The Compradors Son

Note: Some of the characters use pidgin English. This is not intended to be offensive just to recreate a dialect that was spoken at the time.

Hong Kong: 1875

"Hey Missee. You no go there, heya."

"I'm just interested, Amah".

I take my ear away from the closed door. I am desperate for some excitement; for a chance to know something more of this strange place where father has made our fortune. But in the six weeks since I have arrived I have been restricted to the walls of this house and its gardens with the occasional visits for tea to and from the neighbours. Father promised I would be taken out to 'suitable places' as soon as the hot and wet summer gave way to the more pleasant autumn but work once again takes him from me. Mother, who accompanied me from England shuts herself up in her room all day writing letters to her friends about how she wishes to return home. Her and father barely speak. She stings him for taking her to this 'alien, heathen land'. He retorts that this heathen land pays for the nice country house overlooking the river Avon, her servants, her parties, her wardrobe and the expensive tutors which have helped make their daughter into the ideal, young, refined English lady.

We hear voices and the door begins to open. Amah gestures frantically to me;

"Missee chop chop".

But it is too late. I want it to be too late.

My father opens the door. This is the first time I have seen Chinese men who were not servants up close and there are two of them. I cannot help but stare. They are both wearing those flat, round hats and dark blue tunics with oversized sleeves and which hang down over the waist. Beneath the tunics are what can only be described as long, white trouser- skirts and what seem like tough blue slippers over white socks. They look alien yet strangely appealing in some way. The older of the two has a thin, whitening moustache and beard while the younger is clean shaven with a slightly ovaline, handsome face. His rich, dark eyes suggest intelligence, depth and a hint of mischief. They also remind me of my loneliness. I guess him to be in his mid twenties. Meanwhile the looks they give suggest they are just as surprised to see me as I am to see them.

"Robyn," my father says sternly. "You should not be here."

He turns to look reproachfully at Amah who smiles an embarrassed apology and bows repeatedly. The older of the two Chinese men tries to look away in a dignified manner as if the whole scene is beneath him but the younger man steals a quick smile at me with his eyes before following his senior in averting his gaze.

At me.

My breath catches in the back of my throat. Immediately I want to know everything about him. For only a second I stare at him as intensely as I can before remembering my lessons on how to be a lady and I avert my own eyes modestly. The atmosphere crackles and my ears swim with the silence. I wonder if he is feeling it too as I try to catch him in the corner of my eye and in so doing I see him not looking at me in exactly the same way that I am not looking at him.

My father clears his throat.

"Thank you for coming today, Ho Tang. I will see you and your son out. Amah, go tell his sedan bearers he is ready. Robyn; your room, now."

I was on my way to my room. But I heard their voices through an open window. Father had decided to see them out through the back entrance for some reason. I see him shake hands with HoTang and acknowledge his son's bow with a curt nod before the two men enter separate sedan chairs. I follow every movement of the younger man as he enters his litter and note the long braided queue trailing down his back. My father gestures them both to close their curtains before four over-lean men; their faces obscured by conical hats heft up their load and carry them down the peak into the island below. From my prison, I stare after them long after they are out of my sight...

************************************

Father enters my room. I am worried what he will say. He is a good man; kind even. But I don't really know him. I was still very young when he went to China to seek his fortune. His visits home were short and infrequent. He would send us letters with fantastic tales of the strange land he was living in and the strange people he was living among. It seemed a world away from the English countryside, from my classes in embroidery, piano playing, ladies deportment, and from our monthly trips to the city of Bath. And now at the age of eighteen I am finally here with him but the adventure still remains tantalisingly out of reach. We live in a nice house half the way up Victoria Peak and just a short walk from the residence of the Governor himself; but my world is limited to this collection of small mansions a top a hill. I can look down and try to make out the markets, the tiny homes which seem to increase in number daily and the fishing villages which populate the island. I can glimpse the Royal Navy ships and the Chinese junks and fishing boats in the waters to the north. And I can discern the growing settlements on the Kowloon peninsular across the strait, and then finally the gateway to the vast Chinese Empire itself; but for all this I might as well still be at a sewing lesson with my governess at home and still dreaming...

