This question of the succession seemed to occupy A-lu-te’s mind to the exclusion of nearly everything else, and when she came out to join Gregory in the garden the following afternoon she told him that the Council had held another long but unsatisfactory meeting. Ho-Ping’s brother Tsai-Ping had pointed out that as the Council of State had always done the real governing in the name of an Emperor, there was no reason why it should not continue to do so without one.
To this the other Mandarins were strongly opposed; both because the creation of any form of Republic would have been entirely contrary to their cherished traditions, and because they feared that without an Emperor to wield permanent authority over them Tsai-Ping’s ambitious nature might lead him into attempting to become a dictator. But the sudden extinction of their own branch of the Imperial Family had left them at their wits’ end, as they could think of no male member of any other branch whom they would care to invite to ascend the throne.
‘Surely,’ Gregory remarked, ‘if they wish to observe tradition, it is not a question of “caring”. Provided the Prince who has the best claim is sound in mind they should accept him. Anyhow there must be some precedent to go on. How was the last Emperor selected?’
‘He inherited the throne. His father and grandfather reigned before him. We have had three Emperors since the island was first colonised in 1913.’
‘Well, how was his grandfather selected? In 1913 Pu-yi was still Emperor of China, and remained there until driven out in the nineteen-twenties; so the heads of your Seven Families must have created some precedent in selecting the Emperor they brought with them.’
A-lu-te looked at him gravely, and asked, ‘How much do you know of the history of the Imperial Family?’
‘Not very much; only that the Manchu dynasty dates back to the invasion of 1644, and that from about 1860 the Emperors were little more than puppets dominated by the old Dowager Empress.’
‘Then for you to understand our situation I must tell you of the way in which her influence affected the succession. The Emperor Tao-Kwang died in 1850. He had nine sons and was succeeded by the eldest, Hsien-feng. When the period of court mourning was over sixty girls, all of the noble Manchu families that form the eight Banner Corps, were summoned to the palace. From them the Empress Mother and the Chief Eunuch selected twenty-eight to form the harem of the young Emperor. Those chosen included two sisters, Sakota and Yehonala. The latter was classed only as a concubine of the third grade, but it was she who later became the Great Empress Mother. Sakota was a girl of exceptional beauty so Hsien-feng made her his Empress, but Yehonala fascinated him with her mind, and was soon assisting him with affairs of state; moreover she gave him a son, so he raised her also to the rank of Empress.
‘In 1861, Hsien-feng died. Two older Princes attempted to seize power but with the help of her girlhood sweetheart, Jung Lu, who commanded one of the Banner Corps, Yehonala outwitted them. She had her little son, Tung-chich, proclaimed Emperor, with her sister and herself as co-Regents. As you may imagine, Yehonala made Sakota Regent with her only for appearances’ sake; and from that day on, for very nearly half a century she imposed her will upon everyone who played a part in the government of the Empire.
‘Perhaps business occupied so much of her time that she had none left to give to her son. In any case, the boy gave all his affection to his aunt, and by the time he became of an age to rule he thoroughly disliked his mother. In 1872, when he had reached the age of seventeen, the two Empresses selected for him a number of women, and it was agreed between them that he should be allowed to decided for himself which he would have for first Imperial Consort. He chose a girl of fifteen named A-lu-te.’
Gregory looked up in surprise, and A-lu-te smiled at him. ‘Yes, I am named after her. The reason for that will be plain to you in a minute; and, as you will see, she plays a very important part in this story.
‘She was a girl of spirit and she disliked Yehonala as much as did her husband. Very soon the young couple were at daggers drawn with the Empress Mother, and she could no longer delay in making at least a show of handing power over to them. In China there is a saying “Who rides the tiger cannot dismount”, and Yehonala realised her danger. Tung-chich and his little Empress were scarcely more than children, and totally inexperienced, whereas Yehonala was wise in the ways of the Court and by her charm and intellect kept nearly all its principal personages bound to her interests. For a year or so she let her son make a fool of himself; then, early in 1875, he caught smallpox and died.’
A certain inflection in A-lu-te’s voice made Gregory turn and glance at her. She shrugged her slim shoulders.
