My Splendid Concubine

by Lofthouse, Lloyd

  His face went numb, and his fingers tingled. He dropped into a chair—still staring at the note, but not seeing it. Everything blurred.

  He understood the Chinese way of thinking perfectly, but he seemed an illiterate when it came to comprehending what Ayaou expected and how she would react when he didn’t comply. He crumpled the note and shoved it in a pocket. If it hadn’t been for the opium trade, this would never have happened.

  The Manchu officials he worked with respected him and considered him a man of courtesy. When he felt a Westerner was mistreating a Chinese, he negotiated a proper settlement between them, so the Chinese official would not be taken advantage of, while also saving the man’s reputation. He thought he was good at communicating.

  However, his brain was stuck in a thick fog when it came to dealing with his family, which meant Ayaou and by extension, her father and everyone connected to them by blood.

  He recalled the words of the banker in Ningpo who said that family were the only ones you could trust. It was obvious that Ayaou and her father thought of him in the same way. In a world full of madness, he was considered trustworthy to her Chinese family.

  “Is there anything I can do, Master?”

  “No, Guan-jiah.” His servant didn’t move, so he looked. The concern etched in Guan-jiah’s face told Robert that the eunuch felt his pain. “You’re thinking I should have let you beat her, aren’t you?” he said.

  Guan-jiah eyes widened with a startled look. “Of course not, Master. I would never think that you were wrong about anything.”

  How ironically Chinese. He felt his lips curve into a smile and laughed. He should not be reacting like this. Instead, he should be screaming in frustration. “It doesn’t matter what you were thinking, Guan-jiah. You were probably right. I was pigheaded as usual. Since you are the house manager, I am sure you have more important things to do. I will suffer alone. Go.” He flapped a hand in a dismissive gesture.

  Guan-jiah backed from the room.

  Robert didn’t know what hurt worse, Ayaou’s letter or the pity in Guan-jiah’s eyes. He went to a sideboard and filled a glass with several ounces of brandy then swallowed the liquor in one gulp.

  That was a mistake.

  The brandy went down his throat like a live moray eel burning all the way and hit his empty stomach as if it were an exploding bomb. The blast went straight to his head lifting him onto his toes. He staggered and grabbed the table to keep from losing his balance. The shock of the brandy had driven the breath from him, and he struggled to breathe while the house swayed around him.

  Once he regained his sense of balance, he poured the glass tumbler to the brim and lifted it to his mouth. Wanting to dive in, he stared at the amber liquid then remembered he had turned to liquor once before in Belfast. The pressure from his studies at the university coupled with a powerful lust for women had taken control of his life. Going from pub to pub, he had stayed drunk for weeks and lost track of the easy women he’d seduced.

  After his family discovered his lascivious nature, guilt drove him to abandon his goals to earn a master’s degree and become a pastor like his father. Instead, he found a job with the British government and fled to China.

  He couldn’t stand the thought of living without Ayaou or Anna. Liquor had not solved his problems in Belfast. It wouldn’t now. His head was already filling with an alcoholic fog, so he carefully poured the brandy back into the bottle.

  Knowing the eunuch would be close by watching over him, he said, “Guan-jiah.” He words were slow and slurred. “Bring me something to eat.” He went to his desk and waited for the food. He would eat before he wrote a reply to Ayaou and send it to Macau. He didn’t want the liquor to do his writing for him.

  He hated being manipulated, but what was he to do? If Uncle Bark had still been alive, he could have turned to him for a dose of wisdom. He imagined the old man’s voice. “This is one of those times you must not resist. Bend with the wind. Let it flow around you. What is more important, the money or Ayaou? The tree that resists, breaks.”

  Guan-jiah came with food, but Robert wasn’t hungry so he forced the food down without tasting it. With a full stomach, the anger subsided. He pushed aside the empty plate and picked up a pen. “Grind me some fresh ink, Guan-jiah,” he said.

