The Palace of Heavenly Pleasure (109 page)

‘That's our mission,' said Brown proudly. ‘See the church? Gothic. Designed it myself. It's lovely, isn't it? We'll stop off at the hospital if Mr Lu doesn't mind and I'll introduce you to the Airtons. Don't worry. I'll come with you into town afterwards and see you settled into your hotel.'

The Airtons were not in the hospital. Zhang Erhao, the man whom Brown had said had been a Boxer, met them at the gate of the neat brick complex of two-storey buildings—the roof tiles might have been Chinese but the squat, purpose-built houses reminded Arthur of tenements he had known in Bradford. Arthur was a little nervous of this grey-pigtailed man who smiled ingratiatingly. He wondered what he had done to betray the Airtons—but Brown treated him casually enough. They were told that Ai Dun Daifu had gone to Shishan to visit the Catholic orphanage, and that Ai Dun Taitai was in the church at the top of the hill.

‘Come on, let's go up there,' said Brown. ‘She'll be tending the cemetery. She likes doing that. She's made a sort of martyrs' memorial out of it.'

‘Martyrs' memorial?'

‘Yes, didn't I tell you? That's where all the victims of the Shishan massacre are buried, what we found of them. Come on. I'll show you. You'll find your lot are up there as well—Delamere and Cabot, I mean.'

Nervously, Arthur followed Brown up the stone path that led to the top of the hill.

‘Oh, I should warn you about Mrs Airton—Nellie, I mean,' said Brown, over his shoulder. ‘On first acquaintance she might appear a bit fierce. It's her manner—but don't take any notice of it. Heart of gold, really. Heart of gold. We're great friends, Nellie and I,' he added. ‘Great friends.'

Next to the church, behind a metal fence, was a little garden surrounded by newly planted yew trees. Inside, Arthur could see neat lines of gravestones to either side of a trim path. Daffodils were growing in profusion on the turf between the graves. The flowerbeds, which bordered the path, still consisted of bare earth. Spring, he realised, came later in these northern parts. There was an atmosphere of calm and repose, as one might find in an English country churchyard.

The garden seemed to be empty, but after a moment he saw a tall, grey-haired woman wearing a straw sun-hat, stand up from where she had been kneeling behind one of the gravestones. In one hand she held some gardening scissors and in the other a bunch of freshly cut weeds.

‘Well, well, Dr Brown,' she said, in a severe Scottish accent. ‘So there you are. And where have you been all morning, may I ask? The wards in the hospital have been crying out for you.'

‘Ah,' said Brown, a little taken aback. ‘I've—I've been to the station to collect Mr Topps.'

‘I see,' said Mrs Airton. ‘And is Mr Topps—this young fellow here, I take it—incapable of getting here from the station by himself? I thought that it was arranged for Mr Lu Jincai to go there to meet him.'

‘Well, to be sure, Mrs Airton,' muttered Brown, ‘but I—I thought it might be hospitable, if I—if I…'

‘Temporarily abandoned your duties to your patients, Dr Brown?'

‘N-no, certainly not, Mrs Airton,' stuttered Brown. ‘I—I…'

‘Intended to return to your duties immediately? Was that what you were going to say?'

‘Yes, of course. I—I'll go immediately, Mrs Airton. Um, Topps, I'm, er, sorry. I can't come into town with you now. We're rather busy here. I—I'll leave you. Yes. I'll call on you at your hotel—later.'

He backed out of the garden, his cheeks flushed with embarrassment. A moment later they heard the click of his boots as he descended the steps with some speed.

The grey-haired woman threw back her head, letting out a tinkling, rather attractive laugh. She walked forward with her hand outstretched to Arthur. ‘I'm Nellie Airton,' she said. ‘Welcome to Shishan, Mr Topps. Our young Dr Brown has no doubt been warning you about the dragon lady you would find here.'

‘Not in so many words, Mrs Airton,' said Arthur, also smiling.

‘He's a good boy,' she said. ‘Very conscientious, but rather absent-minded and, goodness, what a chatterbox, as you've no doubt already discovered. From time to time the dragon lady has to take him in hand.'

‘I'm sure he's very fond of you,' said Arthur, immediately comfortable in her warm presence. ‘He spoke to me kindly of you, and of your husband.'