‘No one will now ever learn the truth about that. Tung-chich was a dissolute young man and had formed the habit of leaving the palace secretly at night to indulge in disreputable pleasures in the outer city. He had undermined his health by excessive dissipation and it is quite possible that he contracted the disease on one of those nocturnal forays. On the other hand, in old China there was a very unpleasant practice connected with the small rough towels, heated with steam, that it was customary to offer people for wiping their hands and faces whenever they entered theatres, restaurants or private houses. When it was desired to get rid of someone, these towels were first passed over the ulcerated face of a man who had smallpox.’
Gregory made a grimace. ‘What a revolting idea!’
‘Yes; but in the majority of cases effective; and a good way of evading the condemnation usually aroused by the more open methods of murder. I think my ancestors had little to learn in such matters from the Borgias. Of course, it may have been only malicious rumour which suggested that the Emperor was handed infected towels by the eunuchs on the orders of his mother. In any case, he died before he was twenty without an heir, but leaving A-lu-te about to have a baby.
‘Yehonala needed no telling that if A-lu-te bore a son history might repeat itself. Should the child be proclaimed Emperor, A-lu-te would become Empress Mother, and perhaps Regent. A new era would begin. Yehonala’s friends would be sent silken cords as an intimation that they could hang themselves, and her own days would be numbered. She had to strike down the young Empress or be struck down herself.’
A-lu-te paused a moment, then continued. ‘The history books will tell you that Tung-chih’s widow survived him by only a few days, then died of grief. That was the official statement issued by Yehonala, but it was not the truth. Realising that so much hung on her pregnancy that it had become her death warrant, the young Empress fled from the palace secretly by night and sought sanctuary with my grandparents. They took her to a remote estate that they owned in the province of Sze-chuan. There she was delivered of a boy.
Gregory’s quick mind anticipated the sequel, and he murmured, ‘That boy, born in 1875, would have been just forty in 1914. It was he whom your father and the other Mandarin brought here as their Emperor, and it was his grandson who has just died.’
As A-lu-te nodded, he went on: ‘I see now how it was that when they decided to colonise this island they were faced with no problem in selecting an Emperor. Directly your father let his friends know that his parents had brought up Tung-chih’s posthumous son in secret, the choice was obvious. No one could possibly dispute his claim as he was the only son of the late Emperor and Empress. But who did Yehonala put on the throne of China?’
‘There were three claimants—the son of Prince Kung, who was the eldest surviving uncle of Tung-chih; the son of Prince Ch’un, another uncle who was known as the Seventh Prince because by birth he came sixth after Tung-chih; and a nephew of Tung-chih’s named Pu-lún. Only the last was strictly eligible, because it is traditional that the ancestral rites to a deceased Emperor must be performed by a member of a younger generation. But Yehonala was not the woman to allow a matter of ceremony to stand in the way of her ambitions. In China the law of primogeniture has never been observed, yet in this instance Prince Kung urged it in favour of his son’s candidature, and Sakota, who was officially the senior Dowager Empress, supported him. But that would not have suited Yehonala, because the boy was already in his teens and it would have meant a short Regency. She favoured Prince Ch’un’s boy because he was still a child, and at a midnight meeting, during which a terrible storm raged, she forced the Council to accept him. He was named Kuang-hsu.
‘So it was that Yehonala’s second joint Regency began; but, as in the case of her own son, the little Emperor disliked her and gave his affection to the more gentle-natured Sakota. Other causes for quarrels developed between the Regents, and it may be that Yehonala began to fear that when Kuang-hsu grew up he would combine with her sister to bring about her downfall. It is at least significant that it was after eating some sweet cakes sent to her by Yehonala that Sakota suddenly fell ill and died.’
‘It certainly seems that the Borgias had nothing on this old lady,’ Gregory remarked with a grim smile. ‘Anyhow, little A-lu-te showed very good sense in getting out of her clutches while she had the chance.’
A-lu-te nodded. ‘Yes; but you must not think of Yehonala as old then. She was still only about thirty-five, and it was not until many years later that her affectionate subjects gave her the nickname of “The old Buddha”.’
‘Affectionate subjects?’
‘The term implies “The Wise One”, and she was greatly beloved by her people. You see, she was the champion of the old China. During four thousand years of isolation China had developed a great civilisation. It was not until the last half of the century that the European powers began to force their way into the country. Yehonala was still a young wife when the first clash occurred. Lord Elgin, with British, French, Russian and German troops, captured Pekin and sacked the beautiful Summer Palace. She never forgave them, and from then on for the next forty years, right up to the Boxer risings in 1900, there was constant friction with the “Foreign Devils”. Yehonala fought a losing battle, but she fought it bravely and skilfully to protect what she believed to be the best interests of her people. That is why they loved her.’
