The Secret Mandarin. Sara Sheridan

side as he brought his temper under control.

      ‘You try me, Mary,’ he said.

      I hated him horribly but I bit my lip and said nothing. It was clearly fine for Robert to insult Henry, but not acceptable for the same words to be used of him. I comforted myself that this journey would be over soon enough and then I would be free of the tiresome bully. I stalked back out to the carriage and, refusing help, I took my own seat. Robert said not one word the rest of the journey and that was fine by me.

      On the coast it was not raining but it was cold. At Portsmouth we were to stay with Mrs Gordon. Jane had written and reserved the rooms. All being well with the weather, we had a night to wait. Jane had thought we would prefer to spend the time on land together rather than make our way to separate cabins. This was a treat that I had not been accorded before William’s money came to bear. I regretted the arrangement, but now we had arrived there was nothing else for it.

      Mrs Gordon’s house was on a busy side street close to the docks. At the front door, I dismounted and was welcomed by our cheery landlady, a fat woman wearing a plum-coloured day dress that set off the copper hair beneath her starched white cap.

      ‘Come in, ma’am, sir,’ she smiled. ‘I am Mrs Gordon and you will be Mr Fortune and Miss Penney, I’ll be bound,’ and she swept us inside on a tide of efficient courtesy.

      The house was clean and comfortable and smelled pleasantly of sage and lavender. In the generous, wood-panelled hallway Mrs Gordon ushered our luggage into place and told us the arrangements for dinner.

      ‘Your rooms are the two on the left at the top of the stairs. They overlook the street,’ she informed us. We were set to ascend when a door opened and a cross-looking lady emerged from the drawing room with her husband. Mrs Gordon introduced them as the Hunters.

      Mrs Hunter fiddled with a chain around her neck. She reminded me of a dog playing with its tail, the links twisting round her fingers never quite satisfying her, the amethyst and pearl locket constantly out of reach.

      She inspected me plainly while Mrs Gordon introduced us.

      ‘We are off to inspect the Filigree before it gets dark,’ she said. ‘We sail tomorrow.’

      ‘You will be my shipmate, then, Mrs Hunter,’ I smiled.

      ‘How nice. What takes you to Calcutta?’

      Behind me, Robert froze.

      ‘I will visit relations,’ I lied smoothly, aware of his eyes on me. ‘And my brother here is to board the Braganza.’

      Mr Hunter nodded towards Robert. ‘Well now, you must envy your sister, Mr Fortune. Hong Kong is no match for the delights of India.’

      This topic was no better for Robert than that of my reasons for going to Calcutta. The East India Company did not wish his mission to be common knowledge. I realised my mistake and tried to divert the conversation. This chance encounter was rapidly becoming unexpectedly difficult.

      ‘So you have been to India already?’ I attempted.

      The Hunters giggled good naturedly as if I had said something particularly amusing.

      ‘Half our lives,’ Mr Hunter replied. ‘Is it your first voyage to the East, ma’am?’

      I shook my head. ‘This time I hope to arrive, though.’

      ‘It was you who survived the Regatta? Oh my,’ Mrs Hunter’s voice rose, ‘how exciting! Freddy, Miss Penney shall be our lucky charm. No one has ever gone down twice! You must wish very much to visit your relations. What are their names? Perhaps we are acquainted.’

      Myself, I would have concocted a name, but before I could answer, Robert cut in, unable to bear it any longer.

      ‘Mary will marry in India,’ he barked, staring pointedly at Mrs Hunter. ‘There is no more to tell.’

      My cheeks burned with discomfort and quickly the Hunters excused themselves and hurried out of the front door. Such rudeness was entirely unnecessary and I rounded on Robert as the door closed behind them.

      ‘Did you think I would be able to embarrass you halfway across the world?’ I snapped, though in truth I pitied him. The poor man would never be free of himself. He pushed me forward a little to escort me upstairs, past the trunks that were now piled on the landing—ours and the Hunters’. He could scarcely wait to stow me away.

      ‘I have enough to think of, Mary. You and your bastard child are the least of my worries.’

      That settled it—I had had enough. Incensed, I turned on him and as I did I saw a cricket bat piled up among Mr Hunter’s things. I grabbed it.

      ‘How dare you?’ I raised the bat, furiously swiping as hard as I could. ‘You pompous, self-important, short-sighted fool!’ I lost my temper.

      Robert backed downstairs, away from my blows and nonchalantly and with his hackles down, easily wrestled the bat from my hands, tripping me up so that I landed with a thump on the thin carpet. The man was all muscle. My blood boiled even further.

      ‘You must rest, Mary. You leave tomorrow,’ he said coolly to dismiss me.

      I scrambled to my feet and, disarmed and furious, I ran to the first room, slamming the door behind me. There were tears in my eyes. I cursed Robert as I sank onto the bed. How dare he? After a minute there was a soft knock at the door. I threw a pillow at it.

      ‘Go to hell, Robert,’ I said.

      I thought he surely must regret behaving so callously but when the door opened it was the ample figure of Mrs Gordon that entered.

      ‘Now,’ she said, her tone comforting and motherly, ‘here is some arnica cream, Miss Penney. My guess is that fall will leave a fine bruise.’

      ‘Thank you,’ I sniffed.

      Jane had picked our lodgings well. Mrs Gordon’s kindness only provoked me to cry more. I was in a torment of anger and humiliation. I felt like hammering the mattress with my fists.

      ‘Some polka you danced there with your brother,’ Mrs Gordon remarked. ‘I keep an orderly establishment as a rule. But,’ she smirked, ‘the look on his face when you took up that bat has me inclined to allow you to stay the night.’

      I had no idea we had been seen.

      ‘I am glad to be gone tomorrow,’ I snivelled.

      Mrs Gordon nodded. ‘Perhaps I will see to it that you have dinner in your room. I shall send the girl with a tray at seven.’

      ‘Thank you,’ I sniffed as she helped me unhook myself and I smoothed on the cream.

      That night I dreamt of my dressing room at the theatre. I was drawn back vividly to everything I was leaving behind. I could smell the jars of rouge. The broken handle on my dressing table had not been fixed. There was a door in the corner that led to dark rooms, new places beyond the scope of backstage. There were fur rugs and long benches padded with comfortable cushions, and the wax had burnt very low so the flames flickered, lending the dimmest glow to the endless labyrinth of windowless rooms. The place had the air of a funfair with a dark helter skelter in one corner and a Punch and Judy show too. And somewhere I knew there was a baby, but I could not find him. I dreamt of myself wandering, tormented, searching and moving on. Leaving Henry had disturbed me.

      When I woke after this restless sleep it was already light. I shook off my misgivings and dressed for breakfast. Downstairs, Robert was just finishing. He drained his glass. I wished him a good morning and slipped uncomfortably into a seat. It transpired that the Hunters had gone to church early. St Peter’s held special services for travellers about to embark and my shipmates were, it seemed, of a pious disposition. It would be awkward now but I would do my best to befriend them once we were underway. It was a long voyage, after all.

      In silence, I sipped some cocoa and nibbled on a slice of bread. Outside the little window the weather was perfect for getting off. The dockside was