The Secret Mandarin (27 page)

I smiled though and, I admit it, felt rather saintly.

The next day Robert made the arrangements, sending Wang with a couple of local men who would certainly want to return to their families. I noticed that in giving Wang the good news Robert emphasised the bonus the man would receive when we reached the coast at the end of our journey.

‘You are wily, Mr Fortune,’ I teased him.

Robert only smiled.

‘For your information, Mary,’ he continued, ‘I am writing to Dr Jamieson who will be in charge of the tea gardeners that I am engaging to take with me to India. I will leave them there in his charge. I am insisting on
excellent terms for the fellows. I thought it would save us a spat.’

My face cracked into a grin that I could not contain as Robert continued.

‘They will be away for at least five years by the time their skills are no longer needed. Knowing your views on India,’ he paused, ‘having avoided it yourself at all cost, I thought it only prudent to make arrangements of which you would approve before you came to champion their cause. Not that I don’t enjoy our discussions.’

I let him tease me.

‘I’m proud of you, Robert,’ I said.

The six tea gardeners (all single men) and two lead men (both married) who were engaged for the posts were given assurances and a substantial advance to compensate their families.

We gave Wang leave to be away for seventeen days. I organised a new outfit for him and sent plants (some fruit trees this time), money, perfumes, an excellent soapstone carving of a dragon and two baskets of live chickens for his family. As Wang packed, Sing Hoo skulked, sneering poisonously. ‘Master came to my village,’ he said as Wang organised his provisions onto a cart we had hired for his journey. To his credit Wang ignored his rival and, as we waved the cart off, Sing Hoo’s toothy grin seemed to linger, like a grotesque.

‘Never coming back,’ he whispered.

In Wang’s absence we continued our work. Robert completed his study of the production of black tea, noting that the difference between black and green was particularly in the fermenting stage, as the leaves in Bohea were allowed to fully break down in the storage baskets before being heated, rolled, dried and then sorted for quality. This process took longer than for the green variety, with the
rolling and airing method lasting anything up to three days before the leaves were fired on a slow, steady heat to remove the last of the moisture.

Many of the tea farmers also owned fields of scented flowers, and these we decided to visit. The flower plantations were set on low, flat land and were somewhat haphazardly laid out some two days’ journey from the hilly country where the prime crops were planted. The scent as we approached was marvellous, wafting from miles away before the trees themselves even came into view. I lay back in my sedan and breathed in. As we got closer the sight was breathtaking—there were acres and acres of flowers—I had never seen anything like it. The blooms from these farms were in their turn dried and added to the final tea to make varieties such as Pekoe and Jasmine, which are both, of course, very popular in England.

‘If I had to pick a job to do out here,’ I said to Robert, as we walked through the banks of jasmine, ‘I would choose to work here.’

When the first tea harvest of the year was finished and the precious leaves processed and packed, Robert had all he needed and our time came to remove. Wang still had not returned from his village and neither had his escorts. The men had now been away from the settlement for more than three weeks and the second crop of leaves was unfolding on the tea plants. The weather was fine and we could see no reason for the delay.

Sing Hoo took to pointing out Wang’s absence by lingering by the window or the doorway as if he was eagerly checking for his rival’s homecoming.

‘Not yet,’ he said, peering into the distance, affecting to be dreadfully troubled and concerned for Wang’s safety.

Robert said nothing, although he had begun checking through what needed to be packed. We would travel
eastwards to the coast now and make for the nearest British port. We wanted to make the journey in the mild weather if possible, rather than once more facing a winter caravan. Organising bearers, transport and the packing of our not inconsiderable baggage could not be achieved in the allotted time by Sing Hoo alone, who, despite both men sharing all the duties we could provide them, was more of a gardener and cook than a logistician. I began to worry that I had jeopardised our mission and that Robert had been right, but there was nothing for it—we simply had to wait.

I passed my time as usefully as I could and while Robert was taken up with the last of his investigations I wandered the outlying areas to see what I could find for myself. High up in the hills, where the tea farms tailed off, one day I found myself at a small dwelling. The layout of it intrigued me—there was a tiny house and much larger outbuilding but no sign of the tea processing that was taking place further down the hill. I knocked on the door but there was no reply so I made my way over to the large shed and, as I approached, I could hear that there was some activity inside.

