China Edward Rutherfurd (essential reading .txt) 📖

fellow. He searched all over the fort. There was no sign of him. Somehow, in the night, Nio had disappeared.

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Read arrived in Hong Kong Harbour the day after Elliot. “I think you British are safe out here,” he told Tully and Trader. “Lin won’t risk a fight with you at sea. But I don’t believe he’ll ever let you into Canton again. Joker and the Hong merchants think it has to end in war.” He also brought a piece of good news. “There’s a Baltimore clipper sailing from Macao direct to London in three days. The captain’s promised me to take all our tea.”

“Excellent.” Tully thanked him. “I’ll send a letter to my father with her.”

Read had a short private conversation with Tully after this, but he didn’t dine on the ship, because he wanted to return to Macao at once. Just before leaving, however, he shook Trader by the hand. “We’ll keep in touch, my friend,” he said. “I wish you well.”

It seemed an odd thing to say, and Trader wondered if it meant the American was going away on his travels again. But as Read was in a hurry, he contented himself with sending greetings to Mrs. Willems. “And to Marissa, of course.”

“I’m sending you to Calcutta for a while,” Tully announced the following afternoon. “Not much happening here. No point your being cooped up on board for days on end. Stretch your legs for a bit. Work with my brother. Learn more about his side of the business. There’s a ship leaving here in two days.”

The prospect of some normal life on land was certainly tempting, but Trader felt guilty about the older man. “Perhaps you should go,” he suggested.

“Don’t like Calcutta,” said Tully. It might have been true.

April 1840

They came barreling up the drive to the bungalow in a two-wheeled gig—a tumtum, as they called it in India—Charlie holding the reins, with John perched precariously beside him.

“You idiots!” Aunt Harriet cried. “You’re lucky you didn’t overturn.”

Trader laughed. “Especially with Charlie driving.”

“Well, you’d better come in for tea,” Aunt Harriet declared.

—

After tea, while Trader chatted with her husband, Aunt Harriet and Charlie went into the sitting room.

“I’ve grown quite fond of young Trader during these last few months he’s been back,” Aunt Harriet remarked. “But he looks a bit pale and thin. Peaky.”

“This opium business is taking a toll on him.”

“He’s not ruined, is he?”

“I don’t think so. But it’s bad. Even if the government compensates the opium merchants, it’ll be a long wait.”

“Is he still interested in that Lomond girl? She’s not taken.”

“He’ll have to start making his fortune before he can pay his addresses there.”

“He strikes me as a bit of a loner. Is he selfish?”

“He’s a loyal friend. I can tell you that.”

“Ambitious.”

“Certainly. But part of him’s a dreamer, I think.”

“Ambitious dreamer. They’re the ones that do best of all, quite often. Or worst, if they don’t succeed.” Aunt Harriet considered. “I’ve got a feeling Trader’s going to be all right. What he needs,” she said decidedly, “is a nice girl. One of us. Somebody we all like, to steady him and help him fit in.”

“What about the money?”

“Girls are usually brought out here to find rich husbands, of course. But I know one or two who are…not short of this world’s goods, as they say. Perhaps he should consider one of them. I could introduce him. He’s very handsome. And there’s something about him…a bit of the brooding romantic, the Byron thing…you know.”

“Marry rich…Trouble is, I’m not sure he’d do it. Too proud, you see. He’d think it dishonorable.” Charlie paused. “He’s not without vanity, either. He wouldn’t want to be called an adventurer.”

“You know,” said Aunt Harriet wisely, “why he wants the Lomond girl? Because he can’t have her.”

“Probably.”

Aunt Harriet sighed. “Well then, I for one can only pray to the Almighty that the opium trade gets back on its feet again.”

—

Benjamin Odstock always seemed to take life easy. After his midday meal, he’d have a siesta. In the evening, he’d usually look in at one of the Calcutta merchant clubs. He never missed a good day at the racecourse and was quite in demand for dinners. And thanks to his social life and the voluminous correspondence he maintained with contacts in places as far apart as Singapore and London, Benjamin Odstock was extremely well informed.

So it came as quite a shock to John Trader when, as he entered the office the very next morning, that gentleman looked up from the latest pile of letters and grimly informed him: “The British government isn’t going to pay us.”

“Our compensation? For the opium?” Trader’s heart sank. “Do you know this for a fact?”

“No. But it’s the only explanation.”

“Tell me,” said Trader in a low voice as he sat down opposite Odstock.

“It begins when Jardine gets to London last autumn. He whips up the opium interest, which is quite large, and they start lobbying Parliament, the merchants, everyone. Soon all London’s heard how we’ve been robbed, how the British flag has been trampled on, and how the Chinese have committed atrocities against the innocent British merchants of Canton.”

“They didn’t actually commit atrocities,” Trader interposed.

“They might have. Same thing. Do you want compensation or not?”

“I do,” said Trader.

“Jardine gets an interview with the foreign secretary, Palmerston himself. Tells him the whole story, how we need the navy; gives him maps, everything. Palmerston listens. Then silence. Why is that?”

“Perhaps he wants to verify the story.”

“Nonsense,” Benjamin retorted. “That’s not how governments work. And certainly not how Palmerston thinks.”

“There’s opposition in London, then.”

“There is. The bleeding hearts, the missionaries. That humbug Gladstone. Even The Times newspaper doesn’t approve.” He shook his head. “But that’s not the point. The point is that the government’s weak. They may not even have a majority in Parliament. Trouble in the countryside. Bad harvests. And in the cities: Chartists and the like, wanting a vote for every man, God