“Oh, the heather, in a way, I suppose. At home—for I do think of it as home—when I walk up onto the wild moors and look back at the old castle set in the trees…And there’s a stream, a burn, as we say in Scotland—the water’s brown, you know, from the peat, and it has a soft tangy taste that goes so well with the sweet scent of the heather…” And Miss Lomond, to his great surprise, continued on in this vein for nearly five minutes without stopping. He felt the soft breeze; he saw the reddish-brown stone of the old Galloway castle, the sheep and the shaggy little cattle on the high ground; he fished in the Lomond water, as they called the little river; and he talked quietly to the old gillie as her ancestors had talked to his forefathers for centuries…And by the time she was done, he was not only in love with Agnes Lomond, but with her home and her land and all the vast, settled security she represented—everything he lacked and all that he desired.
As he thought of his wretched financial condition, he couldn’t help looking a little sad. “Even in the China trade, Miss Lomond, gaining such a fortune takes many years. In the meantime, one lives in places like Macao, and so forth, you know.”
“I understand that.” Her wonderful brown eyes gazed with deep meaning over her fan. “None of us can have everything at once. But the best things are worth waiting for.”
“I daresay,” he said absently.
“One must never give up hope, Mr. Trader. Now that I know you’re such a valiant fellow, I don’t need to remind you.”
“You think I shouldn’t give up hope?” He looked at her earnestly.
“No, Mr. Trader.” Again, she looked soulfully at him. “Please do not give up hope.”
And whether she meant this as a signal to him or just as general encouragement, or whether perhaps she was practicing to see what effect she could have upon a young man, it would have been impossible to say. Perhaps she wasn’t sure herself. Trader took it as a signal.
“Ah, there you are,” said Mrs. Lomond with a smile as she returned.
* * *
—
Charlie and John went back together in the carriage.
“So what did you and Miss Lomond find to talk about?” Charlie asked.
“Scotland,” said John.
“She does like to talk about Scotland,” said Charlie. “The only thing Agnes Lomond wants,” he continued sleepily, “is to find a man like her father. With an estate, of course.”
“Is that why she isn’t engaged already?” asked Trader.
“Not sure there have been any offers,” Charlie answered. “The fellows here, you know, they don’t really want a wife who thinks she’s better than they are. And the wife’s got to be able to take to colonial life. Share the rough with the smooth. Roll with the punches. That sort of thing.” He opened his eyes. “A fellow can be in love and all that. But at the end of the day, if he’s thinking about a wife, he needs a pal.”
“I see what you mean,” said Trader.
“Do you know why they say Agnes Lomond is like a Scottish moor?” asked Charlie.
“No,” said John.
“Because she is cold and empty.”
“Oh,” said Trader, and laughed. “I’m duly warned.”
But he thought he knew better.
* * *
◦
Shi-Rong stared. It had happened so unexpectedly, he couldn’t be sure what he’d seen. Reaching for his spyglass, as they started to give chase, he peered through the small brass telescope for several seconds before he suddenly cried out, at the top of his voice: “Row faster, faster! As quick as you can.”
Behind him, the round eyes painted on the warship gazed lugubriously after him as though to say, “You’ll never catch them.”
* * *
—
Governor Lin had been so proud when he told Shi-Rong: “I have bought a British warship. Now that we own a barbarian vessel, we can inspect it thoroughly to see how it works.”
The idea had been sound enough, but the results were disappointing. For when they decommissioned the vessel, the British had been devious. “It seems that Elliot had all the cannon removed before he let it go,” Lin had reported sadly. And a month later he confessed: “Our mariners cannot discover how the rigging functions. It is nothing like any boat of ours. I was very angry, but so far they have been quite unable to sail the vessel.”
A use had still been found for the discarded British ship, however. Having loaded it with his own cannon and painted huge eyes on the prow, in the style of a Chinese war junk, Governor Lin had moored it by a sandbar in the Pearl River, just downstream from Whampoa.
“With the shore batteries on either side and this ship in the middle of the river,” he declared, “it will be utterly impossible for the barbarian warships to threaten Guangzhou.”
* * *
—
Even so, not all was well in the gulf. “Despite your patrol boats, I hear that opium is being smuggled again in small vessels and even dragon boats,” Lin had told Shi-Rong. “You must put a stop to it. I am counting on you.”
“I shall redouble my efforts, Excellency,” Shi-Rong had promised.
His boats were out patrolling the waters every day. Frequently he went with them himself. He had spies along the coast. He did everything he could think of. He’d caught a few smugglers, too. But he wasn’t satisfied.
And now here was a dragon boat he didn’t know, emerging from a creek not half a mile in front of him. Was it a smuggling vessel? It could be. And the fact that, as soon as they saw him giving chase, its occupants started paddling like fury to get away seemed to confirm his suspicion.
But it was what he’d seen through his brass telescope that really gave him a shock. For sitting in the stern of the dragon boat, apparently in charge of it, was Nio. He was sure of it. He’d seen his face, the telltale scar on his cheek. Why, even the way he sat and urged his men on proclaimed it was him.
