Here Dent came to the rescue and and whispered in Bahram’s ear: ‘You must make some allowances for our good Mr Slade: he is a stickler for proper usage and has a great detestation of corrupted words. He particularly dislikes the word “bugger”, which is so much in use among the vulgar masses. He believes it to be a corruption of the word “Bulgar” or “Bulgarian” and insists on using those instead.’
This further deepened Bahram’s puzzlement for he had always assumed that ‘bugger’ was the anglice of the Hindusthani word bukra or ‘goat’.
‘So Mr King is having goats, is he?’ he said to Mr Slade.
‘It would not surprise me at all,’ said Mr Slade mournfully. ‘It is common knowledge that a congenital Bulgar will Bulgarize anything that takes his fancy. Amantes sunt amentes.’
Bahram had never heard of anyone keeping goats in Fanqui-town, but it stood to reason that if someone did it would be a representative of Olyphant amp; Co. – for that firm had always been the odd one out in Fanqui-town, choosing to do business in eccentric, money-losing ways. What was more, the firm’s managers had even had the effrontery to criticize others for refusing to follow their lead: not surprisingly, this did little to endear them to their peers.
Bahram was one of the few tai-pans who was actually on good terms with Charles King – but this was because he usually discussed things other than business. He knew very well that the Olyphant agent inspired deep hostility within the upper echelons of Fanqui-town, and was astonished to see him amongst the members of the Committee.
Bahram turned to Dent with a puzzled frown: ‘Is Charles King also on the Committee?’
‘Yes indeed he is,’ said Dent. ‘He was invited to join because he is a great favourite of the mandarins. It was felt that he would be able to represent our views to them. But it must be admitted that it has not turned out well: instead of advocating our issues to them, he unfailingly does exactly the opposite. He is forever trying to bully and hector us into obeying his Celestial patrons.’
At this point the Club’s stewards entered with the first course. The stewards were all local men, with braided queues, round caps and sandalled feet. Their tunics were in the Club’s colour, blue, and were worn over grey, ankle-length pyjamas.
Unlike the stewards, many of the Chamber’s cooks were from Macau: when freed from the obligation of producing the kind of fare that was most in demand in the Club’s dining room – roast beef, Yorkshire pudding, haggis, steak-and-kidney pies and the like – they were capable of serving superb Macahnese food. Now, looking at the plate that had been set before him, Bahram was delighted to see that it contained one of his favourite dishes: a bright green watercress soup called Caldo de Agriao. With it was served a variety of condiments and sauces, as well as a fine Alvarinho wine from Muncao.
Bahram was absorbed in savouring the wine and the soup when Mr Slade’s voice boomed across the table. ‘Well Mr Jardine, since no one else will dare ask, it falls to me to bell the cat. Is it true, sir, that you intend soon to return to England?’
The soup was suddenly forgotten and every head turned to look towards Mr Jardine who was sitting at the other end of the table, between the host and Mr Wetmore. A quizzical smile appeared on his unlined face and he said quietly: ‘Well Mr Slade, I was planning to make my intentions public at the end of the evening, but since you have presented me with this opportunity, I will seize it. The answer is, in short: Yes, I am indeed planning to return to England. The date has not yet been decided but it will probably be in a month or two.’
A silence fell, leaving many spoons suspended in the air. Before anything else could be said Mr Lindsay broke in, speaking in his usual rounded, measured tones: ‘The urge to seek the joys of marriage and fatherhood is powerful in all men. We cannot expect Mr Jardine to forever defer his happiness in order to provide us with his unrivalled leadership. We are fortunate in having had him with us for as long as we have. It behooves us now to wish him luck in finding the bride he deserves.’
This was met with nods and a quiet chorus of Amens and Hear-hears, which Mr Jardine acknowledged with a smile: ‘Thank you, gentlemen, thank you: I will certainly need your good wishes. I have so little experience of the petticoat company that I should consider myself fortunate if I succeed in finding a lady who is fat, fair and forty. It is as much as a man of my age has a right to expect.’