The farm was peopled by three very elderly ladies who were most perturbed when I came to the door. They shouted at me instead of speaking normally. I reassured them that I was lost and only looking for directions back to the town. Still, one of them tried to shoo me away, waving her hands in the air as if I was a chicken who had strayed. I did not move and glimpsed inside the shed where I saw to my delight that the old women had a press for making oil. This was quite up my street.

‘Will you sell me something to eat, perhaps?’ I asked over the din.

I thought it would engage them, at least. Two of the women were now squabbling over my presence and one
was loudly telling the other off for shouting. I drew a string of
cash
from my pocket that stopped them in their tracks, elicited toothless grins from all three, and sent them scurrying into the house to make rice and tea and even provide some strips of mango.

As I ate at a small table out in the yard, I asked a few idle questions of the sisters. Once they had established I was not a threat, they became quite helpful. They were pressing tea seeds to make oil, they said. Further up the hill a variety of closely related camellia plants grew wild and the old ladies harvested these. The oil was used for cooking and they let me taste a little.

‘Ahhh. My master does not use this oil on his estate. I have not come across it before.’

I bought a flask.

Having, as they saw it, nothing else to sell, two of the women retreated into the shed, bored with me and clearly intent on getting back to work. They left open the door and, I noticed, were employed packing the dry, crushed seeds that had been mangled by the press into rough burlap bags. These they stored at the end of the warehouse.

‘What are they for?’ I pointed, asking the remaining sister who lingered at my side.

‘They buy it down the hill over the winter,’ the old lady explained. ‘For the tea plants. It is good for the soil. They mix, mix, mix and then the next year it makes a good crop.’

Something stirred inside me. This was certainly something Robert could employ.

‘I’ll take a bag of that too,’ I said airily, pulling out my
cash.

That evening I arrived back at the inn with my purchases and breathlessly explained to Robert what I had found. The oil was of less interest, but Robert’s eyes lit up when I opened the small burlap sack and showed him the powdered tea seed.

‘Perhaps it is this that makes the Chinese tea bushes thrive where the Indian plantations have so far been unsuccessful,’ he mused. ‘We never would have found it for we have not been at the tea farms over the winter.’

‘It was only a press,’ I said. ‘Easy enough to manufacture.’

‘Well done, Mary,’ Robert grinned. ‘This is invaluable. Invaluable.’

I am sure I glowed.

As Robert considered our immediate practical plans and the logistics of our caravan, and we waited for Wang’s return, I ran out of little trips of my own and came to linger at the lodging house. Being unoccupied over several days, I soon turned my mind to what was going to happen on the longer term. After all, what was I to do? Our journey would soon be over.

Staying close to the inn, I climbed Wuyi Mountain and surveyed the emerald hills and the tiny town below. I swam wherever I could, enjoying the icy mountain water, cool against my skin. When we arrived back in a British port must I again grow my hair and adopt the life of the respectable, unmarried lady? Would I return to Hong Kong or, as an English woman, travel to India with Robert’s entourage and our beloved plants? Might Robert consent to take me to London and, if so, did I want to accompany him? There was a life for him in Kensington, with his newly-developed trade concerns and the horticultural lectures that would doubtless be demanded of him, but for me the thought of London was intolerable and I was all too aware that back in England I would find myself alone, passing my days reading and staring at the back garden. That is, if William even consented to my presence. To return in secret to the shallows of Drury Lane left me equally as horrified now. Either way it was to be half dead, surely. And I knew my sister would not understand any of it. Indeed, I wondered
if it was because she had everything she desired that she could not see what was now so clear—I needed to fulfil my own nature. For Jane, I thought, it was like how, with a full belly, it is hard to appreciate another person’s hunger. Whereas, to my own mind, I was not bad any more or wild either—I was merely different.

After a week of considering this for myself, I chose to broach the subject with Robert one night over dinner. Sing Hoo had procured some duck and roasted it, serving the aromatic, seared flesh with a delicious, spiced-lychee chutney and wilted greens. We ate slowly, savouring the dish and sipping hot Jasmine tea. Robert murmured with each new mouthful. He had spent the day up on the hill and was duly ravenous. I was taking tiny bites because I did not want to become too full and have to stop eating. Sing Hoo had truly surpassed himself.