‘I take it she became sole Regent after Sakota’s death?’
‘Yes; but once again she was unlucky in her choice of a child Emperor. Kuang-hsu was unhealthy in mind and body. As a youth he imbibed many Western ideas without properly understanding them. He detested the ceremonies it was his duty as Emperor to perform, and was morbid, shy and difficult to deal with.
‘In 1889 he was given concubines, and Yehonala selected a niece of hers to be his wife; but he proved impotent so begot no children. On his marriage Yehonala formally gave up the Regency, but she reserved for herself the right to appoint and remove public servants; so the real power of government still remained in her hands. The young Emperor proved hopelessly incompetent. He attempted to introduce all sorts of reforms which threatened to disrupt the whole life of the country. For a few years things went from bad to worse, then Yehonala stepped in again. She arrested Kuang-hsu and his Empress and kept them as prisoners in the Ocean Terrace Pavilion of the Summer Palace. For a time she ruled through him. Then in 1898 she entered on her third official Regency. From then on, as the Great Empress Mother, she continued as supreme ruler to the day of her death.’
‘Where does the young Emperor Pu-yi come in?’
‘In 1908 Yehonala’s health began to fail. Her death might have enabled the morbid and dangerous prisoner of the Ocean Terrace to regain his rights as Emperor, and she would obviously have been most averse to leaving China at his mercy. Perhaps it was coincidence, but he also fell ill, and he died just before her. On the day after his death she appointed little Pu-yi as Emperor and his father as Regent, then she herself died.’
Gregory nodded. ‘What an appalling story. But, unscrupulous as she was, Yehonala seems to have been the only strong character in it. Every one of the three Emperors she chose grew up either dissolute or unfit to govern. And if the Mandarins are determined to observe tradition it is from this decadent family that they must choose a ruler for this island. I don’t wonder that they’re worried.’
‘Yes. The Imperial Family is now scattered. The only Princes who might be worthy are too old. The others have either become dissipated through living an idle life in exile, or so Westernised that they might prove a menace to the ancient customs which it is the Council’s main object to preserve. How they will solve this problem I cannot think.’
Nevertheless, solve it they did, and in a most unexpected manner. Two mornings later A-lu-te came out to Gregory and, her gold-flecked eyes shining with excitement, exclaimed:
‘I can scarcely believe it! Instead of an Emperor we are to have an Empress.’
Gregory smiled at her. ‘I hope they have chosen you. I’ve seen nothing so far of the other ladies on the island, but I can hardly imagine that any of them are better suited to the job.’
‘No, no!’ she shook her head impatiently. ‘It had to be someone of the Imperial blood; and anyway I wouldn’t want to be. I’d prefer to remain free so that I can continue my studies.’
‘It is because you are so well-informed that I think you would do well in the part,’ he remarked. ‘But come and sit down and tell me all about it.’
Madame Pan-chieh came bustling up behind her young mistress, and when the two ladies were seated A-lu-te went on with her news.
‘They have chosen a Princess who lives in the United States and was baptised into the Christian church with the name of Josephine.’
‘On the face of it she does not sound very suitable. What place does she occupy in the Imperial Family?’
‘You may recall that when I was giving you its more recent history the other day, I began with the Emperor Tao-kwang, who had nine sons. It was the eldest of them, Hsien-feng, who made Yehonala an Empress. The second son was Prince Kung, and it was his son that Yehonala passed over after her own son died, selecting instead the son of the Seventh Prince as the new Emperor. This Princess is the great-grand-daughter of the boy who was passed over.’
‘Since the eldest branch came to an end a week ago with the death of the Empress A-lu-te’s great-grandson, Prince Kung’s then became the senior,’ Gregory remarked, ‘so at all events the selection of his descendant has legitimacy to recommend it. Do you know how old she is, or anything about her?’
‘She is twenty, an only child, and lives with her widowed mother in San Francisco. It is said that she is very pretty but, poor thing, she is quite dumb.’
‘Dumb-stupid or dumb-no-talker?’ Gregory inquired.
A-lu-te frowned at his levity. ‘I mean that she suffers from a terrible affliction. She was born in Saigon and while still an infant caught diphtheria. The tracheotomy was done by a doctor who was not properly qualified. He bungled the operation and injured her vocal cords. As she could still cry and gurgle the damage was not discovered until she was of an age when she should have started to talk, and by then it was too late to do anything about it.’