Nellie laughed again. ‘Fond of me?' she said. ‘He's scared to death of me. Well, never mind him. I am extremely pleased to meet you. Mr Dawson wrote to me about you, singing your praises. Now, let's take first things first. Have you eaten? Are you hungry? Have you a place to stay?'

‘I believe that Mr Lu has booked me into a hotel in the town. Mrs Airton, I have a letter for you from Mrs Cabot.'

‘Ah, yes, it'll be in answer to mine. Thank you,' she said, taking the envelope, and putting it into the pocket of her apron. ‘Kind of you to carry it all this way. I'll read it when I have my spectacles. You know, Mr Topps, we would welcome you to stay with us here until you are settled. No? I understand. You wish to go ahead and explore this new world around you all on your own. You do remind me of young Tom when he first came to Shishan. You young things, you're all the same.'

‘Tom?' asked Arthur. ‘You mean…?'

‘Yes, I mean Tom Cabot.' She pointed at one of the graves. ‘He's lying over there, poor boy. In peace, I hope.'

Arthur's glance followed her pointing finger to a small, square stone on which were inscribed the simple words, Thomas Charles Edgar Cabot, 1876– 1900.

‘I didn't put any mottoes on the gravestones,' said Nellie. ‘I thought that the names alone would speak for themselves. They are remembered in the hearts of those who loved them.'

‘May I? May I…?'

‘Walk around? Of course, take your time,' said Nellie. ‘I have one or two things to finish off here. Then we'll give you and Mr Lu a bite to eat and see you on your way.'

As Nellie went back to her weeding, Arthur walked slowly down the path looking at the graves. Many of the names he did not recognise: Frederick John Bowers, 1867–1900, Emil Hermann Fischer, 1850–1900, the Reverend Burton Elijah Fielding, 1852–1900, Sister Caterina Pozzi, 1873–1900, Sister Elena Giubilani, 1874–1900. There were innumerable Millwards, most of whom had been so young, just babes. Babes! 1894–1900, 1895–1900, 1897–1900. That final, emphatic 1900, the year in which all those young lives had been extinguished—in the most brutal, brutal way. A sensitive man, he felt tears rising behind his eyes. He had, of course, read the accounts of what had happened in Shishan, but the reality of these graves was shocking in the extreme.

He felt Nellie's presence beside him.

‘The youngest was only three years old,' she said quietly. ‘Come, let me show you Frank's grave,' she said, ‘and then we'll go down to lunch.'

He followed her along the path. On one of the two end stones was engraved simply ‘Ah Lee,' and the other ‘Ah Sun'.

‘They were our servants,' said Nellie. ‘We couldn't find their bodies, but we wanted to remember them. They were very dear to us.'

He stood for a long time in front of the stone cross that marked Frank Delamere's grave, slightly separated from the others, next to a much older stone, which was the grave of Nellie's own infant son, who had died in childbirth in 1897.

‘How—how could you bear to come back here?' he asked, after a while. ‘With these memories?'

‘Life must go on,' said Nellie simply. ‘We must believe in better times to come. That there is purpose in the madness that humankind inflicts on itself. Otherwise, Mr Topps, there would be little point in going on living, would there?'

*   *   *

They had a simple lunch together in the hospital refectory. Towards the end of the meal the door opened and a bowed, white-haired man entered the room, supporting himself on a stick. Nellie introduced him to Arthur Topps as her husband. Dr Airton smiled kindly at Topps, but did not attempt to enter into conversation, quietly sitting down to his bowl of soup.

‘Mr Topps has brought a letter to us from Helen Frances, dear,' said Nellie, speaking rather loudly. Apparently the doctor was a little deaf.

‘Ah,' said the doctor.

‘Yes, she's decided not to marry that man after all.'

‘Oh. What a shame,' said Dr Airton.

Nellie chuckled. ‘Well, my dear, can you imagine Helen Frances in the home counties? Playing croquet with the bank manager's wife and having the vicar to tea to discuss the next village fête?'

‘No, it's difficult to envisage,' said Airton, finishing his soup. His pale eyes looked up at her over his spectacles; there was a hint of a smile on his red cheeks. ‘I thought that I was supposed to be the busybody in the family, my dear,' he said quietly, glancing over the letter Nellie had passed to him.

Nellie's expression was one of pure innocence. ‘I only wrote to tell her that a mutual friend had been to see us, and I may have mentioned that he was going on to Japan. I don't see what in the world is so busybody about that.'

