The Dangerous Years (21 page)

‘Have no fear,’ Verschoyle smiled. ‘Our turn’ll come. Boil a merchant in oil or decapitate a missionary or two, and there’ll be only dignified protests, notes and demands for satisfaction. But one day some white woman will be stripped to the buff and then –
then!
–you’ll see us rise in wrath. Parliament will stand on the seats in the Commons, the British army will be mobilised and Tyrwhitt’ll lead the battle fleet upriver to bombard the Nationalists with everything we’ve got.’

Despite Verschoyle’s flippancy, the tension was marked. It seemed like a coiled spring and, with more trouble clearly brewing, plans were put in shape for the possible evacuation of all British and foreign nationals from upriver. Then, however, twenty-four hours earlier than expected, the first of the troop-ships from India arrived and the two British battalions clanked through the town, to the relieved cheers of the British population and the muttered resentment of the Chinese.

Tyrwhitt was in a better mood that evening. ‘Seems to have done the trick,’ he said. ‘The Italians are now going to send troops, too, and I’ve just been informed that the Japanese also have men standing by ready to join us if necessary.’

The Punjabi battalion arrived the following week, strong, brawny men, heavily bearded with dark gleaming eyes. But the sporadic strikes grew worse. One day it was the dock labourers, next day the rickshaw men, the following day the taxi drivers or the tramway workers. The actions were deliberate and well organised so that the city was never able to function properly. The day after the arrival of the Punjabi battalion, there was a complete shutdown. Shops closed. Trams stopped. Taxis and rickshaws disappeared and the idle labourers from the docks hung about the street corners in threatening crowds, staring bitterly at the troops manning the essential services.

Units of the Shanghai Defence Force, supported by Italian Marines, moved out to form a cordon round the International Settlement, but when the new commanding general appeared on board
Hawkins
to meet Tyrwhitt, it appeared he intended to tread carefully and use words rather than firearms.

Chief of staff seems able enough, though,’ Kelly said. ‘Viscount or something called Gort.’

‘Met him.’ Verschoyle, of course, knew everybody who mattered. ‘Quite a soldier, I hear, but I’d have thought a bit intense for peacetime. Might be the result of his domestic troubles, of course. Wife left him. Spartan type. You’ll probably find he likes to sleep on a bed of concrete hosed down nightly with cold water.’

By this time, Shanghai was so crowded with troops it was difficult to move without falling over them. There were eight British battalions, as well as Italians, Japanese and Americans, and a week later two more British battalions and another contingent of American Marines arrived. There was no unified command, however, and only the French had agreed to act in concert with the British in the event of trouble.

The retreat of the beaten Chinese northern army through the area bordering the foreign cordon took place without serious trouble. The soldiers were ragged, jaded and often bootless, their uniforms hanging off their lean bodies in folds, while their horses were nothing but skin and bone and their guns battered and dusty. Almost as they disappeared to the north, the Nationalists arrived, halting with their sun banners not far from the British lines. They looked confident, fit and well equipped, and the British stared at them curiously, trying to weigh them up. There were no incidents, however. The British had been warned by friendly Chinese what to expect and the city was an armed camp, with infantry and even artillery on high buildings, and armoured cars on regular patrols up and down the outlying roads where foreigners had their homes. On the only occasion when the Nationalists tried to enter the settlement they were firmly turned back and the incident seemed to rouse not only the Americans, who sent Marines to assist, but also the municipal council, who allowed armed posts to be stationed outside the cordon to guard foreign properties beyond the settlement boundaries.

Watching the reports, Kelly found himself debating what to do about Charley. With each day, Shanghai seemed less and less a place to bring women to, and he sent a message via the shipping office in Hong Kong that they should disembark and remain in safety there for the time being. A message back informed him that
Carantic
had already left and as he returned aboard the flagship, another general strike was announced for the next day.

The following morning Nationalist troops broke through the cordon on the north of the settlement but were driven out by machine gun fire from two British armoured cars at the cost of four British casualties and an unknown number of Chinese. Another clash occurred soon afterwards at the station yard in Chapei, just outside the settlement, where sixty Chinese were killed or wounded, but the Nationalists seemed to be well in control and most of the trouble appeared to be stirred up by the Chinese Communist Party. Murders were being committed regularly, however, and sniping by Communist gunmen was taking place all the time, and five Punjabi soldiers were hit.

Carantic
was due to arrive in two days’ time and Kelly found himself in a tizzy of nervousness. By this time, he’d made up his mind he’d pop the question before Charley could change her mind. She seemed in the mood to listen again and he knew it was now or never. It might even be a good idea, he decided, full of lust, to get her into bed somehow and seal the contract that way. That afternoon, however, reports arrived of trouble at Nanking. With
Wanderer
involved in a minor collision with another ship, which had scraped her paint, Verschoyle was aboard the flagship when the news came in.

‘Who’s Lord Clemo?’ Kelly asked him.

‘Uses the same club as my Old Man,’ Verschoyle said. ‘Claims to be a socialist thinker, though how he equates that with the money he’s got I’m buggered if I know. He’s Clemo-Oriental.’

‘That’s what I thought. How about Arthur Withinshawe? Know him?’

