The Secret Mandarin. Sara Sheridan

would appear in print whenever they happened to arrive in England. Should my sister wish to see what her husband had been occupied with some five months out of time she need only subscribe to the periodical for his views on exotic blooms, ferns, palms and unusual fruits and vegetables.

      It was this that held up Robert’s departure by two days, for he was committed to sending copy and in his rush to prepare for the journey had not done so. Hong Kong had proved a font of horticultural excitement and Robert paced the drawing room as he attempted to edit the weeks’ experiences down to a page or two. Plants were not a subject about which he was naturally abrupt, and he had some difficulty. In the end he settled upon providing material for two columns—one on the subject of Hong Kong’s indigenous flora and fauna and another on the cultivation of imported species. Many of these had been brought recently to the island by our new friends and reared from seed.

      I made myself scarce. The prospect of Robert’s departure unsettled me. He would sail to Amoy first, via Namoa. I had traced his route on the map. I knew the flat paper was deceptive. What was a finger or two’s width could take weeks to traverse and once on the mainland the overland route would be arduous. Robert was not set to return to Hong Kong for at least a year and I would be alone. He was the only person in a thousand miles who knew me or had my interests (or so he thought) to heart. I felt hemmed in by my homesickness and fear—the trepidation of not knowing what was to become of me and the sinking feeling that I was between the devil and the deep blue sea. In all likelihood there was no way forward that was in the least appealing. Though Robert and I were settled on friendlier terms, it surprised me now to realise that I was going to miss him. The truth was that I would by far have preferred to stay with my brother-in-law for all his faults than take on any of the ancient worthies he had lined up as my suitors.

      I decided to sit in the garden. A long pagoda had been erected on the lawn and it afforded a good deal of shade. I set aside my worries and instead decided to try once more to write to Jane. It was difficult to know what to say but before Robert left I was determined to send her something. There was no option but to square with her what had happened but whenever I sought to write it down I knew my sister’s reaction would be so horror-stricken that I was inhibited. After an hour I had merely three lines.

       Dearest Jane

       I have arrived in Hong Kong. Here Robert can keep a close eye on me. I have taken a teaching position. The island is lovely although malaria is rife. I am trying hard. My dear, I am so sorry, to have let you down once more. Please forgive me.

      I laid down my pen. On the Regatta I had written pages posted home from each port en route. Missives arrived from exotic locations at least twice after my family thought I was drowned. I had committed every thought to paper. Now I felt I had nothing to say. At least, nothing pleasing. I was being abandoned on this rock, left to fare for myself. There were no doubt far fewer single men here than in Calcutta and little employment to speak of. In two days Robert would be gone. I was acutely aware that there was no middle way that was acceptable both to my family and to me. Something would have to give.

      That evening we ate at the Governor’s mansion. The hallway was splendid with candles. I wore my shoulder-less evening gown and the sheen of the material came to life in the glow.

      ‘My dear,’ a lady resplendent in a carved jade necklace that matched her intricate bodice said to me, ‘your brother is leaving. You must be very proud. But will you manage alone?’

      I smiled. ‘We each have our adventure,’ I said. ‘He has taken rooms for me but I must find something to do.’

      It was not the answer she had expected and I think she did not know what to make of me. I had been supposed to simply say I would miss him but that I would be fine. I had never had an appetite for glossing over such things and I was unsure how to develop one.

      We had ten courses for dinner, and afterwards withdrew to hear Miss Pottinger, the Governor’s niece, play the piano. It was a lovely night. The mansion had been ransacked some months before but the insurgence was quelled and every piece of looted finery replaced. Our people in the colonies lived daily with such things. No one seemed to find it alarming.

      As his niece stepped down from the piano, Sir Henry rose. ‘Who shall be next?’ he asked. ‘Miss Penney?’

      He said this teasingly, no doubt expecting me to blush and giggle—Fortune’s quiet sister-in-law, all set to disappear. However, I rose to his challenge. I was in the humour for it.

      ‘I cannot play the piano, sir. Certainly not. But I can