‘Well, you know what you're doing,' said the doctor, handing Nellie back the letter. ‘I hope the poor girl doesn't have a wasted journey, and that she finds what she is looking for.'

‘Oh, Edward,' said Nellie, seriously, ‘let us pray she does. Do let us pray so.'

She noticed that Arthur Topps was looking at her with wide-eyed curiosity.

‘Yes, Mr Topps,' she said brightly, ‘my husband and I were talking about Helen Frances—Mrs Cabot. Did you have a chance to spend much time with her in England?'

‘Alas, not very long. She gave me lunch when I called at her aunt's cottage in Sussex, and I met her daughter too. It was a marvellous afternoon. We talked about so many things. Her father and his work here. The sights I should see. And—and so much else. She was very kind to me.' He paused. ‘She's—she's a lovely person, isn't she?' He blushed.

Nellie smiled. ‘Aye, she is lovely. A rare bloom. Rather too exotic, perhaps, for an ordinary suburban garden. But I see that you sensed that for yourself, didn't you, Mr Topps?' She laughed at his confusion. ‘Oh, Mr Topps. How I am embarrassing you! You don't know what I'm talking about, do you, and why should you? But you have brought us very happy news today, from a dear friend.'

‘Mrs Airton, may I ask you a question? Who is Mr Manners?'

Nellie exchanged a quick glance with her husband, who raised an eyebrow and quietly spooned some vegetables into his bowl. For a moment she looked at Arthur severely, but her eyes had a smile in them when she replied, ‘Ah, Mr Topps, what a question! Who indeed is Mr Manners? I think that is something we would all like to know, perhaps he himself most of all, poor dear. We'll find a time to sit down together, I promise you, and I'll tell you all the old stories, but not on your first day in Shishan. You have many other more exciting things to do and see, and Mr Lu sitting over there so quietly is itching to take you away. Now, would you like some more rice before you go? Or some vegetables? Or some tea? No? Then I'll ask only one thing of you. I want your word that you'll come back and visit us—often, do you hear? Good luck in Shishan, young man,' she said, offering him her hand.

Dr Airton also stretched out a hand to him as he passed. For such a frail-looking man the handshake was strong and firm. ‘Good luck, my boy,' he said. ‘Godspeed.'

*   *   *

Lu Jincai and Arthur Topps continued their journey. They spoke about the alkali plant, which Lu Jincai had rebuilt with his own money after the Boxers had sacked it. He brought Arthur up to date on their growing business with Tsitsihar and other towns in the region. Arthur told him about the new processes that Babbit and Brenner would like to introduce.

They turned a corner of the road and there before him were the walls of the city, rising like a fairy-story castle out of the plain and topped by a great turreted gate that might have come out of a medieval romance.

‘Shishan,' said Lu Jincai, unnecessarily.

‘It's—it's beautiful,' murmured Arthur.

They had to dismount from the cart for it to be inspected by the Russian soldiers. Arthur gazed above him at the swallows that were flying about their nests on the battlements.

He heard a strange mewing sound from his left and, looking down, saw a beggar sitting with his back to the city wall. It was a blind man, with a shaved head. He wore the robes of a Buddhist priest. The white, sightless eyes seemed to be contemplating him eerily. A little boy, accompanying the priest, held out a wooden bowl. Embarrassed, Arthur patted his pockets for a coin.

As it clicked into the bowl, he heard Lu Jincai calling him. The inspection was over. Forgetting the beggar, he climbed back on to the cart, and next minute he was looking up at the great portcullis that hung over his head.

With growing excitement, Arthur Topps entered Shishan. He felt that he was starting a new chapter in his life—the beginning of a great adventure.

Afterword

When I began to write this romance about the Boxer Rebellion I had very much in mind my own family antecedents in China. I would not be alive today if my great-grandfather, a Scottish medical missionary, had not managed to flee through the northern gate of the city of Changchun while the Boxers were coming in through the southern gate. If the Boxers had caught him in the city, he would almost certainly have been killed, and my grandmother would never have been born.

Since those days one or other member of my family has always been involved with China, either as doctors, railwaymen or businessmen. I was born in Hong Kong, my mother in Qinhuangdao, her mother in Changchun. I grew up on the Peak among the
taipans
in Hong Kong. For the last eighteen years I have been living and working in Peking (Beijing) employed by one of the oldest China trading houses.