"I know I haven't had much time to show you Hong Kong," he begins "but I am sure you understand how busy I have been."

"Yes, father. I was just curious that's all. There is little to do here. Who were those men?"

I am partially curious and partially trying to delay what could be a difficult conversation. He plays along for now.

"That was Ho Tang and his son. He is my comprador."

Seeing my blank look, he continues.

"Each firm in the China trade needs a comprador. They are agents who connect us with the markets here. They purchase things like tea and silk on our behalf and also sell op...they sell things for us too."

"Well, I didn't hear anything. Least of all that kind of talk," I reply.

"Ah, yes. About that. You must know that it is not your place to be snooping about the business of men."

"I wasn't snooping father, I..."

He raises his hand for silence.

"Your mother wrote me about how, how shall I put it, how unconventional you had become. This just cannot do, Robyn. You are at an age when we need to consider your future. A lady eavesdropping on business conversations and who seems likely to risk getting herself into unsupervised situations with men - and Chinese men at that - is hardly going to seem an attractive proposition. Hong Kong is a very small place and if you act like this word will get around."

From the very beginning I had suspected that this is the reason why he really sent for me. It's not an adventure; quite possibly the complete opposite! The vague worries which I'd had about the Governor's ball due to take place tomorrow; it all makes a different kind of sense now. I might have been willing to accept this design for my life before today, but how can I now? After meeting HIM?

"But father please. I cannot marry yet..."

"Why on earth not? You have completed your schooling. I am working day and night I cannot keep you forever. You need not concern yourself. I will ensure a generous portion for your own especial use and also ascertain that your husband can provide for you and, should you wish it, allow you to return to England."

He pauses and then turns his back on me. The matter is settled. When a "Taipan" decides something no-one can disobey; least of all his own daughter.

My ball gown follows the latest London fashions. Pink with a low neckline and short, off the shoulder sleeves. Delicate white lace covers the area in front of my chest and my upper back while a gorgeous pink flower shape pins it all in place just beneath the front of my shoulder. The gown swirls downwards to the ground in three parallel layers at the front and with a whole circle of smaller floral patterns orbiting my ankles. Behind me a smooth train of material proceeds from my lower back like a sharp waterfall before splashing onto the floor in a wide circle behind my heels. Short white gloves complete the look. I wonder what he would think of me and how I would look to him like this. Finally, a velvet ribbon is tied high around my neck and is left trailing behind. I enjoy the sensuous feel of it against my skin and imagine for a moment how it would feel if he were tying the ribbon. I am prevented, however, both by the restrictive nature of my dress and the fact that I have company from letting my mind make too much of it. Still, I shift slightly in my seat.

"Keep still, Robyn," my mother chides as she puts the finishing touches to my gown. This ball has been the first thing she has shown an interest in since arriving here and she has spent the last hour fussing over my appearance and wasping at Amah for not doing things right. How can we possibly live here she asks herself when Chinese servants are impossible to train in correct ways?

"Now, Captain Gleesom will be there," she tells me. "He is of good family so please try to make yourself agreeable to him."

I have met Captain Gleeson once before. Everything a girl like me is supposed to like; charming, dashing, witty, refined, got his first command at quite a young age. He has gained quite the reputation for flushing out the pirates that infest the waters not far from here and his father is a decorated hero of both the Chinese wars. His handsomeness is somewhat bland however and I feel nothing...

"Of course financially his family have fallen on hard times,"

Mother brushes away a stray hair as if I were an untidy lapdog. Yes, mother his name for our money I think to myself...

"And at least save a dance for the Bruiston boy," my father can be heard approaching in the background.

My mother shudders.

"The Bruiston's. Such awfully common tradespeople," she says just loud enough for everyone to hear.

"Those awfully common tradespeople are responsible for more than ten per cent of the tea that makes its way to England," my father interjects.

"I believe certain members of your own family said not dissimilar things about me at one stage," he continues...

Oblivious to the tension; Amah rearranges my dress.

