The Secret Mandarin. Sara Sheridan

had evidently left and Robert had retired to his study. He arrived in the kitchen seconds after the maid had bid him and his eyes lit up when I explained where Wang came from. He was so excited that thankfully he did not mention his friend, rebuke my coldness or tell me, as he had become accustomed to, that I really must play the hostess more. Instead he asked Wang a series of questions that he fired like bullets. Wang answered slowly. He knew how to grow tea and how to dry it. He had made black tea but preferred to drink green. Bohea was hilly and the best way to travel in the province was by sedan chair. By the end of the conversation Robert had engaged Wang for his trip. Like Sing Hoo, despite the obvious dangers, Wang was tempted by the money, and, of course, at first he did not fully understand the import of what Robert was to do. While principally interested in tea, Robert asked general questions about geography and did not concentrate overly on the tea plantations that were his real prize. Neither Wang nor Sing Hoo were to know for some time that Robert had their country’s main export in his sights. Meanwhile the man nodded furiously and beamed whenever Robert spoke, for he had been engaged at a monthly rate two times what he might expect in the normal run of things. His information about Bohea would prove invaluable.

      ‘Well done, Mary,’ Robert pronounced and disappeared upstairs once more.

      Sing Hoo and Wang did not take to each other. From the beginning it was clear they were constitutionally opposed. At first I wondered if the natives of Bohea and Hwuy-chow were generally at odds, like supporters of opposing teams, but this was not the case. The men simply disliked each other on sight. I think their rivalry was not helped by the fact that Robert could not tell them apart. While their facial features and general size was similar, I have to say they were not indistinguishable by any means. Sing Hoo was a good ten years the senior for a start. Robert simply did not appear to see this or any other difference and clearly felt they were unimportant in any case as long as one or the other did his bidding.

      The last few days in Hong Kong were punctuated by bickering between the men that degenerated rapidly into sly punches, nips and kicks whenever they could manage.

      ‘I do not fancy a year’s wanderings with those two,’ I jested to Robert. ‘They will kill each other in a month.’

      Robert was unperturbed. ‘Servants,’ he said vaguely, as if the other staff could regularly be seen punching each other and the enmity between the men was perfectly normal.

      Supplies for the trip were piled high in the hallway. Robert had procured a gun, a stove, a tent, a trunk of goods for barter as well as Chinese currency. This last was a strange-looking collection of coins that he secreted in the internal pockets of his coat, in the hollow heels of his shoes, in the false bottoms of his travelling trunks, and sewed into the hems of his trousers. The large coins were silver. The smaller, bronze coins were called cash. They had holes through the centre and came strung together.

      During his time in Hong Kong Robert had bought goods to be sent home and sold. There were ten inlaid chests, several bales of embroidered fabric, sundry porcelain items and a selection of carved ivory and mother-of-pearl fan sticks. He split this consignment in two and organised transport back to London on separate ships to halve his risk. It would be sold for a profit at auction before he returned and provide Jane with a nest egg.

      ‘It will be cheaper still in the interior,’ he said gleefully. ‘I shall send more from there. This is only the start.’

      I admired Robert’s tenacity and determination in Hong Kong. He had arrived with only an outline plan and had succeeded in filling it in great detail. He organised the trip in the three weeks allotted, set up a line of credit for his export plans and tried his best to see me settled. It was to his mind the honourable thing to do and I was glad that we were settled on friendlier terms than on the Braganza. Sometimes in the evenings we talked nostalgically of England as if we had been away for years rather than months. As if we were friends rather than enemies. I have to admit it was pleasant to have such society once more, albeit with a man I scarcely ever agreed with. We came to an uneasy truce, putting the journey to Hong Kong behind us and, in the face of his departure, I found some real forgiveness within me at last.

      Still, it was not all easy. Twice more he brought elderly men to the house to peruse me despite my evident unwillingness to participate in this activity. He mentioned to everyone he met that I required some form of employment. One or two families offered positions teaching English to their young children. Among those brought up by Chinese nursemaids some had started speaking Cantonese more than English. The horrified parents sought to redress the balance. Robert accepted both positions on my behalf. Two visits a week would hardly keep me but it was, he pointed out, ‘necessary to have something, Mary’. The money might, I thought, go at least halfway. The fact I had little interest in other people’s children was neither here nor there. Robert also took lodgings on my behalf and paid six months in advance. The rooms were fine but I could not see how I was going to afford them beyond the allotted time. There was little to employ a lady on the island and if I was going to survive on the longer term I would have to capitulate a very great deal. I wondered how far my credit might extend, given that Robert was set to return and could be relied on to settle my debts. I had no idea how long as a white woman I might last in the shanty, if it came to that, and, if the worst came to the worst, how I was ever to afford my passage back to London if I did not even have enough money to pay rent.

      ‘Perhaps,’ I said to Robert one evening after dinner, ‘I shall export. I could pick out things myself. I have a good eye. I could charter a ship and send goods to auction in London.’

      Robert laughed.

      ‘But you have done it…’ I started.

      Robert held up his hand to prevent any further discussion.

      ‘You are a woman,’ he said and downed his drink. ‘It is not done.’

      He was right. I had a notion that over the several thousand miles I could conceal my identity so the merchant in London would not know. That somehow I would manage it. They would know, of course, in Hong Kong.

      ‘You may teach,’ said Robert. ‘You may keep books, perhaps. Something will turn up if you are willing.’

      ‘I could perform,’ I countered.

      ‘For God’s sake,’ Robert exploded. ‘Will you never stop?’

      He had done everything he could. I realised I must have tried him horribly. Robert was fulfilling his lifelong desire to make his fortune. I was far from realising any of my dreams. I told myself that I must keep my eyes open. There had to be something—surely the choice was not between a decrepit husband of advancing years or a bookkeeper’s role.

      ‘Is this where I am meant to be?’ I thought to myself. A drawing-room lady in a remote colony. A spinster. As good as invisible.

      ‘What is the point of travelling so far in order to become so small? I am not a teacher, Robert. I am not a convenient wife for some old soul you might meet in planning your excursions. I want to be myself .’

      Robert’s face wore an expression as if he had tasted sour milk.

      ‘Yourself,’ he echoed. ‘There is no place anywhere I know for yourself, Mary. It is pure indulgence.’

      ‘I like Hong Kong,’ I said.

      ‘Good, good.’ He was not listening.

      ‘But I have nothing worthwhile to do here.’

      I had written letters to Jane all the way from Cape Town though I had not included the truth about the cabin boy and Barraclough or, for that matter, her husband. Instead they were full of my observations from the deck of the ship, details of exotic and unusual foodstuffs and lively questions about Henry. I had not dispatched one of them. Robert had forwarded a single short missive telling his wife we were well and had arrived thus far. I found myself unable to communicate with my sister, probably for the first time in my life. The truth was that I was afraid, I missed my son and I felt truly lost to the world. I could not tell her any of that.

      Robert was, as ever, unperturbed. While brief in his writings to the family, he had regularly