‘What a frightful thing! It seems extraordinary, though, that any member of the Imperial Family should have failed to secure the best surgeon available to operate on his daughter.’
‘Her father was both head-strong and eccentric. When his branch of the family went into exile they settled in French Indo-China. There he met a very beautiful woman. She was of Manchu blood but had become a courtesan. He insisted on marrying her and his family were so outraged that they publicly disowned him. He accepted their repudiation, became a Christian and took the name of Joseph Août. It is said that he chose it as a pun on the month in which he was born and the fact he was of “august” descent; although he never afterwards used his title or traded on his imperial connections. Later he managed to raise the money to take his wife and child to America, but for the first few years of his marriage he was desperately poor. That is why when the baby went down in a diphtheria epidemic he had to take it to a local hospital where only a student was available at the time to do the operation.’
‘I see,’ said Gregory thoughtfully. ‘Then her parents were not exactly patterns of virtue and filial obedience; but I suppose that is outweighed as far as the Council are concerned by her ancestry. All the same, I find it very surprising that your father and his friends should have decided to invite a dumb Princess to come and reign over them.’
‘Her affliction makes it more likely that she will accept,’ commented A-lu-te, and went on a shade acidly. ‘Any normal girl who has the luck to live in the United States would be crazy to do so. I would give this island and everything in it to get there.’
‘Perhaps; but quite apart from the girl being dumb, it astonishes me that the Mandarins should be prepared to kow-tow to any young woman.’
‘They are not, except as a formality. This is simply an expedient, and adopted only as a last resort rather than allow a situation to develop in which an open struggle for power would break out among them. The Princess is unmarried. If she accepts the throne it is intended that each of the Seven Families should put forward its most eligible bachelor, and that she should be asked to choose a husband from among them. Whoever she chooses will automatically become Emperor.’
‘Isn’t that rather a chancy way of choosing a ruler? She may quite well pick on the biggest fool or knave of the lot if he happens to be the most attractive physically.’
A-lu-te shrugged. ‘You’re right, of course. But I don’t think that would make much difference in the long run. The Council would continue to do the real governing. The point is that they could regard her choice as in a sense a decree of fate; so they are willing to accept whoever she may choose. And by this means they hope to start a new dynasty; because, whoever she may take as her husband, through her their children will be of the Imperial Blood,’
‘Has this decision definitely been taken?’
‘Yes. Orders have been given to prepare the Imperial Yacht for a voyage to San Francisco. It is the first time for years that it has been used for more than a local pleasure cruise, so it will take some days to make ready; but as soon as it is, my Uncle Kâo is to leave in it and, it is hoped, bring the Princess and her mother back from America with him.’
‘From what you have told me of Tsai-Ping I wonder at his agreeing to that. As they seem to be rivals in most things I should have thought he would have gone to pretty well any lengths to prevent your uncle getting such a marvellous free field with the girl before anyone else has even had the chance to meet her.’
‘They could not become rivals in that sense, because both of them are already married.’
‘I meant that the choice of your uncle to bring the girl and her mother here will give him a quite exceptional opportunity to get both of them under his influence during the voyage.’
‘That is true,’ she nodded, ‘and I don’t doubt Tsai-Ping would have much preferred that someone other than my uncle should be charged with this mission. But Uncle Kâo was such an obvious choice that Tsai-Ping would only have made himself look foolish had he stood out against it.’
‘What special qualifications has your uncle for the job?’
‘His knowledge of conditions in the outer world is far greater than that of any of the Mandarins, or of anyone else on the island. Until last year he was what I suppose you would call our Export Manager. During the past twenty-five years he has travelled in every continent, inspecting our depots abroad and assessing the value to us of old and new foreign markets. Without revealing the secret of the island, he has also kept in touch with numerous members of the old Imperial Family, among them the Princess Josephine’s mother. Alone amongst us he knows her personally. In addition he will succeed my father as the head of one of the Seven Families. He is, too, a man of cheerful disposition and great charm; so for this affair it would be difficult to conceive of a more suitable ambassador.’
