The Secret Mandarin (2 page)

Then, most afternoons I read an old copy of
Moll Flanders
and pondered on a woman, fallen like me, and attempting to be practical while indulging a hopeless love. I ran over again and again what had happened and cursed the unfairness of it. Damn William and his upper-class sang-froid that had left me abandoned like this. And yet I did not believe I was capable of settling for what Jane had. My spirit is too unruly. I loathed Robert and his like—their grasping, scraping self-righteousness. The lack of passion. The awful fear of what Others May Think. It seemed to me preposterous that Jane should love him—a man who calculated every step from a very high horse. To Robert what I had done was incomprehensible. For myself, I regretted what had happened, but running over the events in my mind, I knew why I had made my choices. I had been unlucky.

The night Henry was conceived William had been courting me for a year with what gentlemen call ‘no satisfaction’. He took me to his private rooms for dinner. The hangings
on the wall glowed sumptuous red in the candlelight. We ate roasted boar with pear relish and crisp parsnips studded with rock salt, all served on silver platters that seemed to dance as the light flickered down from the sconces on the wall. As he downed French burgundy, I sipped champagne and William wove a wonderful spell. He would keep a house for me, he said. Anything I desired. Anything. Of course, such promises of devotion fired a passion in me that was blinding. I lived to be adored and here was a Duke’s son, on his knees.

When I surrendered he kissed me all over and I hardly blushed. In the end he was so gentle that it surprised me. William was a large man and so much of the world that I expected him to make a hearty lover. Instead, ‘You beautiful woman,’ he moaned, the sweat dripping off him as he fumbled like some schoolboy. I should have known then how weak he really was. Instead, his vulnerability touched me and excited by the jewels and promises I took pity on him and forgave his physical frailty. I trusted him completely.

Now, in the cold bedroom at the back of my sister’s house, the pale walls blue in the fading light of the afternoon and my cheeks already wet with tears, I cried for myself and my poor baby boy—whatever might become of us. I was sequestered—all respectable doors bar these were closed to me, and though Drury Lane would have welcomed me back with open arms, I had Henry to consider. It was a sacrifice all right and a shock to find that in six months nothing had changed. Still, I comforted myself that there is always hope and I did not wish for one second that the storm had done its job.

One afternoon about a week after I returned to Gilston Road, Harriet knocked on my bedroom door. She curtseyed,
unwillingly, I thought, and held out a tiny salver with a calling card. I expected no visitors and eagerly turned it over to see who might have arrived. My stomach lurched as I read the name—William. A warm surge of hope fired through me. Perhaps everything would be all right after all. I told Harriet that I would come down shortly.

‘Where are the children?’ I asked as she left.

My voice was casual—at least I hoped it sounded so. My hands shook.

‘Upstairs, Miss Penney.’

‘Thank you.’

In the mirror my colour was high, my heart racing. Of course, I had rehearsed this moment—meeting William by chance in public, perhaps in Hyde Park, or seeing him on the other side of the street. But since his absolute abandonment, my letters returned, the long hours of waiting, the humiliation of being shunned, well, I had never imagined that he would actually call. All my thoughts had been directed to being beautiful at a distance. Of taking him by surprise and prompting him to adore me once again. The father of my child was downstairs. And Jane—Jane was out.

I laid my palms on my cheeks and took as deep a breath as I could, confined by my corset. Usually when I acted I did not tie my stays so tightly. The night I met William I had not worn a corset at all. I was Titania, Queen of the Fairies, all flowing chiffon and trailing beads. He had kissed my hand and remarked that the part had become me—henceforth he would think of Titania no other way.

‘Do you think of Titania often, your Lordship?’ I drawled, all confidence.

‘From now on I shall,’ he bowed.

Now, blushing, I hurried downstairs to the drawing room, my confidence much dented since my fairy days. William
was standing by the fireplace. He looked as handsome as ever. As I entered, Harriet brought in a tray of tea things and laid them on the table next to the sofa. She curtseyed and left. I kept a steady gaze on the tall figure by the mantle. William did not meet my eye. I would not, I swore inwardly, take him back unless he begged.

‘You are well?’ he enquired at length.

‘Yes.’

