The Secret Mandarin

by Sara Sheridan

  That night we dined at the Consulate. Mr Thom had received packet post from a passing navy frigate and he offered Robert and I each a letter and a glass of sherry when we first came into his drawing room. The missives were from Jane. They had been forwarded from Hong Kong some weeks before. She must have written them at the same time we left for Amoy all those months ago. Robert pocketed his and accepted a drink, but I wanted to read what my sister had said immediately. To have news was simply too exciting!

  ‘May I?’ I asked. Mr Thom gestured me towards a side room and closed the door to allow me some privacy.

  My Dear Mary,

  I cannot say that I either understand or approve of what has happened. You are wilful and seem so bent upon harm that I find myself afraid of what you might do next. It is in your nature to struggle and not in mine. I must urge you now to do your best, my dearest sister. Where is the harm in settling? I am sure Hong Kong will provide a suitable husband and perhaps, who knows, another baby. I hope for no more for you than what has brought me the greatest happiness. I beg of you, my dear, do not vex Robert. He is busy with important business. Let him get on with what he must and do not steal him away with unnecessary drama. You do not realise, I know, the effect you have on people.

  Henry is well. He thrives, in fact. He has made his first steps and is quite the terror! I will write at greater length but wish now only to get this to you. Please, Mary, do what is best for all of us and not you alone. Settle.

  With love,

  Your sister,

  Jane.

  It was a world away. I slipped silently back into Mr Thom’s drawing room. How could I write to her about saving a Chinese noblewoman or befriending a Catholic bishop? How could I tell her that I had developed an interest in Robert’s foolish plants? That I understood more of them now and that the different seed pods were not as tiresome as I had previously imagined. How could I tell her about Captain Landers and his smashed poop deck or the embarrassment of stars over the midnight straits? That I understood Cantonese now, like a native, and that the barbarian Chinese interested me greatly—I had even taken tea with the mandarins? I loved Henry with all my heart. It would be almost cruel of me to even go back now, I realised. The child did not know me at all and the older he got he would surely find my appearance more and more confusing even if I did turn up respectable and married. Things had changed so much. My sister had no idea.

  After dinner, we returned home to sit on the terrace staring at the stars. Bertie had ordered red paper lanterns to be hung from the trees. The garden looked magical. Long shadows cast from the branches, the green lit up against the midnight sky, red cast down the tree trunks. It was balmy as we sipped our brandy.

  Robert paced the terrace and lit a cigar. The peppery tobacco smoke wafted back towards us. I felt drowsy. Brandy always makes me soporific and it was getting late. Sing Hoo had made a ‘chop’, or agreement, with the owner of a barge to take us inland the following morning. He had bribed the man royally, for no European had any reason to head west from Ning-po. There were no treaty towns in the interior. For three times the normal passage the man agreed to take his chances and see us safely along the canal a hundred miles, into Chekiang Province.

  Robert puffed with such ferocity as he passed that the smoke hung in a haze.

  ‘Jane tells me the children are doing well,’ he said.

  ‘You read your letter?’

  He nodded.

  ‘What did she say to you?’ he asked.

  I shrugged my shoulders. ‘To be good, I suppose.’

  ‘Yes.’ Robert took a deep breath and made a final perambulation around the terrace before he stopped before me.

  ‘Mary,’ he said. ‘I have come to a decision. That is, my decision is to allow you to make up your own mind. It is quite up to you. I have no right, I realise, to compel you further. You have faced many dangers coming this far. Ning-po is a pleasant place and I can see you settled here if you wish, or send you back to Hong Kong if you prefer it.’

  I sat forward in my chair. My cheeks burned. I cast my eyes down the garden at the orchard lights. Robert moved unsteadily.

  ‘You are giving me leave to stay?’

  Robert thought for a moment.

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘And a choice of Hong Kong or Ning-po?’

  ‘Or you could return to Calcutta, if it appeals better, I suppose. It is up to you—your decision entirely.’

  ‘Thank you,’ I said. Robert bowed curtly and turned away, but I was not finished. The sky was inky black and the garden glowed around us. Robert stared into the darkness. I cleared my throat.

  ‘Thank you, that is, for your offer. But no.’