Later in the week Gregory had an opportunity of judging Kâo Hsüan’s personality for himself, as A-lu-te’s uncle called one afternoon and came out to see her in the garden. The Manchu nobility are generally well above average height and he was both tall and corpulent. Although his features proclaimed his relationship to Sze Hsüan he was the son of a different mother and very much younger, being a little over fifty. His face was round and cherubic with a full, sensual mouth and thick black eyebrows like inverted sickle moons. Like most Chinese he had an excellent sense of humour, and was by nature a very jolly man.
He had already heard all about Gregory and spoke to him most pleasantly in excellent English. They were soon exchanging reminiscences about happy times they had enjoyed in various European capitals, and he said what a pleasure it was to have an educated foreigner to talk to in the island. He added that the journey he was about to make would deprive him of that pleasure for some weeks, but on his return he would greatly look forward to developing Gregory’s acquaintance.
Although Kâo did not actually say so, Gregory gathered the impression that he regretted the days of his travels being over, was glad of the chance to go to America again and, like his niece, would have preferred to live there had not his duty to his family made that impossible.
A-lu-te listened to their conversation with eager interest, particularly when it touched on the United States; and presently with an earnestness that was only thinly disguised as jest, she asked her uncle to take her with him, launching her plea on the pretext that the Princess should have at least one lady-in-waiting in attendance for the voyage; but he laughed and shook his head.
‘No, no, my dear. The Princess lives very quietly with her mother in a small apartment. It is quite pleasant, but so modest that it would embarrass them for another lady, who might afterwards describe it here, to see their home and learn that they fend for themselves with the help of only a daily maid. That is between ourselves, of course; for over their past a veil will be drawn so that they shall not suffer loss of face. It will be time enough when the Princess lands here for her to assume Imperial status. Then if you like her, and wish to give her your companionship, I have no doubt it could be arranged for you to become one of the new Emperor’s concubines.’
‘Thank you; but I have no wish to be anybody’s concubine.’
‘Then you should marry. It is against nature that a pretty young woman like yourself should spend the best years of her life without a husband. With all respect to my honourable brother, I think he acts selfishly in refusing to arrange a marriage for you.’
‘On the contrary, Uncle Kâo!’ A-lu-te threw up her firm chin. ‘I can never be sufficiently grateful to him for refraining. I have no desire at all to marry—as yet.’
‘Ah well!’ The big man shrugged good naturedly. ‘The time will come. But that in itself is a sufficient reason why I could not take you with me to San Francisco. The Council would never permit it. As you know, it is an axiom with them that no women should ever be allowed to leave the island, lest contamination with the outer world should unfit her for making a contented wife on her return.’
It was later on the same day that Gregory met Tsai-Ping. An hour or so after Kâo Hsüan had gone, Ho-Ping arrived and asked A-lu-te’s permission to take Gregory to call on his brother. None too graciously, she gave it, and Gregory set off with the doctor. Two rickshaws carried them swiftly round the lake, then along half-a-mile of by-road to the Ping mansion, where the Mandarin was waiting to receive them.
He was about the same age as Kâo Hsüan and nearly as tall, but much thinner. His face was long, thin, and pale for a Chinaman’s, and he wore old-fashioned steel-rimmed spectacles. After apologising for his English, which was only just sufficient for him to make himself understood, he told Gregory that he had attended the University of Bonn and asked if he spoke German. As Gregory spoke it like a native they were able to converse fluently in that language; but, all the same, very little spontaneous warmth animated their conversation.
Gregory was still too occupied with his own morbid thoughts to care much about the sort of impression he made, and constrained himself to be polite only out of consideration for Ho-Ping; while the Mandarin, being of the cold intellectual type, unlike the jolly Kâo Hsüan, proved incapable of drawing him out. He decided that Tsai-Ping had asked to meet him only in order to form some idea whether he could be written off as a nonentity, or might as a member of the Hsüan household prove an asset to Kâo’s political aspirations.
After bowing to one another over numerous tiny, fragile cups of tea, and some desultory talk about German literature and international affairs, Gregory excused himself, and was sent home in Ho-ping’s spare rickshaw.
When the burial of the late Emperor had taken place, and Kâo Hsüan had departed in the small warship which had been converted to serve as the Imperial Yacht, the life of the island settled down to normal; but for Gregory it meant entering on a new existence.
A-lu-te’s plan, that he should keep himself fit by working in the garden, met with only partial success. Work for the sake of exercise had never had the faintest appeal to him. To induce him to exert himself physically he had to be tempted by the prospect of some definite achievement. Once embarked on digging a swimming pool, building a wall, creating a new rock garden, or planting twenty-thousand bulbs to transform a glade into fairyland in spring, he would have laboured cheerfully from dawn to dusk for days on end; but according to Chinese standards the Hsüan garden was perfection already, and needed none of these things.