  “Ayaou, I do not have five thousand Chinese yuan. I suggest that your father negotiate with the Taipings to extend the date they have given us to raise the ransom.

  “If I am to help free Cousin Weed, your family must stop smuggling opium. Since I deal with merchants and imperial officials daily, I will use my influence to make sure Cousin Weed will always have a legal cargo that is not opium.

  “My Chinese associates in the merchant trade will help, but I will owe them favors in the future. That way, your family will survive without being part of the opium trade. I cannot help free Cousin Weed any other way.

  “If your father can negotiate a smaller amount as a token of our intent, we may gain time to raise the rest. In addition, I cannot be expected to produce the entire amount. The family must put in their share.

  “I continue to love you. In the future, when events of this nature take place, I would appreciate it if we could work it out between us before you run off. It does not help when we let anger rule our actions.”

  The food helped him resist the urge to add a few choice phrases to the letter that would have caused more trouble with Ayaou. Finished, he sealed the envelope with hot wax and handed it to Guan-jiah. “I want you to go to Macao and hand this to Mistress Ayaou yourself,” he said. “I don’t trust anyone else.”

  Ayaou was too much a part of his life to let her slip away. He realized that he was hopelessly in love with this boat girl, even her explosive, unpredictable side. It was as if she were the spice that made dull food taste delicious.

  On the other hand, she was a practical person who never wasted money frivolously. He appreciated that. He had learned a lot from his girls when they had lived in Ningpo before Shao-mei was murdered by Ward and he missed those days.

  Ayaou’s reply came a few weeks later. She wanted to know how much he’d contribute. He surprised himself when he burst out laughing. The old Robert would have gone into a rage.

  It took a few months to contribute three thousand yuan. The effort was enough to keep Cousin Weed from losing his head. To earn more, he worked extra hours translating Chinese documents for the British consulate.

  Then an unexpected incident took place.

  The imperial army captured Harry Parkes while he was under the protection of a white flag. Robert couldn’t blame the Chinese for what they had done. After all, Parkes was one of the men behind the Second Opium War.

  In 1860, to force the emperor to make the opium trade legal in all of China, Parkes had supported the looting and destruction of the Summer Palace known by the Chinese as the Yuan Ming Yuan, located several miles outside Peking.

  Before the destruction and looting by the combined British and French forces, the emperor had fled inland to Jehol, the imperial hunting grounds on the other side of the Great Wall. He had taken his family and the court, numbering in the thousands, with him.

  Robert did not understand what was so special about a palace surrounded by gardens.

  Guan-jiah explained. “All Chinese consider the destruction of the Gardens of Perfect Brightness as humiliating and a great loss of face.”

  “Why? They are only gardens. Can’t they be replanted?”

  “The Yuan Ming Yuan is much more than a garden, Master. I have heard that the place is one of the great wonders of the world with gardens, palaces, pavilions, lakes and streams surrounded by walls. People that worked there have said the beauty steals your breath and that the place is a slice of heaven. The gardens and palaces are part of China’s history and culture. The construction started in the twelfth century. During the eighteenth and nineteenth century, the Qianlong emperor expanded them.”

  The next day, James Bruce, the Eighth Earl of Elgin and the B
ritish High Commissioner to China, surprised Robert with a visit. He had never met the man before.

  “Mr. Hart,” the earl said, after being ushered into his office by a stunned clerk, “I’ve heard a lot about you.”

  It wasn’t proper to stay behind his desk, so he stepped forward to greet the earl. “I’m flattered that you came to see me, Sir Bruce. You should have summoned me. I would have come.” They shook hands.

  “No,” Bruce replied. “I felt discretion was the better choice. I did not want anyone knowing what I was doing. That is why I came in person. We need your help.”

  “My help!” he replied, confused. “What can I do for the Crown? I no longer work for the British.”

  He thought the earl’s visit had to do with Harry Parkes. The allies needed someone to approach the Chinese—someone the Chinese trusted, someone who could bridge the gap and negotiate a deal that would allow the Chinese to save face, and keep the second Opium War from expanding out of control.