‘You look well.’

I waited and in agony indicated the teapot. ‘Might I offer you…’ My voice trailed off.

William nodded. My hands were shaking too violently—I did not want to attempt pouring the tea so I crossed the room and sat down instead. I couldn’t bear it.

‘Monsoon, eh?’ he commented. ‘I expected you to be battered and walking with a limp! Half drowned when the
Regatta
went down and look at you. You’re some gal, Mary!’

I stared. What on earth was the fool trying to say?

‘William, why are you here?’ I asked.

His eyes fell to the carpet.

‘It was a boy, I heard,’ he said. ‘We have only daughters. My wife has never borne a son.’

My heart sank and I felt a rush of anger. A female child would not have prompted the visit and, clearly, neither had I.

‘The claim of a natural child in such circumstances is strong. I will recognise him, Mary. I have discussed him with Eleanor.’

I got up and poured the tea after all. It would occupy me at least.

‘Eleanor is one of seven girls, you know,’ William continued. ‘It runs in the family.’

It seemed impossible I had ever kissed the mouth that
uttered these words. Of course, a wiser woman might have flattered him. A wiser woman might have tried to woo him back. A wiser woman might not have felt anger rising hot in her belly or at least might have ignored it. Not I.

‘And so you plan Henry to be your heir?’ I said, ‘and I will be nothing to either of you. I will sail again for Calcutta. Henry will stay in this house.’

‘Oh, of course,’ William said. ‘Certainly until he is old enough to go to school. I have no objection to it.’

‘You have no objection! No objection! You have never
seen
the boy, William. In point of fact you have not seen me since last summer and by God, you were not a man of honour on that occasion!’

I was working up a fury. A vision of Henry at twenty-one visiting his half-sisters. Him being whispered of as the bastard child of his wealthy father. ‘To some actress, I heard,’ they would nudge and wink, my name unknown. I saw William an old man, paying the bills, passing on a lesser title. While in Calcutta or Bombay I would outlive a husband I was unlikely to love. I would not matter to anyone.

I thought I might pelt William with the shortbread that Harriet had placed on the tray. Perhaps pick up the poker by the fire and smash something, hit him, anything. Had I survived the shipwreck just for this? I was searching for the words to shame him, ready to launch an attack, when, like the angel she is, Jane swept into the room. She probably saved me from a charge of murder.

‘Your Lordship,’ she curtseyed to William.

‘Mrs Fortune,’ he smiled.

‘I have asked Harriet to bring down the baby so you might see him,’ she said. ‘I hope I have done the right thing?’

It was so like my sister to easily fit in with whatever was going on and simply make the best of it. William looked relieved.

‘Yes, yes. I have told Mary that I will own him. It is all decided.’

‘I have not decided,’ I said.

Jane sat down next to me.

‘Shush, Mary,’ she soothed, before turning her attention to business. She was right, of course. This was the best thing that could have happened for the baby even if William’s offer was somewhat late. Scarce more than a year ago he had said he loved me. He had sworn on his life.

Jane picked up the plate of shortbread and began to serve, passing the biscuits smoothly as she spoke. She, at least, was thinking with logic.

‘Now, your Lordship, might I ask how much you were thinking of annually?’

Money was always tight. When Robert had his first appointment at the Royal Horticultural Society he earned a hundred pounds a year. Before my disgrace I was paid three times as much at Covent Garden—and then there were the gifts. Trinkets, baubles and fancies. Frills and sparkles. A dressing room so full of flowers it made you sneeze. I was never a star but I had admirers, a retainer and a portion of the receipts.

After Mother died I began to give money to Robert and Jane. Five pounds a month sometimes. Robert kept an account so he could repay me. He had an eye to the business of plants. Once when I had scoffed at his obsession, his ridiculous interest in soil types and root systems, Robert pulled out the newspaper and read a report of an auction—prices paid for tropical flowers arrived the week before from the East Indies. It ran into thousands.

‘Rubber, tea, sugar, timber,’ he enumerated, leaning over the dining table counting on his fingers. ‘They’ve all been brought back to London. Tobacco, potato, coffee, cocoa beans. I will find something,’ he muttered, ‘and it will pay.’