Nio, his own servant. The one he had chosen, saved from jail, kept at his side. Trusted. Even grown quite fond of him. Nio, who’d vanished so suddenly, so completely, that he’d wondered if the young fellow might have had an accident or even been murdered.
Well, it seemed he was very much alive. More than that. After all his kindness and trust, Nio had betrayed him. Gone over to the enemy.
Even then, a part of him wanted to greet the young fellow, glad at least that he was alive. But then another thought struck him. How would it look, as he brought the smugglers, bound and in cages, to the governor, if Lin recognized one of them as his secretary’s own servant, who’d been in their close company many times?
What will that say about my judgment, Shi-Rong thought, or my ability to control my own people? Disaster. It must not happen. But neither did he want Nio at large, to be recognized or brought in by somebody else. So when he caught up and the smugglers resisted—as they surely would—then Nio must die.
If need be, Shi-Rong thought, I must kill him myself.
* * *
◦
It was the second week of May. Soon the summer monsoon season would come to Calcutta. Already, people were starting to leave for the hill stations.
As John Trader entered Odstocks’ offices, he felt a sense of lassitude at the prospect of a boring day.
He was surprised, therefore, to hear a curious noise coming from Benjamin Odstock’s private office. It sounded as if the portly merchant was having a seizure. Alarmed, he rushed into the snug little room.
Benjamin Odstock was sitting at his desk. In his hand was a letter. And the strange gurgling sound Trader had heard was that of a man chortling with laughter. He stared at Trader for a moment as if he hardly saw him. Then, focusing upon him, he cried out: “The old devil! The old devil!”
“What’s happened?” asked John.
“Ebenezer! My father. That’s what. The old devil. Look!” He thrust the
letter into Trader’s hand.
And as Trader began to read, Benjamin Odstock did the strangest thing. Notwithstanding the fact that he was a portly gentleman with snuff stains on his jacket, he placed his two fat little hands together, as if in prayer, and stuffed them between his two fat thighs, and grinned so happily that he looked like a schoolboy.
The letter was terse and to the point. It confirmed that the British government was sending an expedition to China, but that Palmerston still refused to give Parliament any information. Some choice words followed about the humbug of those who objected. As usual, the senior Mr. Odstock listed the aches and pains from which he suffered and that made even the smallest conduct of business such a burden for him. And then at the end he added a further piece of information.
With all the uncertainty in the China trade, the price of tea has fluctuated greatly during recent months. On one day it touched one shilling a pound, on another as high as three shillings. The tea you sent in November has all been sold at close to the highest price. But in addition, acting for the partnership, I made numerous purchases and sales of tea contracts, which have yielded a further profit. I enclose a letter of credit which may be shared between yourself, your brother, and your junior partner also, if you deem that appropriate.
“He’s sent us money,” said Trader, trying to sound calm.
“That’s right.” Benjamin returned to his usual portly self. He gazed at Trader benignly. “Seventy-five thousand pounds, to be precise.”
“Seventy-five thousand!” Trader cried.
“We don’t call our father an old devil for nothing,” the merchant remarked.
“Do I get some of that?”
“Oh, I think so. As a matter of fact, you get the same as Tully and me. Twenty-five thousand.”
“But…my partnership is ten percent. Surely…”
“Tully’s very pleased with you. As it happened, that ugly business with Lin in Canton was a very good test. Showed us what you’re made of. You came through it very well. Steady under fire. Kept a cool head. Then you brought us that American to get our tea in, remember? When you came back from Hong Kong to Calcutta, Tully sent me a private letter, proposing we make you an equal partner, subject to my agreement. Timing left to my discretion. So there you are. I do agree, and this seems an excellent time.”
“I don’t know what to say.” Trader was thunderstruck. “It’s more than kind. I never expected…”
“Good.” Benjamin Odstock observed him for a moment. “Will that be enough to pay off your debt?” he asked genially.
“My debt?” Trader went pale for an instant. Then to his embarrassment he began to blush. Had Read told Tully about it? “How would you know if I had any debt?” he inquired.
“It was obvious right from the start. Tully and I both guessed. Actually,” Benjamin remarked cheerfully, “we enjoyed watching you sweat.” He took a pinch of snuff. “Good for you to suffer a bit. Showed you had nerve. It also told us that you were really committed to our business.”
“Oh,” said Trader.
“Is twenty-five thousand enough to clear your debt?”
“Yes.”
“In that case, you’re whole again. From now on, you’re an equal partner with us in Odstocks. As for the opium we lost, if we get compensated one day, that’ll be an extra windfall.” He smiled. “Something to look forward to.”
“I can’t believe it.” Trader shook his head in wonderment.
“Well, I’d say you’re out of trouble. As for making your fortune, we’ll have to see. If this expedition against the Chinese doesn’t work and the opium trade becomes impossible, I daresay Tully and I will take what we’ve already made and go home. You’ll have to trade as best you can.” He gave him a friendly nod. “Personally, I’m betting on the British.”
