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

let the servants return. Around the middle of the month, a number of sailors who’d been trapped by the siege were allowed to leave. But the merchants were to remain.

What was going to happen after they finally were permitted to leave? Was the China trade going to end? Would the British government really compensate him for his loss? Nobody could tell him.

—

One quiet afternoon Trader entered the library of the English factory. Tully had gone back to take an afternoon siesta. Many of the merchants had done the same, and the library was empty except for one elegant figure, fast asleep in a deep armchair.

No less a person than Superintendent Elliot himself.

Taking care not to disturb him, Trader settled down in an armchair on the other side of the room and opened Dickens’s Pickwick Papers. In a few minutes he was so engrossed in the amusing narrative that he quite forgot he was not alone.

He came to the famous description of the Eatanswill Election. He started to chuckle, then guffaw. Two minutes later he was weeping with laughter.

And was most disconcerted to find Superintendent Elliot by his chair, looking over his shoulder to see what he was reading.

“Ah,” said that gentleman amiably. “Pickwick. Excellent.”

“I’m sorry, sir,” said Trader. “I didn’t mean to wake you.”

“That’s all right. Time I woke up anyway.” He sat down opposite Trader in a companionable way. “Glad you’re finding something to laugh about at least. This must be a difficult time. Worse for you than the older men, I should think.”

“The big merchants like Jardine and Matheson can ride out the storm, sir. They’ve got huge resources. I haven’t.”

“I know.” Elliot nodded. “I’m sorry.”

After a moment, Trader said, “I understand that you need to get us out of here, sir, but may I ask—that is, if you feel you can tell me—do you think I will get the compensation?”

“Eventually, yes. But it will be a long wait.”

“I was afraid you’d say that.”

“If it’s any comfort,” Elliot said kindly, “Jardine must be almost in London by now. And a letter from Matheson will be in his hands the same time my report gets to the British government. Jardine will lobby ministers, including Palmerston himself. The opium lobby in Parliament is strong. And because I took over the opium on the government’s behalf, and Lin took it from me, it becomes a government affair. They’ll practically have to do something. Do you see?”

“I think so.” It all made sense. Yet for some reason he couldn’t quite define, it seemed to Trader that there was still a piece missing from the puzzle. He frowned. “May I ask another question?”

“Certainly.”

“It’s just that I overheard Read say something a bit strange after you announced you were surrendering all the opium and that we’d be compensated.”

“What was that?”

“Well, he said—I’m quoting his words, sir, if you’ll forgive me—that you were ‘a devious son of a bitch.’ ”

“The devil he did!” Elliot looked pleased.

“I did ask him about it once. He said I’d work it out, but I’m not sure that I have.”

Elliot paused, considering Trader thoughtfully. “If I share a confidence, Trader, will you give me your word that you will not repeat it. Not to your partner Odstock, not to Read, not to anyone?”

“I promise.”

“What value would you place on twenty thousand chests of opium?”

“At least two million pounds sterling. Probably more.”

“And do you suppose that the British government has that much cash lying around?”

“I don’t know.”

“They haven’t. And if they had, they wouldn’t give it. So where must the money come from?”

“I don’t know.”

“From the Chinese themselves. We’ll have to make them pay.”

“You mean war?”

“War is a strong word. China is huge, its people without number. Land war is out of the question. But the shore defenses are old; the war junks we have seen are clumsy and poorly armed. Any British naval vessel could pound them to pieces. So that is what we should do. In common parlance, we should knock them about a bit.”

“And then?” asked Trader.

“Those who know something of China’s history tell me their normal practice is to buy off foreign trouble if they can. Their empire is ancient and closed. As long as things return to normal, they don’t care. But they hate to lose face. It’s my belief that rather than lose face and have more of their ships sunk and their shore batteries smashed, they will agree to speedy peace terms. Those will naturally include trade concessions and reparations, which can be used to pay for our military costs and the opium our merchants have lost. Mr. Read is perceptive, and correct.” He smiled. “It’s the navy that rules the British Empire.”

So Elliot was engineering a war between his country and China.

Trader was impressed. He was used to the proud military men, the seasoned local administrators, and the cynical merchants of Calcutta, but this was his first real glimpse of the cold, ruthless, diplomatic intelligence that lay behind them all.

But none of this helps me, he thought. My only hope of solvency doesn’t lie even with the British government, but in a future war, against a vast empire, which may not take place, and whose outcome, whatever Elliot thinks, must be uncertain.

“I have a last question,” he said. “You know Commissioner Lin wrote a letter to the queen. It may be written in atrocious English, but his moral case is clear enough. What if Her Majesty agrees and takes the Chinese side?”

Elliot gazed at him and smiled. “My dear Trader,” he asked gently, “what on earth makes you suppose that anyone’s going to show it to her?”

—

Early in May, the troops and police withdrew from the waterfront. But Matheson, Dent, Odstock, and most of the English merchants were still kept hostage until all the promised opium was surrendered. Only at the start of the fourth week of May did the news come: “Lin’s got his twenty thousand chests.”

But still the commissioner was not quite done. He had one more demand.

“The damn fellow