  The way he saw it, this war was not a profitable venture. It disrupted trade. The allies wanted it over, but they also wanted results, which meant more opium flooding into China. The recent visit by Captain Patridge told him as much. It seemed that the opium merchants were the tail wagging the dog.

  “You are wrong, Hart. You can do the Crown a valuable service. We would like you to talk sense into the Chinese government. They must release Harry Parkes. If they do not, the Crown is going to send a larger army to punish the Chinese for this transgression. They should have never violated our white flag.”

  “The white flag has nothing to do with it,” Robert said. “The Chinese are not happy that foreign powers are dictating policy to them. Every time they are forced to do something against their will, it is a loss of face for the emperor. To the Chinese, that is unforgivable. The emperor does not want opium sold to his people, and he wants to say which ports are open for trade. Britain, France, Japan, Russia, America and the other foreign powers are not allowing that.” He watched the earl’s response, and it was exactly what he expected.

  Bruce looked surprised. “It doesn’t matter what this emperor thinks,” he said. “Britain’s interests come first.”

  Robert kept a sober face. “What would Britain do if it were China dictating to Queen Victoria and parliament how to trade and do business in England?”

  “That is not the situation, and it is not relevant. We want you to have the Chinese release Parkes.” The earl looked flustered.

  Robert did not smile and would not back down even for an earl. “What opium is doing to the Chinese may not be important to Britain, but it is to the emperor and he is my employer. I do not see how I can be of service to the Crown in this matter.”

  “You can intercede and explain to them the errors of their ways. They are like disobedient children and must be spanked. Tell them what a white flag means. Tell them the consequences if they don’t free Parkes.”

  He turned his back on Bruce and stared at the stack of papers waiting for his attention. It was a rude gesture to make in front of such an influential man, but he did it anyway. It wasn’t easy dealing with people like the earl, who thought the world revolved around him. When he turned back, he saw that the earl’s face had swollen and turned red.

  “Sir Bruce, if you start making demands of the Chinese with that attitude, it will only worsen the situation. Then, unfortunately, more Chinese will suffer and die. Who knows, the emperor may even make peace with the Taipings. Then there will be two armies to deal with. After all, the enemy of my enemy is my friend. Is that what you want?”

  “Is that even possible?” Bruce said. “What have you heard?” He looked concerned. The idea of the Taipings ending their rebellion against the Manchu and freeing millions of soldiers from both sides of the conflict was something to take seriously.

  “Rumors,” he said. It was a lie, but it might come in handy for future negotiations. There was no way the Ch’ing Dynasty would work with the Taipings. To the Dynasty, the Taipings were Longhaired Bandits. “Sir Bruce, I don’t work for the Crown. I do not have to take orders from anyone in the British Empire. What I will do is tell you the truth.”

  The earl’s face turned a darker shade. Robert watched as he struggled to maintain a semblance of control. “What if we hired you as a consultant and a go between?” Bruce asked.

  “That would work.” He named a price for his services and the earl agreed.

  Robert hid his excitement. He now had enough money to free Cousin Weed from the Tapings. How ironic that the money would come from the British because of the Second Opium War. “But only on one condition,” he said.

  “I’m not used to others dictating to me,” Bruce said. “This is outrageous.”

  “I agree. I ask you to please remember that I am an employee of the Chinese imperial government and forgive my unacceptable behavior. I have seen what opium does to the Chinese. I don’t approve.”

  “What happens to the Chinese is not important,” the earl replied. “Your opinion is also unimportant. Trade with China, any kind of trade, benefits England. That is important.”

  Robert smiled. “I understand,” he said. “Don’t forget. You need me. I don’t need you. I want you to know that my loyalties are split between two governments. If you want me to handle this, I will do it for the price we agreed to. At the same time, I will not allow any interference. No one will tell me what to do.”

  The earl was quiet for a moment as he studied Robert’s face. “Agreed,” Bruce said.