  Robert turned back. Over the months I had seen him brave, and what in London had seemed bookish, here showed vision. He lacked kindness, there is no doubt of that. But I trusted him. I remembered praying on the floor of his cabin the day we set out. Anything but out to sea with Robert. Now it did not seem so bad.

  ‘The thing is I do not want to live in Ning-po or Hong Kong or Calcutta, come to that,’ I continued. ‘If it is all the same to you, the thing is I should like to see it.’ I gestured out into the darkness. ‘China.’

  Robert’s face broke into a grin and his eyes lit up. He looked almost relieved.

  ‘I will come with you,’ I said. ‘If you’ll have me.’

  The bolts of exotic satin, the fabulous carved treasures, the monasteries in the hills with their shaven headed devotees. All the orange, the jade, the shimmering gold lay ahead of us. It was too exciting to come as far as Ning-po and go no further. I turned to the chair next to mine for reassurance but Bertie, sitting upright, had diplomatically fallen fast asleep. Robert downed his brandy.

  ‘Good, good. I had not thought it, but we leave at six,’ he said curtly. ‘It will be rough, Mary.’

  I nodded, for I knew that already. It would be difficult all right, and dangerous too, but I had survived it thus far and the heady adventure would be marvellous. Jane, when she heard of it, would be furious, I was sure. But I had been given the choice.

  ‘Thank you, Robert,’ I said. ‘I will have the maid pack for me.’

  Then I woke Bertie gently so we could all get to bed.

  Chapter Seven

  Plain, I swore not to complain. I knew what it would be and prepared for that.

  When the dawn broke it was swift as if someone had lit a match. We set off quietly, our goodbyes confined indoors as Robert wished as little attention as possible. The barge had been packed and contracted for a journey of three hundred and fifty li to Hang Chow Foo. This would take several days as it moved so slowly that often we could walk beside the boat. After the confinement of our previous voyages this was a delightful freedom. The barge itself was, of course, very different from any seagoing vessel. The inside was colourful—it had been painted a rainbow of pretty hues—and the cabin was bedecked with an array of luxurious cushions, rugs and curtains. Unlike on an ocean voyage, the canals of the interior varied in width—sometimes scarcely wide enough for two boats to pass, other times the breadth of the Thames at Richmond. I found it most diverting. At first we did not travel due west but a little to the north, as Robert wished to see the lake at Tai Ho where he had heard there were a great many aquatic plants including some spectacular, many-coloured, water lilies.

  As we set off I made to unpack, starting with our notebooks. Robert was jumpy, staring out of the low window to see if we might be spotted. I started to flick casually through the pages, picking up a tiny book bound in midnight blue leather that I had never seen before. Inside there was a table of symbols beside words in English that made no sense all together—pig fat, gravel, oil lamp and satin robe. I read no further than that for Robert whisked the book from my hands.

  ‘Whatever is this? Are you conversing in code with someone?’ I asked.

  He stuck the notebook in his pocket.

  ‘Less we say of it the better,’ he directed quietly. ‘And, Mary, we cannot have
books lying about if they are in English. Pack those away again in the false bottoms of the trunk and if we want them we shall take them out one by one.’

  If Robert was a spy I did not consider him a very debonair one, for I had never seen him so twitchy as that first day on the barge, but we made it away from Ning-po attracting no notice and, as I lay in my bunk that night, engulfed in the darkness of the Chinese countryside and its clear, balmy, black skies, I let my mind wander for, of course, to be engaged on behalf of our country was most appealing. I thought of Robert ensconced with Mr Thom the previous day and it occurred to me that the meeting must have been very important for we had held up our mission to the tea countries for weeks on account of it. I imagined Sir Robert Peel himself reading the dispatches and fell asleep daydreaming of daring escapes in the interior, Robert flinging me over his shoulder and riding to safety all the way back to Bertie’s house on a piebald stallion eighteen-hands high!

  Robert, of course, showed no sign of any such drama or excitement. The next morning we ate a meagre breakfast and retired to the cabin.

  ‘It is good we are the sole travellers here,’ he commented.