In consequence he never did more than potter in it; removing the heads from flowering shrubs on which the blossom had gone over, pruning dead branches from trees, and cutting flowers for the house. He took a mild interest in watching the growth of the plants that the real gardeners tended, but his continued indifference to everything about him robbed him of the initiative to ask the gardeners’ names or even make an effort to identify them individually by memorising the differences in their features.
His physical lassitude caused A-lu-te little concern as, from the beginning, it had been the possibility of exploring his mind which had intrigued her. In the gratification of this urge she spent never less than two hours a day, and often double that time, with him. During their sessions she displayed an insatiable curiosity about every aspect of life in the outer world; but he did not find her endless succession of questions at all trying. One was quite enough to set him off for half an hour or more, almost as though he was a penny-in-the-slot machine. She had only to mention such words as ‘divorce’, ‘caviare’, ‘guillotine’, ‘rhododendron’, ‘whisky’. Her reading, wide as it was, had left her with only vague ideas about scores of such things, and he found that it took his mind off his own gloomy thoughts to describe and discourse upon them in a leisurely manner.
As far as Europe was concerned she could not have hoped for a better instructor. He told her of Paris in spring and the Riviera in winter; of the Margit’s Insel at Budapest in high summer, and the gathering of the vintage on the Rhine in autumn; of the Acropolis at Athens in blazing sunshine and the Winter Palace near Leningrad under snow; of the Blue Grotto at Capri, of salmon fishing in Scotland, of the night life of Vienna; of Windsor, of the Escorial, of the Vatican, and of scores of other places.
Upon the United States, which was her greatest interest, she found him disappointing, as, except for short spells in transit he had stayed only in New York, Washington and Florida; but he had travelled many thousands of miles in aircraft, in liners, in trains and in automobiles, none of which she had even seen. He knew far more than she did about ancient civilisations and modern warfare. His knowledge of science was sketchy, but he knew his way about most of the great picture galleries, had read or seen performed most of the finest plays from those of Aristophanes to Christopher Fry, comprehended the principles upon which architecture had developed, and was quite a passable cook.
About all these subjects, and many more, he gave his views with the same lucidity as if they had already been inscribed on a gramophone record, but the one thing that A-lu-te could not persuade him to talk about was himself. It was not that he was now making a deliberate effort to forget his past. On the contrary, he continued to nurse his grief much as one tends to play with an aching tooth; but he felt greatly averse to saying anything about Erika to someone who had never known her.
At the beginning of his acquaintance with A-lu-te he had quite naturally assumed that she was a typical product of her class in the island; but he soon found that was very far from being the case. In having reached the age of twenty-two unmarried she was unique, and only unusual circumstances had resulted in her doing so.
Her father had suffered the greatest misfortune that can befall a Chinaman, as he had had eight daughters but no son, and he had to resign himself to the thought that after his death a son-in-law would perform the ancestral rites on his behalf. For all his daughters he had arranged suitable marriages while they were still infants, and A-lu-te’s sisters had duly been married on reaching the age of fifteen, but her fiancé had died a few months before she was to become his wife. Even so, according to custom in old China, that made her a widow and precluded her from ever marrying anyone. But in the island this harsh restriction upon girls who had met with such ill-fortune had been abrogated to twenty-seven months’ mourning; so by the time A-lu-te had become eligible again to be contracted in marriage she was over seventeen.
During her two years’ semi-seclusion she had amused herself by learning English and reading books about the world beyond the ocean; and, as she was unusually intelligent, her father had been so impressed with the knowledge she acquired that he had agreed to let her continue her studies for a further year. At eighteen her will and reasoning powers had developed to such an extent that she had the temerity to argue when he began seriously to press her on the subject of marriage. For another year the battle had gone on, and, at the end of it old Sze Hsüan had come to accept the fact that even if Heaven had denied him a son it had sent him a daughter who could fill a son’s place in all but the matter of the ancestral rites. Her mother had died when she was still a child; so he had made her the head of his household and now secretly hoped that she would never marry.