  “Good. I want the British government to stay out of this until I free Parkes. If anyone interferes, I cannot guarantee success. What the British government does after Parkes is free is none of my business. After all, I count Harry Parkes as a friend. I don’t want to see him lose his head either.”

  They sealed the bargain by shaking hands. “I can see why Parkes spoke so highly of you. I hope you know what you are doing.”

  “You will not be disappointed,” he said.

  Robert talked to the Chinese governor of Canton and convinced him that killing Parkes would cause more destruction. With the governor’s help, Harry Parkes was released three weeks later. But twenty of his men were beheaded. To avenge this act, the allies conducted a series of reprisals killing thousands of Chinese.

  “It’s wrong,” he told Guan-jiah. “This war should never have happened. The Chinese had every right to board that ship in 1856. The crew was pirates and opium smugglers.”

  “Master, that does not matter. The Arrow was British registered. The Dynasty should have ignored it. Arresting the crew only gave the British and French an excuse to make war and expand the opium trade.”

  A few weeks later, Robert discovered that Sir Bruce was the one who ordered the destruction of the emperor’s Summer Palace.

  “I’m ashamed of being British,” he said. “The destruction of the Summer Palace was an uncivilized act of barbarism. If I had known that Sir Bruce was behind it, I would have never cooperated with him.”

  Guan-jiah looked confused. “Master, the imperial troops are no better. They have destroyed entire villages that supported the Longhaired Bandits and killed everyone. There is no justice in war. The only way is to end war, which will never happen due to man’s nature.”

  In October of 1860, Prince Kung, Emperor Hsien Feng’s brother, and the Board of Rites in Peking ratified the Treaty of Tientsin. As the cultural-go-between, Robert worked nonstop to bring understanding to both sides.

  It was frustrating to see the Chinese being victimized by the British and French, and he was ashamed of his own people.

  “The demands that the British and French are making is one-sided,” Robert said, “It is wrong.”

  “It is best to flow with the river’s current, Master. As evil as the opium trade is, the Imperial Dynasty should not have resisted. It would be unwise to protest.”

  Robert realized Guan-jiah was right. “Don’t worry,” he said. “I will guard my tongue around the British and French.”


  “Do not trust the Chinese either,” the eunuch said. “Loose lips are capable of spreading a plague.”

  Working on the treaty was challenging. Robert felt trapped between fundamental cultural differences and his values. He still remembered the time he’d been searching for Ward in Shanghai and ended in one of Boss Takee’s opium dens. China would be better off without the drug, yet here he was helping the trade expand.

  The final treaty favored the British opium merchants and the opium trade was legalized, the collie trade grew, and the British merchants were exempt from paying internal transit duties for their imports. The Dynasty had to pay two million silver taels to the British merchants for the opium confiscated and burned early in the war, and another two million taels went to the British and French governments for the cost of the war.

  “I will not be silent if this happens again,” Robert said. “If there is another unjust war as this one was, I will speak my mind. I will not stand by and watch China be raped and robbed.”

  “Master, one voice is easily lost in the crowd’s noise. I have learned that all wounds may heal, and only those who feel like victims suffer. The dead feel nothing.”

  The days were long, and he often finished working late at night. As was his habit, he walked home alone but kept a hand on his revolver in a jacket pocket. On a dark and empty street, just a block from his house, he sensed a movement to his left.

  The moment he saw the knife in the man’s hand, he felt a rush of energy. Everything around him slowed while he moved at lightning speed. He brought out the revolver and fired a round into the assailant. He fired a second shot for good measure.

  There was a grunt of surprise. The man staggered back with a stunned look on his face.

  When he was on his back and appeared not to be a threat, Robert stood over him. When he saw the knife was still in the man’s hand, he kicked the blade away and looked around to make sure they were alone. Once he was satisfied there were no other threats, he knelt and examined the man, who was dressed like a common sailor.

  “Who sent you?” he said. Obviously, the man was not going to live long. Blood gushed from both wounds.