Amidst the roar of laughter that followed, the soup plates were whisked away and a number of dishes were laid upon the table. Inspecting them closely, Bahram recognized many of his favourite Macahnese specialities: croquettes of bacalhao, boulettes of pork, a spiced salad of avocado and prawns, stuffed crabs and a fish tart.
The food did not long distract Mr Slade: having made quick work of a couple of glasses of wine and several platefuls of crab, codfish and pork balls, he again addressed Mr Jardine: ‘Well sir, since so many of us at this table are old bachelors and perfectly content with our lot – as indeed you too seemed to be until quite recently – you will perhaps forgive us for wondering whether the attractions of the marital bed are the sole cause of your departure from our midst.’
Mr Jardine raised an eyebrow. ‘Pray Mr Slade, I am not sure I understand you.’
‘Well sir,’ said Mr Slade in his booming voice. ‘Let me put the matter plainly then: it is widely rumoured that you have drawn up a detailed war plan and are hoping to persuade Lord Palmerston, the Foreign Secretary, to make use of it. Is there any truth to this?’
Jardine’s smile did not waver in the slightest: ‘I fear you overestimate both my foresight and my influence, Mr Slade. Lord Palmerston has not called on me for advice or assistance – although you may be sure that if he did I would not hesitate to offer it.’
‘I am glad to hear it, sir.’ Mr Slade’s voice grew louder. ‘And if you should happen to meet Lord Palmerston I beg you to speak your mind to him, on behalf of all of us.’
‘What exactly would you have me say, Mr Slade?’
‘Why sir,’ said Slade, ‘my views are no secret: I have stated them repeatedly in the Register. I would have you tell His Lordship that he has disappointed us, at every turn. He is no doubt a man of exceptional ability so we had hoped he would understand the importance of trade and commerce to the future of the Empire. Yet every measure he has taken so far for the protection and promotion of the British trade to China has failed utterly and disgracefully. I would urge him to recognize that it was a mistake to appoint a man like Captain Elliott to be the Representative of Her Majesty’s government in China. Captain Elliott has attained his position solely because of his connections in Society and Government – he understands nothing of financial matters and as a military man he can never adequately appreciate the principles of Free Trade. It follows therefore that he cannot honestly represent the interests of men such as ourselves. Yet it is we who, through our taxes, pay the salaries of men like him – a class of official parasites that seems to be forever increasing in number. This is unconscionable, sir, and it must be made plain to His Lordship. I would urge him to change his policy; to stop reposing his trust in soldiers and diplomats and other representatives of the government. This is a new age, and it will be forged and shaped by trade and commerce. His Lordship would do better to make common cause with men like us, who are here and who are acquainted with the conditions of this country; he should trust our leading merchants to represent our own best interests. His Lordship should be cautioned that if he intends to proceed as he began, then the future for British subjects in this country is gloomy and dark indeed: if not for his inaction, the situation here would never have come to the present pass. He should be warned also that if he continues along his present path he himself will not escape opprobrium. He will find that he has paid too dear for his ministerial whistle if its price is the sacrifice of the honour and interests of his own country.’
There was a dazed silence, which helped the stewards to serve another course: even though Bahram’s attention had been distracted by Mr Slade’s thunderous peroration, he did not fail to recognize that the dish that had now appeared on the table was the great glory of Macahnese cuisine – Galinha Africana – grilled chicken, napped with a coconut sauce that was redolent of the spices of Mozambique.
No one else paid any attention to the chicken. From the other end of the table, Mr Lindsay directed a frown at Mr Slade. ‘You must consider yourself lucky, John, that you were born in England. In some countries a man might well lose his head for taking such a tone with his leaders.’
‘Believe me, sir,’ said the Thunderer, ‘I know very well the value of my freedoms. Nothing would give me greater pleasure than to see them conferred upon the uncountable millions who groan under the yoke of tyranny – most notably the wretches who suffer the rule of the Manchu despot.’
‘But Mr Slade!’ It was the voice of Charles King. ‘If freedom is merely a stick for you to beat others with, then surely the word has lost all meaning? You have blamed Lord Palmerston, you have blamed Captain Elliott, you have blamed the Emperor of China – yet you have not once taken the name of the commodity that has brought us to the