As Gregory soon gathered, the prospects of her doing so were becoming increasingly slender. It was not that she lacked physical attractions. She had a tall, willowy figure and moved gracefully. Her black hair was glossy and abundant, her eyes lively with intelligence, and her teeth two even rows of dazzling ivory. But by Chinese standards she was no longer a girl, and her mental attainments made her relatively so much older than she in fact was, that to her contemporaries she appeared to be verging on middle-age.
In due course Gregory met her sisters, their husbands and a number of other young people who came to the house. The women were most decorative and charming, but childlike and obviously just a little frightened that they might make fools of themselves while conversing with the learned A-lu-te. The men clearly respected her but never attempted to be in the least flirtatious, and it seemed as if they did not even think of her as a pretty young woman. Cynically, Gregory reflected that her simple laughter-loving sisters were far happier than ever she could be, and it was the very fact that she had developed her brain which debarred her from the full enjoyment of life. By eating of the fruit of the Tree of Knowledge she had acquired a discontent with the carefree existence of the island, and was no longer suited to become the wife of one of its nobility.
Most of the men visitors could speak English fairly fluently, or had a smattering of it and could speak French or German well; so Gregory was able to talk freely with them; but none of the women spoke anything but Chinese. In consequence, from constantly hearing the latter tongue, the little ‘Mandarin’ he had picked up as a young man soon came back to him, and he began to practise speaking it again with A-lu-te as his teacher.
The days passed pleasantly enough, and it was for him as though he now lived in a world that was not quite real. Something seemed to have died in him with Erika, and he simply accepted the routine that had been set for him without thinking about it. As the island was only eight degrees south of the Equator, the change in its seasons was scarcely perceptible. The hours of sunrise and sunset varied little, and all the year round cool night breezes refreshed it, keeping its climate pleasant apart from the blistering heat of midday, during which everyone slept. Almost the only indication of the changing seasons was the growth of crops and some variety in the flowers that from year’s end to year’s end made the gardens gay.
Gradually he came to know all the Mandarins and principal officials of the island. On account of his extensive travels and wide general knowledge, they enjoyed talking to him. He showed no desire whatever to leave the island and at times expressed admiration for the way in which it was administered; so they began to regard him almost as one of themselves and treated him in the most friendly manner.
The wreck had occurred early in March and it was mid-June when, one morning as Gregory was tying up a Bougainvillaea along a trellis, A-lu-te came running out of the house to tell him that a wireless message had been received from Kâo Hsüan. The yacht was approaching home waters and would dock that evening.
Elaborate arrangements had already been made for the reception of the Princess. Practically the whole population of the island was to welcome her as she stepped ashore, and the members of the Seven Families, arrayed in their most gorgeous garments, were to be presented to her by Kâo Hsüan. The Pings, the Wongs, the Sungs and the rest had entered on a cheerful rivalry for the distinction of presenting the most splendid turn-out, and every woman among them would wear her finest jewels for the occasion.
Having told Gregory the exciting news, A-lu-te hurried back indoors to superintend the final preparations of her father’s household; but, some ten minutes later, she came out again. He was still arranging the brilliant-hued creeper and as she called to him he noticed that her voice had lost its cheerfulness. Turning he saw that her walk was no longer quick and buoyant, and that she had a set frown on her face.
‘What’s wrong?’ he inquired.
‘Another runner has just arrived from the palace,’ she replied, still frowning. ‘The first was dispatched to let us know at once that the yacht would reach port this evening; but he had only half my Uncle Kâo’s message. The Princess is not on board.’
He shrugged. ‘You did say yourself that if you lived in the United States nothing on earth would induce you to take the job; and, after all, there was always a possibility that young Josephine might refuse it.’
‘What I said was not meant to be taken seriously,’ A-lu-te replied with an indignant expression. ‘Had I been of her lineage I should have felt compelled to accept from a sense of duty; and the possibility that after a few years here she might hanker to return to America has no bearing on the matter. How could any girl who had this island described to her for the first time, and was offered its sovereignty, possibly resist the glamour of becoming the central figure in such a fairy-tale—above all one who is dumb and, apparently, has been leading more or less the life of a Cinderella? It never even occurred to anyone here that she would refuse. I consider it most extraordinary.’
That evening it transpired that the Princess had not refused. She had never been asked. But for Kâo Hsüan to communicate with the island from the mainland would have given its existence away; so he had had to wait until he got back there to make his report. It was brief and, up to a point, perfectly straightforward, but, after that, it suddenly developed into a problem wrapped in mystery.