At the time Robert’s ranting seemed like the crazy ramblings of a Lowland Scot. Not that Robert had kept his accent. It diminished daily.

‘I will not end up like Douglas,’ he swore, ‘mad, penniless and alone.’

I nibbled the cheese on my plate. You could not argue with Robert about plants and my interest in any case was limited.

The thirty guineas a year most generously settled on Henry was the first money that had come from my side of things in eighteen months. It had been difficult for Robert and Jane, I knew. As in any household, extra money was a boon. So this windfall provided a nanny, covered all Henry’s expenses and, with what William had referred to as his ‘dues for the last several months’, Jane paid for another ticket to send me back to India, for, unspoken as William rose to leave, was the understanding that I was troublesome and the money would only be forthcoming if I was removed. If I had daydreamed of dallying in London, I had been squarely woken from it.

The
Filigree
was due to sail at the end of the month.

I found myself restless and unable to sleep. Things weighed uncomfortably on my mind. One night, some days after William’s visit, I was late and wakeful. I visited Henry in the nursery but at length I grew tired of watching him and had it in mind to cut a slice of bread and have it with some of Cook’s excellent raspberry conserve. I sneaked down to the kitchen like a naughty child, barefoot in Jane’s old lawn nightdress. I had not bought anything to wear after the wreck and had only the clothes kindly provided for me on the island—Parisian cast-offs, well worn—and some hand-me-downs from my sister.

The slate was cold on my feet. The air in the house heavy
and silent—not even the ticking of a clock. The bread was wrapped in cloth and, as I unwound it, I jumped, spotting Robert, red-eyed, crouching beside the stove. He looked worn out—far more than I. His skin was as white as the nightshirt he was wearing over his breeches and the curl of hair that protruded at the top of his chest, clearly visible above the linen collar, looked dark against it.

‘Sorry, Mary,’ he said. ‘I could not sleep. I have not rested properly in days.’

The house, it struck me, was a shell and we were restless spirits within it, seeking respite. Though I could not see what reason Robert had to prowl about in the dark.

I had planned on opening the heavy back door and sitting on the step while I ate. Everyone in the family had done that from time to time. It was something of a tradition. That night it was too cloudy to see the stars but the moon was almost full. It cast an opaque light through the misty sky.

‘Well,’ Robert said, ‘perhaps we should have some milk?’

He brought the jug from the pantry and poured. I cut two slices of bread and spread them thickly with butter and jam. We swapped, pushing our wares over the tabletop. I glanced at the door.

‘Oh yes,’ he said. ‘We should sit down.’

There was a breeze in the garden. Very slight but delicious. The fresh air blew in as we sat companionably on the step listening to the church bell sounding three. As the night wears on, the chiming sound echoes so. It is different once it’s dark and the streets are quiet. I thought this could not be anywhere but England. The touch of cool night air on my skin and the bells in the distance. There were those, I knew, who had been out half the night at cards or dancing or worse, who were only now in some dark carriage on their way home. Robert shifted uncomfortably. He had a
fleck of jam on his forearm and when I pointed it out he brought his arm to his mouth and sucked the sweetness away. This left, I noticed, a pale pink mark on his skin.

‘I am going, Mary,’ he said. ‘I am commissioned.’

Robert did not look at me though an eager, almost shy, smile played around his lips. He had been given his chance. I assumed that he meant that the Society was sending him abroad to collect botanical specimens. It had been his ambition for some time.

‘Where will you go?’ I asked.

‘China.
Camellia sinensis.
Tea plants.’

‘You would think they had tea plants aplenty at Kew.’

‘Those are Indian tea plants, not Chinese ones. Besides, I am not going for the Society,’ Robert whispered. ‘They do not pay anything more for travelling and whatever I bring back is not mine. I will go for the Honourable East India Company, Mary. Whatever new plants I collect outside the terms of the commission will belong to me. I will sell them to a private nursery for profit.’

‘How long will you be gone?’

Robert stared towards the garden wall. ‘More than one year certainly. Perhaps two or three. If I can find something it will make us, Mary. And of all the specimens to come from the Orient I cannot believe I will not make a discovery there.’