"Stop it!" my mother snaps at her.

"Ey?" Amah looks at her quizzically.

"You're. Spoiling. It."

Amah smiles in embarrassed confusion.

"Oh, just get out! Go!"

Amah looks blankly.

"GO!" My mother points at the door.

Amah leaves. Her face offended but taciturn.

"Oh, I can't live like this," my mother sighs.

"Amah," I call after her. She turns back.

"Do jeh"

She nods ever so slightly before disappearing round the corner. She has no idea how grateful I am to her right now no matter how clumsy her efforts.

"And what's that? My own daughter talking like a native. This was a mistake, Henry. What would Captain Gleesom think if he saw her talking like that?"

I stare into my reflection in the dressing room table mirror.

********************************

"Welcome to Hong Kong, young lady,"

In full dress uniform the Governor places his lips on the back of my gloved hand and I duly return his greeting with a curtsey. He is a somewhat portly man with an extended moustache which is prominent but not quite walrusy. He has made a considerable effort for this ball and it has a smaller, more informal and immediate feel than the balls I've known back home. The finest fare from back home is laid out in the refreshment room and away from mother's prying eyes I help myself to as much jelly and trifle as is acceptable while taking great care not to stain my gloves. The band plays the latest pieces from all the best society balls in England and young, Chinese men in sleek, black jackets, bow ties and cummerbunds with immaculately pressed white shirts contrasting nicely with the complexions on their faces and necks weave gracefully around the guests offering glasses of champagne. I have just been introduced to Mr. Bruistons' son when one of them comes up to us and offers some. Aware that my parents will no doubt be watching me I signify refusal by raising my hand but my gaze lingers on his deep almondy-dark eyes as he gives a slight bow and offers a glass to my companion. I watch him move away in his crisp black trousers and notice that the backs of his shoes are polished to a fine shine. The Governor has done his best to create a little corner of England here and in one respect I feel he has surpassed what he set out to imitate.

The Bruiston boy has noticed me staring after the servant and seems relieved to have something to engage me in conversation about. Our exchanges have been somewhat stilted and awkward so far.

"Interesting people, aren't they?" he comments. "Impossible to understand once you get to know them!"

He laughs at his own joke and I do my best to smile demurely. It is the third time I have heard it since I first arrived.

Accompanied by the Master of Ceremonies, Captain Gleesom approaches in his red dress uniform, his decorations shining even more brightly than the servant's shoes.

"Ah, the delightful Miss Brook," he says as he kisses my extended hand, "I hope you are enjoying Hong Kong."

My smile forms effortlessly as I curtsey;

"I have had some very interesting experiences, Sir."

"Oh, and I am sure you will have many more," he replies as we seamlessly hawhaw each other. Bruiston looks on enviously. His family are new money and only really made their fortune when he was already approaching adulthood. The phrases and quips of Captain Gleesom are in some ways just as much a mystery to him as are the Cantonese and Hakka dialects spoken by his servants and trading partners.

"So, how's *business*?" the Captain acknowledges him with that special tone people such as himself reserve for self made tradespeople.

"Oh, well. Well enough to pay for the Royal Navy and more besides," Bruiston answers.

"Well, I'd imagine you would appreciate someone stopping those pirates from stealing your cargo. Or the Chinese from impounding it."

Bruiston tries to hide the irritation on his face. I cover my lips with my fan and look around the room hoping for that servant to come and save me with a glass of champagne.

"Now, then gentlemen," interjects the Master of Ceremonies.

"I don't think Miss Brook came here to listen to you talk shop,"

A trumpet sounds and the dancers begin to take their positions.

"Of course, my apologies," Captain Gleesom bows.

"Will you honour me with your hand for a quadrille?"