Soon after his arrival in San Francisco he had gone to call on the Princess’s mother, but had done no more on that occasion than assure himself that the two ladies were in good health. On taking his leave he had said that he would wait upon her again in a few days’ time. He had then gone to a soothsayer to find out the earliest date upon which it would be propitious to carry out the object of his mission. The soothsayer had told him five days hence. On the fifth day he had gone to the apartment again but found only the daily woman in occupation, and that she was greatly upset. Apparently on the previous day Madame Août had been knocked down by a car, seriously injured and taken to hospital. As soon as Josephine had learned of the accident she had hurried to her mother’s bedside. Her failure to return had been put down to her having either remained at the hospital or spent the night with friends. But inquiries next morning elicited the fact that Madame Août had died without regaining consciousness and that on being told, the grief-stricken girl had accepted sympathetic ministrations for only half an hour. She had then insisted on leaving the hospital and from that moment she had completely disappeared.
Kâo had then hoped that after suffering a temporary aberration from grief she would reappear to attend her mother’s funeral; but she did not do so, and he had spent the next fortnight using his utmost endeavours to find out what had become of her. He had traced as many of the Août’s acquaintances as he could and questioned them, sought the help of the police, and spent a considerable sum consulting every soothsayer in San Francisco’s Chinatown, all to no avail. Josephine Août had vanished utterly, and there was not even the suggestion of a clue to her movements after she left the hospital. Feeling now that the odds were on an excess of grief having caused the Princess to take her own life in some secluded spot where her body had not yet been discovered, and knowing how puzzled and anxious the Council would become if he delayed his return overlong, Kâo had then decided that he had better come back and report the sad failure of his mission.
As was to be expected, his news resulted in another wave of pessimistic speculation sweeping through the Seven Families. For the best part of two months the decision of the Mandarins, that the Princess should be sent for to choose an Emperor from one of their families, had seemed an inspired solution to the problem with which they were faced. Now they were back where they had started, and they murmured despondently that, unless some other way of selecting an Emperor could be agreed, they would be subjected to all the evils resulting from intrigue, bribery, and finally a coup d’état by which one of their number would arbitrarily seize power over them.
But the Council proved unwilling to give up without a struggle the idea which had met with such universal approbation. Several of its members argued that since there was no proof of the Princess’s death there was a very good chance that she was still alive. The majority agreed, and a decision was taken that everything that money could do should be done in an effort to trace her. Kâo Hsüan was ordered to return to San Francisco, and at the Mandarin Tsai-Ping’s request it was agreed that he should go too.
It was on the second morning after Kâo’s return that A-lu-te told Gregory of this new decision. In the course of the day he saw little of her, and during such brief conversations as they had she seemed unusually preoccupied. It was after dark, and he was contemplating turning in, when she again came, with Madame Pan-chieh panting along behind her, across the garden to his little pavilion.
‘They have agreed! I have got my way!’ she cried, her voice vibrant with excitement, as soon as she saw him stir among the shadows.
He had as usual at this hour been thinking of Erika. Bringing his thoughts back reluctantly to the present he asked with a shade of annoyance, ‘What are you talking about?’
‘I’m going to San Francisco! I’m going with Uncle Kâo!’ Her white teeth flashed and her words came tumbling out. ‘When he went before they were counting on the Princess’s mother to come back with her. Now, if we can find her, she will be alone. At least, there’ll be no woman with her suitable to act as her companion on the voyage. The Council had to agree that it would not be right for her to travel in a ship with only men. It’s true! It’s true! I’ve got my way, and I’m going to America.’
‘I’m so glad.’ Gregory smiled, now fully roused from his morbid musings. ‘I know how much this means to you, and I’m delighted that you have managed to pull it off.’ Then, after a moment, he added politely, ‘What I shall do while you are away I can’t think. I shall miss you tremendously.’
‘Oh, no, you won’t!’ She gave a sudden laugh.
‘I assure you that I shall,’ he insisted.
‘No!’ she laughed again. ‘I have my own theory about what has happened to the Princess Josephine. She may be dead or out of her mind; but she could equally well have been kidnapped by either the Nationalists or the Communists to be used as a pawn in their game. If I am right, getting her back is going to be a very dangerous undertaking. I have done my utmost to re-animate in you the vital spark that went out when you lost your wife, and I’ve failed. But I am determined to do it yet, and for a man of your type the one thing that might bring it back is danger. I have the Council’s consent to take you with me!’