and everything still looked New Year’s-fresh, from the brightly painted latticework of the windows to the newly calligraphed couplets on either side of the doorways. Miniature mandarin trees in ceramic pots wafted a faint note of citrus into the air. From somewhere in the compound with its thirty-odd rooms drifted the uvular sounds of conversation in the Peking dialect. Morrison’s grey mare whinnied in her stable.
Morrison usually savoured that moment at the end of a trip when the sounds and smells of travel—the whistle and jolt of steam engines, the push and pong of crowds, the cries of coolies and the clip-clop of hooves—began to fade and the rhythms and sensations of home reasserted themselves in a bittersweet return to the familiar. This time, however, he felt as though a solemn grey curtain had fallen across a stage, and the gay and colourful world in which he’d been absorbed just over twenty-four hours earlier had evanesced, an artful illusion.
A slight and delicately featured girl stepped into the courtyard, carrying a stick broom. Although not more than sixteen, she wore her hair in the style of a married woman. At the sight of the men, she shrank back and, clutching the broom, stared at the ground.
Turning to Kuan, Morrison was surprised to see that his normally unflappable Boy had paled.
Before he could ask for an explanation, Kuan and the girl entered into low, urgent conversation, speaking too quickly for Morrison to understand. He gathered that they somehow knew each other and were shaken by the unexpected reunion.
‘Who is she, Kuan?’ Morrison asked when they had finished speaking.
‘She’s…’ Kuan seemed to be choosing his words with care. He glanced back at the girl, who had resumed sweeping with a concentration Morrison found strangely affecting, her feathery eyebrows drawn into a barely perceptible frown. ‘We were childhood friends. She’s Cook’s new wife.’
‘Truly?’ Morrison was surprised. He was fond of Cook, a taciturn old widower with a fanatical devotion to both the arts of the table and Morrison’s wellbeing. But Cook was not the most attractive of men. His narrow eyes looked as though they’d been carved out of the tough leather of his face by the thin blades that were his cheekbones. His nose was unusually flat for a northerner, his mouth wide and graceless. Cook was certainly no Kuan, whose large, intelligent eyes, brushstroke eyebrows, proud nose and well-proportioned mouth inspired appreciative comments from even some of the Western ladies of Morrison’s acquaintance. Morrison would not have expected Cook’s new wife to be such a slender young beauty as the one standing before them now. ‘Perhaps I’m wrong, but she doesn’t seem like she was brought up to be a servant,’ he observed.
Kuan straightened. ‘No one is brought up to be a servant. No one’s parents want this for their child. It is—how you say?— circumstances .’
Morrison realised his mistake. ‘Of course. What I meant was, what circumstances brought her to this place, I wonder?’
By now the pair was walking in the direction of Morrison’s library, a specially reconstructed wing on the southern side of the main courtyard.
Kuan gave Morrison a searching look. ‘I will tell you, but you cannot tell anyone else. Not even Cook.’
Morrison’s curiosity was piqued. ‘Go on.’
Kuan’s voice dropped to a whisper. ‘Her father was a follower of T’an Ssu-tung. You know?’
T’an had been one of the ‘Six Gentlemen’ whose ideas for reforming the Chinese system of government in order to strengthen China and bring it into the modern world had found a sympathetic hearing with the young Kuang Hsu Emperor six years earlier. The reformers argued that China needed to modernise everything, from the way farmers planted their fields to the manner in which the government managed its railways and trained its army. They spoke of women’s rights and of universal education. For one hundred
Morrison usually savoured that moment at the end of a trip when the sounds and smells of travel—the whistle and jolt of steam engines, the push and pong of crowds, the cries of coolies and the clip-clop of hooves—began to fade and the rhythms and sensations of home reasserted themselves in a bittersweet return to the familiar. This time, however, he felt as though a solemn grey curtain had fallen across a stage, and the gay and colourful world in which he’d been absorbed just over twenty-four hours earlier had evanesced, an artful illusion.
A slight and delicately featured girl stepped into the courtyard, carrying a stick broom. Although not more than sixteen, she wore her hair in the style of a married woman. At the sight of the men, she shrank back and, clutching the broom, stared at the ground.
Turning to Kuan, Morrison was surprised to see that his normally unflappable Boy had paled.
Before he could ask for an explanation, Kuan and the girl entered into low, urgent conversation, speaking too quickly for Morrison to understand. He gathered that they somehow knew each other and were shaken by the unexpected reunion.
‘Who is she, Kuan?’ Morrison asked when they had finished speaking.
‘She’s…’ Kuan seemed to be choosing his words with care. He glanced back at the girl, who had resumed sweeping with a concentration Morrison found strangely affecting, her feathery eyebrows drawn into a barely perceptible frown. ‘We were childhood friends. She’s Cook’s new wife.’
‘Truly?’ Morrison was surprised. He was fond of Cook, a taciturn old widower with a fanatical devotion to both the arts of the table and Morrison’s wellbeing. But Cook was not the most attractive of men. His narrow eyes looked as though they’d been carved out of the tough leather of his face by the thin blades that were his cheekbones. His nose was unusually flat for a northerner, his mouth wide and graceless. Cook was certainly no Kuan, whose large, intelligent eyes, brushstroke eyebrows, proud nose and well-proportioned mouth inspired appreciative comments from even some of the Western ladies of Morrison’s acquaintance. Morrison would not have expected Cook’s new wife to be such a slender young beauty as the one standing before them now. ‘Perhaps I’m wrong, but she doesn’t seem like she was brought up to be a servant,’ he observed.
Kuan straightened. ‘No one is brought up to be a servant. No one’s parents want this for their child. It is—how you say?— circumstances .’
Morrison realised his mistake. ‘Of course. What I meant was, what circumstances brought her to this place, I wonder?’
By now the pair was walking in the direction of Morrison’s library, a specially reconstructed wing on the southern side of the main courtyard.
Kuan gave Morrison a searching look. ‘I will tell you, but you cannot tell anyone else. Not even Cook.’
Morrison’s curiosity was piqued. ‘Go on.’
Kuan’s voice dropped to a whisper. ‘Her father was a follower of T’an Ssu-tung. You know?’
T’an had been one of the ‘Six Gentlemen’ whose ideas for reforming the Chinese system of government in order to strengthen China and bring it into the modern world had found a sympathetic hearing with the young Kuang Hsu Emperor six years earlier. The reformers argued that China needed to modernise everything, from the way farmers planted their fields to the manner in which the government managed its railways and trained its army. They spoke of women’s rights and of universal education. For one hundred
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