China by Edward Rutherfurd (historical books to read TXT) 📕

“Henry says that he has faith in me,” she said uncertainly. “He says that God will give me the strength I need.” She looked at him earnestly. “Do you think he is mistaken? And that perhaps because he loves me, he is deceiving himself?”

Cecil Whiteparish gazed at her. What should he say? The truth, he supposed. What else? “I do not know,” he answered. “But I can see why he loves you.”

—

The marriage went off well, thanks to Colonel Lomond. His speech was short.

“Our lovely bride is marrying a kinsman—which is usually a sensible thing to do. After all, if you marry a kinsman, at least you know what you’re getting.” Murmurs of approval. No member of the Scots gentry would ever disagree with that. “And this kinsman of hers is a man who’s decided to put his service to our religion first, as I daresay we all should. More than that—I’m speaking as an old soldier here—he’s prepared to face discomfort and possible danger to do it. And he’s found a wife, from my own family, I’m proud to say, who’s prepared to share that mission with him. So I ask you to raise your glasses in our old Scottish toast: Good health.” He paused, and then firmly: “Long life.”

They got the point. Only good words could be said after that.

—

There were three of them at the big dining room table. As today was Thursday, that meant cold beef and pickle for lunch. Trader liked it served with a local French wine his vintner had discovered, one nobody else at that time had ever heard of. “They call it Beaujolais; it’s red but you serve it cold,” the vintner told him. So at Drumlomond, alone in all Scotland, this wine was served on Thursdays with the beef and pickle.

They talked of family matters first, and friends, and general things. The meat course was cleared.

In most houses of any consequence, the cook had her special dishes. At Drumlomond, Mrs. Ives was adept at every kind of pastry. Depending on the season she would produce a salmon en croûte or a beef Wellington that guests would remember for years. And at all seasons, both at dinner and after the meat course at lunch, she would bring forth two flans, one fruit and one savory. In Emily’s honor, knowing it was her favorite, the savory flan was mushroom.

There was a cry of pleasure from Emily. Mrs. Ives was summoned forth, beaming, from the kitchen and duly thanked.

Then John Trader finally addressed the matter in hand. “Well, my dear,” he said, “you and Henry have been in London quite a few months before setting forth. Have you had to make a lot of preparations?”

“Quite a lot, Papa, yes.”

“I’m happy to tell you that as well as everything else, Emily has been learning to read Chinese,” said Henry, “and made impressive progress, I may add.”

“Well done, my dear.” Trader gave Emily a nod of approval. He mightn’t have wanted her to marry a missionary, but if you were going to take a thing on, you should do it properly. “Proud of you,” he said. “Tell me, do you and Henry yet know exactly where you’ll be stationed?”

“Not yet, Papa.”

“We go to Hong Kong first, of course,” Henry explained. “We might be sent to Shanghai, which would be quite agreeable. But we might be going to any of the treaty ports, or possibly farther into the interior.”

“I saw some photographs the other day,” Trader remarked. “The caption said they were Protestant missionaries in China. But as far as I could judge, they were dressed as Chinese merchants. Was the caption wrong, or are you going to dress up like that? And if so, why?”

“Ah.” Henry nodded. “The caption was probably correct. As for myself, I’m not sure, but I may dress like a merchant, at least some of the time.”

“Why’s that?”

“Imagine you’re Chinese. Put yourself in their place. Think of what’s happened in the last thirty years: the Opium Wars; the burning of the Summer Palace. Acts of huge disrespect. You might well be suspicious of the British. And of their religion—especially when you remember the appalling death and devastation caused by the Taiping rebels, who, so far as most Chinese understand, worshipped the same deity that we do.” He paused. “You may win a war quickly, but earning trust takes far longer. And one way to make a start is to show respect for local customs—as long as they’re not against our faith. Wearing local dress seems an obvious choice. It’s also well adapted to the climate.”

“Sensible,” Trader agreed. “Gordon used to wear a Chinese uniform.” He paused. “I’m glad it’s safer to be a missionary nowadays than it used to be.”

Henry pursed his lips. “Some things have changed,” he acknowledged cautiously.

“You sound a bit doubtful.”

“One should never discount the possibility of danger,” Henry answered. It was against his nature to lie.

“What concerns you most?” Trader wanted to know.

“Let me assure you first,” Henry said, “before I answer, that this is not religious rivalry, let alone dislike. Their priests include some of the best men I know. But I think the Catholic Church is making a mistake.”

“How so?”

“It’s their churches, really. They keep building these huge churches on important and cherished sites, where they can only give offense. There’s one on the site of an old temple, another in the grounds of a governor’s yamen. Churches that dominate the landscape for miles around.”

“That’s hardly new, is it?” Trader asked. “The church has made a point of building over pagan temples ever since the early centuries of Christianity. It took over the old pagan festivals as well. Midsummer solstice, Halloween…you name it. The Church Triumphant.”

“True, but they usually did something else first. They converted the king. Then his people would follow. For three centuries the Jesuits hoped to convert the Chinese emperors, but they never succeeded. And I certainly can’t see them