His delivery is smooth and with perfect timing he waits for me to begin rising before offering his arm. I am aware of a multitude of eyes on us. The way he effortlessly avoids stepping on my train tells me he is very practised at this as we join the other couples on the floor. He dances smoothly, by the book, and I can see he does the 'Galop' very well never taking his eyes off me as we move up and down the line. He is probably my most competent partner of the evening although I don't feel anything at all. Later on, Mr. Bruiston's son requests a 'gavotte' but it's clear dancing is not his love and we somehow fail to co-ordinate even a movement as slow as this one. I should feel privileged. I am new and my card is full of requests from many fine young gentlemen - traders, officers, civil officials, missionaries - none of which (as etiquette requires) I refuse but none of which I accept with any particular enthusiasm. None of them come close to getting that compradors son out of my mind. Towards the end of the evening I see Gleesom approach my father and excusing myself from the conversation I am in, I walk unescorted with moistening eyes to the ladies dressing room.

As the ball draws to an end everyone is in a pleasant mood. This is very much the highlight of the social calendar and the cool night air is a welcome relief from the heat which has oppressed the island. People bid each other good night and those with further to go or more money to spare approach their waiting sedan chairs. The bearers sat on the floor hastily abandon their games of dice and draughts. Sitting here in the cool weather with nothing to bear must be the highlight of these men's lives too I muse to myself. My father has arranged for our own sedan bearers to be waiting for us. As we separate to go to our individual rides, my mother places her lips on my cheek in the warmest gesture she has made to anyone since arriving here. It seems that I have done well in her eyes despite the faux pas of promenading unescorted to the dressing room. My father is smiling too though whether as a result of his talk with Captain Glessom, the whisky or something else I can only guess. They both smile at me with approval and I feel my stomach clench inwardly. My father says something about 'discussing developments concerning my future' tomorrow as my teeth press hard into my bottom lip...

As I approach my sedan chair it seems that the bearer at the front; a lean, young man by the name of Lim seems to regard me very briefly out of the corner of his eye. I step into the enclosed space and lift the silk cushion from the seat. Suddenly it is as if my insides have been struck by a thunderbolt.

Under the cushion and lying on the red seat is a small white envelope. My name is written on it in a rich black ink and in the style reminiscent of the calligraphic Chinese writing which I have learned about. I turn it over and see a plain, red seal indicating the author of the letter does not want his identity known. I hear my father's voice and instinctively I squeeze the letter down the front of my ball gown; not daring to retrieve it until I can feel that the chair is moving and that no-one can enter suddenly.

**************************************

Everyone else has retired for the evening and Amah helps me out of my ball gown and into my nightgown. White, embellished with lace and in the style of French knotted roses it is something of a relief to wear compared to the gorgeous but restrictive ball gown. I see her stifle a yawn. She is used to retiring early and getting up earlier. Staying up late waiting for me to return from the ball has upset her routine. Tonight, this will be useful. Perhaps a little too keenly and hurriedly I bid her good night and watch her mince off in those tiny feet of hers before heading to my chambers.

When I am sure I am alone I retrieve the letter from the special decorated box where I have hidden it. It was a present from back when I was a child and I have always used it to store assorted curiosities I have collected over the years; it seems like the ideal hiding place. Shaking with excitement I unfold the smooth paper;

"You live upstream and I downstream

From night to night of you I dream

Unlike the stream you are not in view

Though both we drink from this river blue

When will the river no more flow?

When will my grief no more grow?

I wish your heart will be like mine

Then not in vain for you I pine

Butterflies dance deep within my insides. A tidal wave surges through my chest and wells up in my throat; I cannot sit still. All the balls, all the society gatherings, all the afternoon tea parties; none of them have prepared me for something so simple as a poem written on paper. Those stirrings which I have always felt; which I have always been told to pray for deliverance from; I cannot help but embrace them now. They feel so right.

It is the reverse of the paper that occupies my mind now though.

"I will be at the back entrance at midnight. I have the good will of some of your servants. Still, my life is in your hands."

Strange that the allusion to death should remind me that I have never felt so alive than at this moment now. For a Chinese man to be caught in the chambers of a young English woman; the daughter of a 'Taipan' no less; her life would be ruined and his would be over. I pace my bedroom frenetically; my head and my heart...and my body...in a most violent of stalemates. My senses are so heightened that I am aware of the tiptoeing up to my door even before the light tapping and the whispered calls of "Missee!"