
Behind them George Jarvis and Marianne did the same, skipping up the steps without knowing how to count.
Bappoo merely followed in a weary succession of puffs, pausing every so often to mop his face with the scarf of his turban. Why the disciples of the Nazarene had to build their temples so high up was beyond his understanding. And he said so, to George Jarvis.
‘Where other?’ George said intelligently, pointing to the hills all around Macao.
The three leaders had reached the top step. ‘Seventy!’
Lestock Wilson was panting slightly. ‘They say the higher the climb to the church, the more the spirit is uplifted. But I don't know if I agree.’
Marianne and George, and, finally, Bappoo, remained standing at a distance while Lachlan and Jane stood looking up at the magnificent facade of Sao Paulo.
‘Some say it is a sermon in stone,’ Lestock said. ‘See, all the carvings record all the important events in Christianity … the dove at the very top, that is the Holy Spirit. Beneath, on the second tier, Jesus, surrounded by the sun, moon and stars. Beneath Jesus, the angels ... as I say, a sermon in stone.’
They entered the dim interior, talking softly as they walked over the magnificent mosaic floor. ‘One of the first missionaries of the Jesuit Order to reach China,’ said Lestock, ‘was St Francis Xavier. It was he who found Macao for the Jesuits.’
‘But he is buried in India,’ Lachlan said.
Surprised, Lestock turned. ‘In India?’
‘Yes, at Goa. Jane and I went there on a short voyage not long after we were married. We saw his tomb, Francis Xavier's, and dined with some of the Jesuit priests. Their mode of living was so sparse it was almost mediaeval.’
When they had stepped outside again into the sunlight, Lestock continued, ‘I have a great respect for the Jesuits, especially here in Macao. Their interests have conflicted frequently with the Portuguese officials here. The officials are always at war with the priests, and the priests with them. There was a time when the Portuguese government tried to banish all forms of Chinese traditions here in Macao, especially Ancestor Worship and Family Cult, condemning the practice as a heresy. But the Jesuits fought them all the way, insisting – as they still do – that these traditions are a secular rite of the Chinese and do not go against the spirit of Christianity.’
They began the descent of the steps and then paused for tea down in the town, in a small teahouse named Casa de cha: after which Jane was again busy in the markets choosing more gifts with the help of Marianne and George.
And then, as on the previous evening, on this final evening of Lestock Wilson’s' stay at their house, a beautiful dinner was waiting for them, prepared and served by the Chinese couple.
Later the three strolled down to take a moonlight walk near the harbour. ‘I love Macao,’ Jane said dreamily. ‘It is just as I imagined China to be. The rickshaws and the lanterns and the serenity of the Chinese.’
‘Would you like to live here?’ Lachlan asked.
‘No, not live,' she said swiftly. ‘India is home to me now. Calicut is the only place I want to live.’
Lachlan had to agree. Calicut was their own little heaven amidst the coconut trees, and suddenly he found himself looking forward to their return there.
‘But tonight, Lachlan,’ she said softly, ‘I am very tired and have a great longing to go to my bed.’
He looked at her, and suddenly realised she had been leaning very heavily on his arm. ‘My love ... why did you not say?’
‘I was having too much fun! But the sight-seeing and buying we have done would exhaust any woman, never mind one who is expecting a baby.’
‘Then you will not walk a step further.’ He caught her about the waist and scooped her up into his arms and began to carry her.
She laughingly protested, but he would not let her down. Finally she put her arms around his neck and relaxed in his arms. Every so often, as he carried her back towards their house, he paused to kiss her, and she allowed him to do so quite peacefully.
Following them, Lestock Wilson knew they had forgotten him completely, but he did not mind. He had come to love them both. And when they came to visit him in Canton the situation would be more equal, for there he had his own woman: a Chinese girl who was as beautiful as a lotus flower.
*
Next morning Jane was so tired she was unable to do more than sit in an easy chair on the terrace and gaze out towards the sea. A paleness had returned to her face and she felt very weak. ‘I'm pregnant and I overtired myself, that's all,’ she assured Lachlan with a pat and a smile. ‘In future I will try to take it more easy.’
They decided to have a day of rest, just sitting in easy chairs on the terrace, both reading the books they had brought with them. In the evening Jane declined dinner, preferring instead to take a tray of tea in their be
droom and prepare for an early night.
David Reid had come to call. Lachlan was obliged to dine with him.
David Reid had noticed the anxious look in Lachlan's eyes as they sat down to dine. ‘Mrs Macquarie's indisposition is nothing serious, I hope? Feeling ill, is she?’
‘She is tired,’ Lachlan said.
‘Not like her to be indisposed,’ Reid persisted glumly. ‘Full of sparkle usually.’ He began spooning rice onto his plate. ‘I said it to old Beale just this morning. Like milky water most of the women who come here, but young Mrs Macquarie, bubbling and sparkling – pure champagne!’
‘Yes.’Lachlan smiled as he helped himself to rice.
‘She ain't likely to remain ill for long is she?’
‘No, no, she is pregnant and needs to rest, that's all.’
‘I say, is that somebody wailing? Sounds like it to me. Would you say that was somebody wailing, Major?’
It was Marianne calling to Lachlan that he must come to her mistress at once. ‘Come, come!’ she wailed from the doorway. ‘Mem-Jane sick! Mem-Jane need you!’
He ran to their room and found Jane half-lying on the bed, a look of utter shock on her face, her breathing coming in hard gasps as if she had been running. ‘I can't stand,’ she gasped. ‘Lachlan … my legs, I can't stand!’
He tried to steady her but her legs were too weak to hold her weight. The nausea in her stomach was making her feel sick. She looked at him whitely. ‘I think I'm losing the baby.’
‘I'll get a doctor,’ he said, and heard himself stammering. But she had begun to sob and moan in pain. ‘Oh, Lachlan, there's a great heat burning all through me …’
‘I'll get a doctor,' he said again. ‘I'll be back in just a few minutes. A servant ... send him...’
David Reid had already sent George Jarvis running for the doctor.
*
When Dr Duncan arrived Jane was in bed, feeling a lot easier, and looking much more composed. ‘But the heat,' she said faintly, ‘I can still feel this burning heat...’
By Eastern windows Page 17
