Chapter Eighteen
It were too much to expect that they will not require a further demonstration of force on a larger scale before being brought to their senses.
JAMES MATHESON, letter to John Purvis
The Hellas departed Pearl Bay with impressive haste. Within fifteen minutes of their boarding, the ropes were cut, the anchors pulled, and the sails unfurled. They darted out of the harbour, chased by billowing smoke that seemed to engulf the whole of the city.
The crew, who had not been told until boarding that they would be responsible for the room and board of five additional passengers, were curt and annoyed. The Hellas was not a passenger ship, and its quarters were already cramped. Ramy and Robin were told to bunk with the sailors, but the girls were afforded a private cabin, which they shared with the only other civilian on board – a woman named Jemima Smythe, a Christian missionary from America who’d tried to sneak into the mainland but was caught trying to ford the river into Canton’s suburbs.
‘Do you know what all the fuss is?’ She kept asking this as they sat hunched together in the mess. ‘Was it an accident, or did the Chinese do it on purpose? Will it be open war now, do you think?’ The last question she kept repeating excitedly at intervals, despite their exasperated assurances that they did not know. At last she changed the subject to what they’d been doing in Canton, and how they’d passed their days in the English Factory. ‘There are quite a few reverends under that roof, aren’t there? What did you do for your Sunday services?’ She stared inquiringly at Ramy. ‘Do you go to Sunday services?’
‘Of course.’ Ramy did not miss a beat. ‘I go because I’m forced, where I mumble apologies to Allah whenever possible.’
‘He’s joking,’ Letty said quickly before the horrified Miss Smythe could begin trying to convert him. ‘He’s Christian, of course – we all had to subscribe to the Thirty-Nine Articles at Oxford matriculation.’*
‘I’m very glad for you,’ Miss Smythe said sincerely. ‘Will you be spreading the gospel back home as well?’
‘Home is Oxford,’ Ramy said, blinking innocently. God help us, thought Robin, he’s snapped. ‘Do you mean that Oxford is full of heathens? Good heavens. Has anyone told them?’
At last Miss Smythe grew tired of them and wandered above deck to say her prayers, or whatever it was that missionaries did. Robin, Letty, Ramy, and Victoire huddled around the table, fidgeting like naughty schoolchildren awaiting punishment. Professor Lovell was nowhere to be seen; the moment they’d boarded, he’d gone off to speak to the captain. Still, no one had told them what was going on, or what would happen next.
‘What did you say to the Commissioner?’ Victoire asked quietly.
‘The truth,’ said Robin. ‘All I told him was the truth.’
‘But surely something set him off—’
Professor Lovell appeared at the door. They fell silent.
‘Robin,’ he said. ‘Let’s have a chat.’
He did not wait for Robin’s answer before he turned and headed down the passage. Reluctantly, Robin stood.
Ramy touched his arm. ‘Are you all right?’
‘I’m fine.’ Robin hoped they could not tell how quickly his heart was beating, or how loudly the blood thundered through his ears. He did not want to follow Professor Lovell; he wanted to hide and stall, to sit in the corner of the mess with his head buried in his arms. But this confrontation had been a long time coming. The fragile truce struck on the morning of his arrest was never sustainable. They’d been lying to themselves for too long, he and his father. Things could not remain buried, hidden, and wilfully ignored forever. Sooner or later, things had to come to a head.
‘I’m curious.’ Professor Lovell was sitting behind a desk, paging idly through a dictionary when Robin at last made his way to his cabin. ‘Do you know the value of those chests burned in the harbour?’
Robin stepped inside and closed the door behind him. His knees trembled. He could have been eleven again, caught for reading fiction when he shouldn’t have been, cringing from the impending blow. But he was not a child anymore. He tried his very best to keep his voice from wobbling. ‘Sir, I don’t know what happened with the Commissioner, but it’s not—’
‘Over two million pounds,’ said Professor Lovell. ‘You heard Mr Baylis. Two million, much of which William Jardine and James Matheson are now personally responsible for.’
‘He’d made up his mind,’ said Robin. ‘He’d made it up before he even met with us. There was nothing I could say—’
‘Your job was not difficult. Be a mouthpiece for Harold Baylis. Present a friendly face to the Chinese. Smooth things over. I thought we were clear on your priorities here, no? What did you say to Commissioner Lin?’
‘I don’t know what you think I did,’ said Robin, frustrated. ‘But what happened at the docks wasn’t because of me.’
‘Did you suggest he should destroy the opium?’
‘Of course not.’
‘Did you intimate anything else to him about Jardine and Matheson? Did you, perhaps, usurp Harold in any way? You’re sure there was nothing untoward about how you conducted yourself?’
‘I did what I was told,’ Robin insisted. ‘I don’t like Mr Baylis, no, but as far as how I represented the company—’
‘For once, Robin, please try to simply say what you mean,’ said Professor Lovell. ‘Be honest. Whatever you’re doing now, it’s embarrassing.’