  He proceeded to order Sing Hoo to boil some water on the brazier. Then he brought out a small mirror and began clipping his hair. I hardly paid attention. The peaceful countryside was enchanting now we had cleared the confines of the town. To the north of Ning-po there was great industry in silk, and fields of mulberry trees banked the canal. It was the most verdant I had seen in months and I found it soothing. I settled on some soft, blue cushions by the window to watch the pretty trees glide by. When I turned again into the cabin I had a shock. Robert stood there, regarding himself in the mirror, entirely shorn. He had shaved the front of his crown in the Chinese fashion and had not made too great a job of it, his scalp showing grazes where he had pressed too hard. An involuntary squeal left my lips.

  ‘Well,’ he grinned, ‘white men are forbidden.’

  I laughed. Robert could scarcely look whiter.

  Wang and Sing Hoo were clearly curious about Robert’s transformation. Wang offered a putty-coloured cream to ease the stinging of the master’s scalp. Sing Hoo arranged Robert’s remaining hair with such intense concentration that it was comical, though I must say he made a good fist of it.

  ‘Now,’ Robert ordered when he was finally satisfied, ‘bring up the trunk I packed in Chusan.’

  I had no knowledge of any such luggage and sat forward eagerly as Wang disappeared on his mission, hauling the trunk into the room and opening it with a flourish. Inside I was astounded to see an enticing array of mandarin finery: long, satin jackets edged in rabbit or mink and wide-cut trousers lined with silk. The colours glowed vibrant—peacock blue, vermilion red and shimmering gold. I fell on my knees and began to rummage as Robert looked on. In one box there was a long, dark ponytail that could be fixed with a comb and another that was clearly fashioned to be sewn into the hair. Robert immediately attached the first to the back of his head.

  ‘Perhaps you could sew in the other for me later, Mary?’ he asked.

  ‘Yes. Of course.’

  I continued to dig deep, laughing as I pulled each new piece to the surface.

  ‘With these I hope to dazzle them,’ Robert said, holding up the finer items. ‘It is easy to bamboozle with money, is it not?’

  It is true. Many a mediocrity in London found a hit on her hands due to fine lace, an array of marquisette and a good seamstress. Not by sleight of hand but by sleight of wardrobe is it possible to conquer society. Still, this was audacious. Outrageous. And it struck me Robert had not said a thing about it before. He certainly had the knack of playing his cards very close to his chest.

  ‘But this can hardly fool them,’ I said in wonder.

  ‘Why not?’

  ‘Robert. You are a white man.’

  Robert regarded himself in the glass.

  ‘Thing is, Mary, you know full well China is vast and there is an array of appearance. And deep in the interior they may have heard tales of white men but most have never seen one.’

  Robert removed his shirt. The pale skin on his chest and arms was so white it almost shone as he held up the vibrant satin.

  ‘Give me a few minutes,’ he said. ‘You’ll see.’

  In the end I had to concede that he made a passable mandarin, and, once he had dressed, the more sallow complexion of his face lent authenticity to the disguise. He darkened his hair beyond his natural, deep brown (or what was left of it after the shaving). Then he put on the shoes. At first he hobbled in the higher heel, built up an inch or more as is the custom, but after some tuition he could hold himself straight and managed to walk without peering constantly at his feet.

  ‘Excellent,’ Robert mused, regarding himself piece by piece, as our mirror was too small to allow a full view.

  I continued concerned. The colour of Robert’s eyes was too light, but he insisted on claiming himself an official from the far, far north where skin was lighter and, it would seem, eyes might vary in colour also.

  ‘Truly, Mary. I spoke to Bertie.’

  This did not comfort me. After all, Bertie’s appearance was so eccentric that his support for such a scheme hardly inspired confidence. I said so.

  ‘Not only Bertie,’ Robert insisted. ‘Some chap from the Royal Highlanders did it last year. He made it five hundred miles to survey the supply lines. I too am of slight stature and my hair is dark. Come, you have transformed yourself far more. I’ve seen you.’

  I had to concede the point.

  ‘But the language,’ I started.

  Robert’s Cantonese was passable, perhaps better than that, but, like me, he spoke with an accent.

  ‘The ruling classes speak one of two or three tongues. Cantonese will be my third language—like that chap at Dr Chang’s who translated for us,’ Robert pondered. ‘The main thing is to stay calm. Autocratic bearing and silence will have to do the job for me.’

