The Secret Mandarin. Sara Sheridan

me, ma’am,’ they said, tipping their caps as they passed me, acknowledging my existence for the first time since I came on board.

      No one mentioned the rope that bound me or even looked at it and I tried not to dwell on what Robert had done though I was furious with him.

      Robert had written to my sister and now at length I saw her name on a packet that was passed down to the dockside. As it passed me by, I felt sad that Jane would know I had been caught trying to get away. She always worried so, as if the spectre of our father might be waiting in the wings to punish any wrongdoing. I did not wish to add my own missive home. I could think of no words that would calm her. Robert, I surmised, would make a better job of that. My apology could wait. Had he told her, by postscript, I wondered, that he had tethered me to the ship? That he had confined me by force? That in a matter of weeks he had struck me, kidnapped me, bound me and bullied me? He had a fire in his belly that belied his bookish existence in London—how could my sister have married such a brute? But then I could not be sure whether Jane would be more horrified by my behaviour in sneaking off the Filigree or her husband’s in press-ganging me to his own voyage.

      All in all, I was left for four hours tied to the deck that day in Tenerife. My wrists were as painful as my furious heart as I tried and failed to loosen the bonds. When we sailed away from the port at last, heading back to sea, I watched the yellow houses on the dockside recede until they were only tiny pinpricks on the blue horizon—a final goodbye to all that was even vaguely familiar. The coast of Africa lay ahead.

      When Robert came to cut me free my body tightened with fear and anger. God knows what he might do next. I said nothing, only regarded him with clear disdain and held his gaze defiantly as he removed the ropes. Still he did not speak, only stood back to let me return to my cabin.

      Over the following week Robert maintained his silence. Whenever I saw him he was tending his plants. Glass cases like huge trunks had been bolted into the deck. He watched over them devotedly, like a child with a fallen fledgling. And they thrived. As the weather became warmer he appeared to relax. He worked without a jacket, or when he was not working he sometimes sat reading. The day he first said something to me it was a week since the ship had pulled out of the Canaries. I had taken to walking the deck for an hour each morning, as there were gulls and jumping fish to watch where we followed the coastline.

      ‘These Ward’s cases have done well,’ he said as I passed him on my way down the deck.

      There was no sign of viciousness in his voice. It was as if we were in the habit of passing our time chattering to each other and this casual comment was not a landmark—he sounded just as he used to in the drawing room at Gilston Road. For a moment I found it difficult to comprehend that Robert had spoken to me at all and I was not sure how best to reply.

      ‘Ward’s cases,’ Robert repeated, tapping the top of the glass box.

      I could see out of the corner of my eye the cabin boy stop coiling rope and silently watch us. The child was the only person on board who routinely acknowledged my presence. He never spoke but always nodded in recognition when I passed him and was often sent to deliver my tray. One time I had offered him a scrap of cloth to bind a cut on his arm, but he had fled from my cabin in terror. It made me wonder what reputation I had been afforded among the crew. Robert sat down on the deck and continued.

      ‘At first I was troubled by weeds. But what I realised, Mary, is that if unwanted seed can germinate on board so can wanted ones. On the way home I shall try it. I shall embark with bags of seed and arrive with saleable seedlings worth a great deal more.’

      He poked his trowel at a bougainvillea plant he had brought on board. The flowers were a beautiful, deep pink. They bloomed in abundance all over the wiry stems. Robert picked one and passed it to me.

      ‘Robert, you know that you have bullied me half to death,’ I accused him. I was not that easy. ‘And you seem to expect simply to take up normal society. I am angry.’

      I held the flower in my hand.

      ‘Yes,’ he said, a slight tremor in his voice. ‘I am angry too, Mary. You lied. You did not keep our agreement. But we are beyond Europe and there is no point in argument now and every point in coming to terms.’

      ‘No apology then,’ I suggested.

      Robert’s body became tense at once and he leant forward, his voice too low for anyone else to hear. I think he wanted to strike me, but he was holding himself back.

      ‘And did you apologise? You are headstrong, Mary Penney. You simply do whatever you please. I took in your son for Jane’s sake but that lodging did not come free of charge. If you leave he will be recognised a Duke’s grandson, one day a Duke’s son, too, with a title of his own. Don’t you want that for him? For us all? And I catch you in Portsmouth and your ship has sailed. Come now.’

      I bit my tongue but I am sure my eyes flashed with fury.

      ‘Think on it,’ he said. ‘I have done what’s best for the boy.’

      And he returned to his work as I stalked away. He had a point, of course, God damn him. I knew he did.

      In my cabin, I placed Robert’s flower in a tiny glass of water on my bedside table. It was the brightest thing I owned by far.

      That night, after dinner, I took my life in my hands and crossed the deck to Robert’s cabin. The weather had become hotter and I was uncomfortable despite the breeze. My only sleeveless gown was of a pale eau de nil tulle. I coiled my hair in the French style to keep it off my shoulders. I had come to try for a peace. Some kind of resolution. Robert was right—there was no point in quarrelling so far from home though it was difficult to quell the anger in me. I paused a moment, took a deep breath and then knocked.

      ‘Come in.’

      Inside, lit by two oil lamps, Robert was surrounded by his books. He stuck stringently to his suits the whole voyage and was still wearing evening dress, having dined earlier with the captain. His face was dark from the sun and lines of paler skin showed at his wrists. If he was surprised to see me he showed no sign of it.

      ‘Mary,’ he said. ‘Can I offer you…’he gestured towards a decanter on the side table.

      I shook my head.

      ‘Robert,’ I started with my heart pounding, ‘I have come to ask you, where am I heading? You have kidnapped me and I don’t have a clue of your plans.’

      ‘I had no choice, Mary,’ he started his defence.

      My fingers quivered. I did not intend to fight with him—that would not get me what I wanted and I knew now that he would simply force me to do whatever he decided was best. Straining against my instincts, I stepped further into the room and shut the door behind me.

      ‘You were probably right,’ I conceded. ‘I had promised to leave. Only that fellow Hunter recognised me. He threatened me and I walked off the ship. He wanted…relations I was not prepared to accord. And now, Robert, I merely want to know where I am going and when I might get there.’

      Robert shifted uncomfortably before he replied.

      ‘Oh, Mary. I had no idea that man had…’

      ‘It doesn’t matter,’ I said miserably. ‘You are right in that I intended to stay in England and I should not have done so.’

      I waited momentarily and Robert nodded, clearly deciding that I was at least rational.

      ‘The captain’s plan is to dock somewhere on the western side of the Indian continent but he told me he must consider weather conditions to the other side of Africa before he can be sure.’ Robert jerked his head to the left indicating the general direction of the land mass. ‘It is only then he will make his judgement where we will port.’

      ‘Will you leave me there?’ I asked plainly.

      My hands were still quivering.

      ‘We are bound for Hong Kong,’ he said quietly. ‘I have paid your passage.’