The Secret Mandarin. Sara Sheridan

paid our bill.

      ‘I will escort you to the Filigree,’ he said. ‘I promised Jane I would make sure you were safely aboard. I have sent the luggage.’

      I felt like a schoolgirl, but there was no point in arguing.

      ‘Lead on,’ I replied, falling into step along the cobbles of the sea front. I told myself it would be fine. I was set to try. Perhaps India would be wonderful and I would lead a life of exotic adventure in the Raj. Shortly, we came to a halt at the ship, right under the name, emblazoned in white above our heads. Robert gave me my passage money. I squared up to him and held out my hand.

      ‘I know you only want rid of me. You might not believe it but I wish you the best, Robert. Come home safe and wealthy from your adventures.’

      Robert peered at my hand and then reached out to take it.

      ‘Goodbye, Mary,’ he said. ‘It seems unlikely we will meet again.’

      He did not stay to watch me up the gangplank. I held the railing studiously. William’s money had secured a more expensive passage for me this time. The ship was bigger than the Regatta and well finished. Mostly she was laid out to cabins. Up the other gangplank they were loading boxes and casks—the final supplies for the voyage. I stood at the top of the plank and with some satisfaction, my gaze followed the figure of Robert as he made his way towards the Braganza and disappeared into the throng of bobbing heads.

      ‘Well,’ I thought, ‘at least I am on my own reconnaissance now. I shall find my cabin.’

      I drew myself up and turned to face the deck, and my future.

      This resolve, however, did not last me thirty seconds for I had no sooner moved than Mr Hunter appeared from a doorway near the poop deck.

      ‘Miss Penney,’ he greeted me curtly.

      I nodded back, at a loss how to explain Robert’s poor behaviour the day before. Mr Hunter, however, showed no sign of discomfort at all.

      ‘I have come to check our cabin. Clara will follow me shortly. Perhaps I could help you to yours?’ He took my arm.

      For one moment I thought perhaps it would be fine, and then my blood ran cold as Mr Hunter placed his free hand on my waist, coming too near to whisper:

      ‘I realised last night that your face was familiar. No one on this ship or indeed in Calcutta need know, Miss Penney, of your particular talents or your misfortune.’

      I pulled back. Would I never be free of the reputation afforded me in those damn scandal sheets?

      ‘We can come to some arrangement, my dear. I did not expect you to be childish.’ The blaggard pushed up against me so that I could smell the tobacco on his skin and the claret on his breath. His contemptible intentions were all too clear.

      ‘Would Mrs Hunter find it childish?’ I challenged him.

      ‘A man being married never troubled you before as I understand it.’

      ‘I can find my own cabin, thank you,’ I retorted and turned away, catching the sneer he gave me, the half-muttered threat under his breath.

      ‘You don’t have a choice, you harlot.’

      Robert, it occurred to me, would probably agree with him. For that matter so would William. I was fair game.

      But there on the deck, quite suddenly I found that I did have a choice. I did not have the choice I wanted, of course, but that was by the by. In a flash I realised that if I was to be labelled with my shame and preyed upon wherever I went, then why should I go anywhere? Especially not on William’s say-so or indeed, Robert’s. Damn them all, why should I do what they say? It was for Henry’s welfare, certainly, but then who was to know if I didn’t embark? Who was to berate me or penalise him? In fact, the only thing that mattered was that William wouldn’t find out. Robert would be gone, I reasoned. Jane hardly left the house and certainly never went as far as Drury Lane. I had lost my family whether I went to Calcutta or not and I was never expected to return. I had tried to come back and it had not worked out as I had hoped. Now I might as well make myself happy, or as happy as I could be. I would not be subjected to Mr Hunter’s odious desires. Why should I?

      Once the idea presented itself I was taken. My heart fluttering with anticipation, I climbed the steps to the poop deck without a word, leaving Mr Hunter behind me. Above, the captain was not at his post but the first officer presented himself. I had made the decision.

      ‘Take my trunk off,’ I said. ‘I will not be sailing today.’

      ‘But Miss Penney, your passage is part-paid. We cannot wait for you.’

      ‘I am not going,’ I said very definitely. ‘Keep the money.’

      Mr Hunter had left the deck when we came back down. No doubt he thought he had the whole voyage to prowl me. I watched as my trunk was carried off and I paid tuppence to have it taken back to Mrs Gordon’s. A plan was taking shape, even as I walked away from the Filigree and all my good intentions. I could pitch up in London and use a different name. I had always wanted to be named Georgiana. The more I thought of it, the better it seemed. Would William even recognise me, I wondered, if I changed my name and my appearance? Dyed my hair darker with the walnut, plucked my eyebrows thin and wore an old-fashioned mole? I would disappear into the world of London’s theatres. Better for me to stay in England surely, than go to Calcutta. Why should I be banished when I was not the one who had broken my word? I had tried what they wanted, now I would make my own way and best of all they never need know.

      Fired up, I cut along the dock, avoiding the Braganza, and walked uphill towards Mrs Gordon’s. With luck I could take the public coach back to London the following morning and have, if not everything, at least some chance of happiness. I would be in Shaftesbury Avenue in time for the evening shows. I still had friends there, people I could call on easily and who would welcome me back with a role if I wanted it. They would keep my secret, I knew, for Drury Lane is full of confidences and cover-ups and its residents are adept at their workings. Quite suddenly I felt exhilarated. I had been so cooped up that even walking alone along the narrow streets was an adventure and now here I was unexpectedly at the start of a new career. Another twist in my life prompted by a damn blaggard, I reflected, but still this felt good.

      ‘I shall call myself Georgiana Grace,’ I decided. It had a ring to it. Oh, yes, I would dine well at Mrs Gordon’s house and, better still, I’d play Rosalind yet.

      I rapped on Mrs Gordon’s door and the maid answered. The trunk had followed me up and was now deposited in the otherwise empty hallway. Mrs Gordon hurried down from her chamber and I made my requests, checked the Hunters were now gone and, paying one night’s lodgings, I settled by the fire with a bottle of burgundy to myself, a plate of cheese and some bread.

      ‘I do not wish to be disturbed,’ I said and Mrs Gordon asked me no questions. It occurred to me in any case that she was the kind of person who knew the answer before the question was posed.

      ‘The London coach leaves at nine tomorrow. I’ll have the maid rouse you with time to spare,’ she said.

      I ate, read and daydreamed. I thought perhaps that after some months had passed I might manage to see Henry in the park. I could walk there when Nanny Charlotte was sure to be taking the children out and I could keep my distance, but watch him nonetheless—see him grow up a little. The loss of Henry was at the heart of me and while I knew I would never see my sister again—that simply was not possible—perhaps, I hoped, I might be able to keep an eye on my son. The more I thought of it the more I liked my plan. At length the Filigree sailed and when it was gone, and I could no longer change my mind, I felt freedom beyond measure and I decided to take an afternoon stroll. The weather was fine and I was eager. I pulled on my gloves, checked my hat in the glass and set out to work up an appetite for my evening meal.

      I wonder often what might have happened had I not left Mrs Gordon’s that afternoon. I wonder what might have happened had the Braganza set sail an hour or two before she did. For I had made my