  ‘And if you are called upon to speak Mandarin?’

  Robert smiled. ‘Well, Bertie did tutor me somewhat,’ he admitted. ‘I can insist the servants deal with this matter, whatever it may be, and I can curse. Besides, Mandarin itself comes in different forms. That will work for me. Come, Mary. Who will call on me to speak and then complain because I have not one tongue or another? Any Chinese man travelling will have difficulty talking to his countrymen and no wonder. There are seven languages at least—all entirely different—and then various dialects on top. It’s high-risk right enough, but there’s nothing to be done about that.’

  Robert was in the right, of course. I stared at him sideways. While in one way he remained bookish and obsessed by his plants, China had brought out new skills in him—an admirable determination, an ability to manage his affairs and a spark of rebellion I had not known resided anywhere in his being. Of course, I had been subjected to the violent side effects of this but it had its estimable qualities as well. Long days of riding out from Ning-po and the physical labour of plant hunting had defined his already muscular frame and now, swamped in the loose-cut Chinese clothes, it was as if this strength had been covered up—another well-kept secret. For it seemed that Robert had more of those than I had ever imagined.

  ‘I have to admit, bar the eyes, you certainly look like a fine mandarin.’

  ‘Exactly,’ he beamed. ‘And the eyes, well, we can do nothing about those but bluster. I am from the North. The far North. And blue eyes there are prized. Now, tell me, Mary, what shall my name be?’

  During much discussion while I sewed Robert’s ponytail securely into his hair, I made several suggestions, the more successful of these inspired by the visual aid of Robert striking some most effective poses. Eventually I christened him Sing Wa.

  We now presented an extraordinary party—a mandarin, two Chinese servants and a white woman. Robert had no plan for me—he had expected me to stay in Ning-po. I had shocked him by choosing to travel onwards, and, in truth, he shocked himself that he was prepared
to take me. His mission was undoubtedly dangerous, but he had given me a choice and now had to stick by his word.

  ‘There is nothing for it but the native garb for you too, Mary,’ he pronounced.

  But after a short discussion it was clear this would not wash. Robert was dressed as a mandarin of the Han tribe. Among the Han, no Chinese woman above the peasant class had feet larger than her hands and we could think of no disguise that would hide my extremities. A hem the wrong length or a sleeve cut too close could draw the wrong kind of attention, never mind the glimpse of a lady’s shoes, which would show her to be low born. Poor Ling came into my mind and I knew there was no way to fake the kind of mutilation she had suffered. Considering the options further down the social scale, a female servant would not be needed on a journey such as Robert’s and certainly would not merit separate quarters from Wang and Sing Hoo. It occurred to me that I had only one option: to travel as a man.

  ‘You can be my secretary,’ Robert nodded, taken up by my suggestion. ‘That will explain your notepads, amply, and allow you private quarters. Your face is small enough. Very slight features, these chaps.’ I knew he was echoing something said to him with this bluff, officer’s drawl, but I did not comment.

  ‘Me—a Chinaman?’ I mused.

  The first thing that struck me was that I had never worn trousers before, not even on the stage. To wear male clothing seemed outrageous somehow. But, as I thought on it more and ran through the practicalities, there were, of course, greater considerations than a simple change in costume. Dare I?

  I let down my hair and sat staring in the mirror, running my fingers through the strands to the front. I had always been proud of my long locks—my hair fell as far as the small of my back. All the parts I ever played had beauty. A fragile Juliet, or a formidable Goneril. Everything I had ever done was of my own sex and the power of that is in attracting its opposite. Could I give up that power? What was it that marked me as a woman and was I prepared to let it go? As I picked up Robert’s scissors and Sing Hoo scampered away to fetch another basin of water, I did not feel the hot tears I might have expected. If I did this I could not go back on it easily. I took one tentative cut—a long tendril at the very front—and tried to imagine what I would look like. I snipped another strand, letting it fall to the bare floorboard beneath me. Of all my foolish, impulsive actions over the years this seemed the most daring. It occurred to me that as a man I could do anything, everything I wanted. The men around me had held sway for so long—my father first, then William and Robert and now I had the chance to become one of them. I’d be master of my own destiny then. A grin spread across my face as I started to snip faster, my hair falling to the ground in a shower.