‘So. We have triumphed,’ I started.

Robert grinned openly and took his teacup in hand, by way of a toast.

‘Maybe,’ he said, and then, smiling, ‘Almost. We certainly have everything we need—apart from Wang, of course. All that remains is to leave Chinese borders.’

‘A trifling detail!’ I waved my hand.

Joking aside, it is true that neither of us were concerned with this particular journey. After all, we had travelled four times the distance inland that it would take us to get to the British port of Foo Chow Soo on the coast. The terrain was not as rough as the mountains had been or, indeed, an unknown quantity, such as we had encountered when we started our trip. It was still dangerous, of course. We remained in breach of Chinese law and would be on our guard until we left Chinese waters entirely, but we both felt confident that we would make it.

‘In all I have bought over a thousand pounds’ worth of goods and they are all dispatched,’ Robert said. ‘Quite apart from what we have collected for free. I’d say we are well in profit, Mary.’

He had only the day before done his accounts. Although some of the money used to purchase the goods was borrowed, the profits would be grand enough to pay back these debts and still make a tidy sum.

‘And you are for Hong Kong and then to India?’

‘For a short while,’ Robert agreed. ‘Certainly.’

I laid down my chopsticks.

‘And, Robert, what of me?’

There was silence. I had taken him by surprise. Robert tried to speak but no words came. He stumbled. I could not believe that he had not thought of this. Once or twice he raised food to his mouth, but he could not bring himself to eat it. At length he blurted.

‘Well, Mary, it will be up to you, of course.’

I sighed and tried to hide the tears in my eyes.

‘Back in a corset,’ I burbled.

It was not what I wanted, but what else was there? I felt both hopeless and helpless. Robert leant over, offering me his handkerchief to dry my tears.

‘No. No, Mary. We will think of something,’ he tried to comfort me. ‘You have looked after everyone else. Now it is
your
turn.’

‘But what can I do?’ I sniffed.

‘Well, first, I think we must know what you truly desire. For then our plan can as closely resemble your wishes as we can manage. I know you might not like to return to London—but you could. You would be able to lecture at the Royal Society as much as I am, you know. I mean, they will certainly want you to. And I intend to write a memoir of the journey and will need an editor.’

The tears were coming fast now. I did not give a fig for lecturing at the Royal Society or tidying up Robert’s notes. What I wanted was to do this, to travel and adventure while still having a mission. To be free and yet feel worthwhile. I could not manage to say so, however. And besides, I thought it impossible. How could I travel as a mandarin alone? And what would be the point? I would have nothing to do!

In the absence of any real solution Robert disappeared into his room and came back with a hip flask of spirits.

‘I stowed this in Ning-po. It is the last of it,’ he said, tossing out the tea and pouring a measure into the porcelain cups. ‘Now, Mary, we will find you a plan. Never fear. Let’s drink to it.’

I sniffed and put the brandy to my lips. It smelt good and tasted very smooth after a long time of nothing but the occasional dose of rice wine and five grain spirit. I could feel it travelling down my throat and lighting a fire in my belly.

‘Thank you,’ I smiled.

Robert touched my hand. ‘I can’t imagine what it would be like, if you were not…had not accompanied me.’

This, for some reason, made me calm again. Perhaps it was because I knew that he understood what I meant; that is to say, what the journey had meant to me.

After dinner we decided to walk around the town to pass the time and soothe my nerves. We strode out, soon finding ourselves at the very fringes of the place, where the farms spread out from the buildings. At this end of the settlement there was a rough inn, which seemed uncommonly busy that night. The end of the first harvest had seen many of the farm workers paid their first proper wages and the men were out celebrating. In the courtyard there was some kind of cock-fight taking place with gambling on the
outcome. Inside the men were gaming with dice. Spirits were high. Around the bar loose women, wearing red satin with their glossy hair piled up, were plying their business, accepting drinks from the men and, I was sure, taking them upstairs to one of the beds for hire if they would pay for it. It was greatly in contrast to the majesty of the hills, which spread out into the darkness. To one side was all that light and warmth and life, and on the other the majestic, black depth.