“So,” said Trader fervently, “am I.”
* * *
—
For the next few hours, John Trader answered business letters, checked ledgers, and tried not to think about the future. Shortly after noon, however, he felt the need to stretch his legs and began to walk slowly towards the large nearby park that ran along the bank of the sacred Hooghly River.
Once he was in the park, the trees gave him protection from the midday sun. After a few minutes he came to a shady spot overlooking the wide waters where someone had obligingly set a stone bench. And there he sat down, gazed at the moving river, and allowed himself to think.
What did this sudden change in his circumstances really mean? His debt was gone. He could settle up with Read. His inheritance was intact again. In fact, he was now some thousands richer. And an equal partner in a small but respectable merchant house. Most fellows had to wait many years before they reached that position. He was ahead of the game.
“I suppose,” he remarked to the river, “that I could marry.”
Plenty of people in Calcutta would have thought him eligible. He’d be seen as a good bet, a “coming man.”
If I were Charlie, I’d marry a nice girl and be happy, he said to himself. But that was the problem. He wasn’t Charlie. Something else drove him on; he wasn’t even sure what it was. A quest for the unknown? A dream, perhaps. He continued to sit on the bench staring at the water. “Why do I always have to want more?” he asked the river. And receiving no reply, he shook his head.
Then, into his mind’s eye, came the vision of a wild Scottish moor, a peat-brown burn, and a slim, graceful woman whose face was not clearly defined, but could only be Agnes; and behind her, in the distance, a Scottish castle.
Agnes. She wasn’t like the other girls. There was nothing wrong with them, but Agnes was set apart, a soul from another world. Agnes belonged in that mystic land where time was measured in centuries, and people knew who they were, and families were old as the echoing hills. And if he could obtain that for her, and she wanted to place her hand in his and lead him there and give herself to him, why then it seemed to him that he would have reached the holy grail itself.
Yesterday it had been only a dream. But today?
Two things troubled him. The lesser was the almost certain opposition of Colonel Lomond. Agnes might plead his cause. She certainly seemed to have given him the signal that she’d welcome his interest. But while it might be a tough fight with the colonel, he was prepared for that.
The second was more serious. For, as the colonel would no doubt point out, his fortunes still rested on the assumption that one way or another, the opium trade would resume. If it came to an end, he’d surely find a way to make a good living, but not the fortune needed to give Agnes the life she wanted. And above all things in the world, he desired to make her happy. I know the goodness of her soul, he thought. If she makes a commitment to love and cherish me, she’ll never let me down. But if I let her down, could I ever forgive myself?
Was it fair to press his suit when things with China were still so uncertain? On the other hand, if he waited too long, would he lose her?
“I need to think some more,” he murmured. He rose to his feet and began to move out of the park.
At the top of the park, he emerged into the district known as Dalhousie Square. It wasn’t a single square, but an entire area where the stately British government buildings were set well back from broad streets and open spaces. Few people were about just then. The noonday sun beat down from a clear blue sky on domes, towers, imperial temples. Nothing, it seemed, could disturb the solid peace of the place, as the mighty heart of British India took an afternoon snooze.
He was so occupied with these thoughts that he hardly noticed, until he looked up, that he had reached the Anglican cathedral of St. John.
He liked the cathedral. There was something reassuring about its simple classical design, rather like St. Martin-in-the-Fields, in London. Handsome, but not too large. Sensible. Anglican.
He hadn’t been in the cathedral for q
uite a while. And—whether to get out of the sun or from some hitherto-unrecognized spiritual impulse—he decided to step inside. It was almost cool within. He noticed an old woman dusting the choir stalls. No one else. He sat down.
For a minute or two he sat there, enjoying the peace. And since thinking about his situation had not yielded any conclusion, it occurred to him that perhaps he had been led to the church for a reason and that he should pray. But if he prayed, what would he ask for? He wasn’t sure of that, either.
Then he remembered something the chaplain had said when he was a boy at school. “It’s no good asking God for something you want, you know. Because it’s almost certain to be something quite selfish and of no importance to anyone but you. So when you’re in a quandary, don’t tell God what He needs to do. Just try to empty your mind—don’t think about wanting anything—and ask Him to guide you. And with a bit of luck, if you deserve it, He will. And it may turn out to be something you never thought of at all.”
So John Trader closed his eyes and tried to do as the chaplain had said. After all, he reasoned, God had been good to him so far today. He’d led him out of debt. So he placed his future entirely in the Almighty’s hands and asked only: “Send me a sign, Lord, and I shall know what to do.”
And after he had said a prayer or two, he came out into the bright sunlight of Dalhousie Square with a wonderful sense of well-being. I’ll go and share the good news with Charlie, he thought.
* * *
—
They stood in the big upstairs room at Rattrays. The big sash windows were open enough to let in some breeze, but not enough to disturb the papers on the desks. The Indian servant in the corner patiently worked the ceiling fan. Charlie’s two colleagues busied themselves with their work and pretended they couldn’t hear every word.
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