The Secret Mandarin. Sara Sheridan

bony and eager they watched me as I passed. Their children, fingers twitching, all set to cut my purse should the chance arise, the bolder ones circling at a safe distance like birds round a fishing boat, ready to swoop. With my heart racing at the thrill of my proximity to something so foreign and dangerous, I hovered only on the fringes of their territory, never entering the fetid shanty town itself. I peered down the narrow, hot streets that ran with stinking, steaming excrement over the beaten earth and came as close as I could. It was like holding an entrancing but venomous snake that might strike at any moment. I was fascinated, but I kept it at arm’s length.

      It was on one of my expeditions I encountered Wang. Abandoning my attraction to the shanty for the day, I had decided to hike up the hill to take in the view of the bay. It was a difficult climb with only a muddy pebble track but I was sure it would be worth the effort. The top of the Peak was very high and the outlook undoubtedly spectacular. Robert had gone to the other side of the island to sell some of his plants and had no need for or interest in my company. After lunch I set off with only a flask of boiled water to sustain me.

      I started fine. The road was not too steep but as I climbed higher the gradient increased dramatically. I was not a third of the way up when I decided that this was not an expedition for a solitary lady. My boots stung and I was perspiring furiously. I found a large rock to lean against and sipped the water.

      ‘I had best go down,’ I thought.

      I did not want to be beaten by the hill, however, and I resolved to try again another day with more appropriate footwear and stays less closely bound. The view was already opening out. To the west I could see smoke rising from a thousand cooking fires down in the grubby settlement and ant-like figures moving along the makeshift alleyways. Every one of them appeared to carry a parcel of some kind either bound to their backs or carried in front. I would come back, I decided to enjoy this view again, and climb even higher.

      The air had been thick all day. Close to the sea my guess was that a refreshing breeze might come off the water, but the weather defied such expectations. We were not in Europe any more. Now, within seconds, a tropical rain shower broke. I pulled myself under a large, flat-leafed tree but it did not afford much protection. My skirt was soaked immediately and I watched horrified as the path I had followed up the hill flooded into a muddy morass and the pebbles that had helped me to keep my foothold became as slippery as polished glass. I had been gone from the lodgings less than an hour. Getting back was going to take far longer.

      In the midst of this I saw large branches suddenly thrashing beside the path, as some creature made its way through. I glanced round frantically, calculating where I could run. My first emotion was a reserved relief when it was a man who emerged. His loose trousers and coolie shirt were thoroughly soaked and a brace of dead pigeons was slung over his shoulder. He was as startled to see me as I was to see him. It cannot have been common to come upon a muddy white woman underneath the dripping trees. I backed away, noticing a sheathed knife slung through a scarf of material binding his waist. There was no one around for at least a mile. My breathing became shallow as I contemplated bolting despite the treacherous path ahead.

      Then Wang said something in Chinese. I did not understand so he pointed first at me and then down the hill, motioning me to follow. He smiled a brown-toothed grin and did not make for his knife. I weighed it up for a moment and, heart in my hands, I decided to go. Getting down by myself would be too difficult.

      Far more slowly than he would have made the journey without me, I am sure, we picked our way through the trees. It was the natural way to descend the slope when it was so wet. Roots bound the earth together and there were branches to hold. But the jungle was very overgrown and if you did not have your bearings it was easy to get lost. Wang led me sure-footedly down. We emerged near the town.

      ‘Um goi,’ I said. Thank you.

      He seemed so competent I doubted he was hungry but he had done me a good turn and I wanted to reward him. I motioned him to come with me this time. Back at the house I could give him a coin or two. Now we were in the city he walked behind, the sodden game still over his shoulder, splashing whenever it hit his body. The pigeons were as effective as sponges.

      ‘This way,’ I said.

      By the time we entered the front door Robert had returned. He strode out of the drawing room in a bad temper.

      ‘Where in the devil have you been?’ he snapped. ‘Look at you.’

      ‘This man brought me home through the storm,’ I explained.

      Robert fumbled in his pocket, gave Wang a small coin and directed him to the kitchen for some food.

      ‘I think I shall go up,’ I said.

      It was odd Robert had not pushed me for an explanation of where I had been or exacted any kind of punishment—it was not like him when his blood was up. But, as I alighted the first step, I could see the reason. There was a figure in the drawing room. An old man. He inclined his head and came to the door.

      ‘This the girl?’

      Robert nodded.

      ‘Yes, my sister-in-law, Mary. Rather overtaken by the weather,’ he said.

      My stomach turned over so fast my kidneys felt as if they had been hit. Robert was plotting. The old man eyed me avariciously. Even in the heat my fingers drained ice cold.

      ‘Well, my dear, you have settled upon Hong Kong, then?’ he said. His teeth were yellowing and his thin lips seemed almost blue-grey. He was seventy, this fellow, if he was a day.

      ‘I must get changed,’ I replied coldly and walked up to my room.

      I would rather be a spinster than be sold off, traded in, whatever they might call it. I had lost all my trust after William and the world of love and marriage was no longer somewhere I wished to travel. Marriage carried with it a long list of things I could not, should not do. Some say once you’re married you can do as you please but that isn’t true if you marry someone who wilfully restricts you. You have a great deal less control over a man’s life than he has over yours. I began to look on Robert’s plans for me as if they were some kind of unhealthy obsession on his part. I knew that he had good intentions. He wanted a rich husband to support me. In Hong Kong I must make my living and the pickings for a woman on her own were slim. Robert would leave me with a little money, of course, and I might find a job that would earn a meagre keep, but the drop here if I did not marry was no less than it would have been in London. I tried to ignore this.

      Once I had dressed I sneaked down to the kitchen. Wang was still there, eating noodle soup from a bowl. Between ugly, gulped mouthfuls, he asked a question in Cantonese and the maid rebuked him.

      ‘What did he say?’ I asked.

      The girl had good enough English.

      ‘Stupid man. He ask if you have seen the ship that sails without wind. No such thing.’

      ‘I have seen it. A steam ship. The Sirius.‘

      ‘He wants to work on this ship.’

      ‘Tell him it is in London—a long way from here.’

      Wang continued to eat and as my words were relayed he barely stopped long enough to laugh.

      ‘He come from inland,’ the girl motioned. ‘No good sailor anyway. From Bohea.’

      ‘Bohea?’ I said gleefully. What a stroke of good luck—this was Robert’s other tea country. The home of black tea.

      ‘Fetch the master,’ I directed. ‘Bring him now.’

      Much to the maid’s displeasure I picked up a spoon and tasted the noodle soup from the pot that still lay hot beside the range. Unlike us, the servants ate exotic fare. There were noodles and dumplings, chickens’ feet and rice. The cook made a plum sauce that was delicious. The plums were delivered fragrant, still ripening on the bough. They smelt enticing. Unlike the mangoes and bamboo shoots, the melons and fresh ginger, they reminded me of home.

      ‘Fetch him,’ I motioned to her, ignoring her