Verschoyle shrugged. ‘Son-in-law. Rather a wet like Kimister. Clemo’s daughter Christina’s a bit of a cock-teaser. Know her well. Does a marvellous tango.’

‘For God’s sake man, keep to the point!’

Verschoyle smiled. ‘Married him after she dropped George Ames. Found out he’d been tupping Nancy Averleigh and she chucked him in a rage and married her father’s London under-manager, Withinshawe. Poor man never knew what hit him. I heard they were out here.’

‘They are,’ Kelly said flatly. ‘At Nanking. And the buggers are missing.’

Tyrwhitt didn’t receive the news of the new trouble cheerfully. He was quite clearly unhappy in China, and with one group of advisers itching to set about the Chinese in the old Victorian gunboat manner and the other terrified of losing lives, trade and possessions, he was torn two ways.

‘This damn place’s enough to drive a man mad,’ he said.

‘I’m afraid there’s more, sir,’ Kelly pointed out. ‘There’s trouble at Nanking. The Nationalists went in on the heels of the retreating northern army and ran wild, killing, looting and raping. Six non-Chinese – including the British harbour-master, a French and an Italian priest, and a seaman from
Emerald
– have been murdered. The British consul-general, an officer of the Shanghai Defence Force, an American and several Japanese have been wounded, and houses have been looted and individuals stripped of their valuables and even their clothes. White women have been subjected to attempts to rape them.’

‘What’s been done?’

‘Emerald
and several American destroyers opened fire. They were firing for about seventy minutes according to the report. Various estimates on Chinese casualties. The rioting and shooting’s stopped.’

‘Go on.’

‘The evacuation of foreigners is reported complete but it seems we had to threaten another bombardment before the Nationalist general would allow them to be brought to the waterfront. Foreign property’s still being looted, and there are also attacks on property downriver at other places. They want to retaliate with another bombardment.’

‘No!’ Tyrwhitt’s voice came in a bark of anger. ‘Make a signal to
Emerald
. If the damn’ man insists, I’ll relieve him.’

‘There’s one other point, sir.’

‘Go on.’

‘It seems that, despite the report that all foreigners have been evacuated, some British nationals have
not
, in fact, been brought out. We have lists of names and there are some not among them. Chiefly a Mr Arthur Withinshawe and his wife. She’s the only daughter of Lord Clemo.’

‘Who the devil’s Lord Clemo?’

‘Clemo-Oriental, sir. Big man in petrol. I understand from Lieutenant-Commander Verschoyle, who appears to know everybody worth knowing, that he has the ear of the Prime Minister and is a personal friend of the First Lord.’

Tyrwhitt turned, his eyes angry. ‘Meaning that if I don’t do something about it I’m likely to be in trouble. Do we know where they are?’

‘It seems they were last heard of in Wu-Pi, sir. That’s a small town further upriver. A non-treaty town, sir, recently captured by Nationalists. They have a house there.’

‘Why the devil can’t they stay where they can be protected? What do you suggest?’

‘It seems to indicate someone going up to look for ’em, sir. I gather the Clemo-Oriental ship,
Swei-Fan
, was despatched to bring ’em downriver but at some point during the night the Chinese boarded her, killed the captain and locked the rest of the white officers below. As far as I can make out, the Withinshawes are still trapped in their house further upriver. Lord Clemo’s cutting up a little rough.’

‘Is he, by God? Does he expect us to send the Marines in to fetch ’em out?’

‘I suspect so, sir, but we have no rights there. It’s officially Chinese territory.’

Tyrwhitt gestured angrily. ‘Then surely we can’t be held responsible for these damn people, can we?’

‘I understand Lord Clemo thinks we can, sir.’

Tyrwhitt scowled. ‘Go on.’

‘I think it’s got to be a small party, sir.’

‘How small?’

‘Two or three. No more. With one of them an expert Chinese speaker.’

Tyrwhitt stared at Kelly for a moment. ‘Only one man I’d chance for this,’ he said.

‘Who, sir?’

‘You.’

Despite Kelly’s protests, Tyrwhitt was adamant.

‘But, sir!’ Kelly’s voice became a bleat. ‘I have my fiancée arriving in the next day or two.’

Tyrwhitt swung round to face him. ‘Surely to God she can wait, boy?’

‘I’m not so sure she can, sir.’

Tyrwhitt glared. ‘Then you’d better delegate one of your friends to keep her entertained until you return. I want someone up at Nanking who knows exactly how I feel.’

Kelly drew a deep breath. ‘Very well, sir.’

‘And there’s no need for heavy breathing. It’s got to be done. Who’re you taking?’

Kelly didn’t hesitate. Rumbelo was in
Spider
, he knew, and
Spider
was near Kiang Yin. ‘Just one good interpreter, sir. For the rest I can draw on the crews up there.’

Tyrwhitt waved a hand. ‘Very well. Get on with it.
Wanderer’s
due to relieve
Opal
at Kiukiang so you’d better make the passage in her.’

The problem of what to do about Charley worried Kelly. Oddly enough, he felt he might have entrusted her to Verschoyle, who seemed to have a soft spot for her, but Verschoyle would be upriver, too, and Fanshawe was due to follow them. It only seemed to leave Kimister.

As he outlined what he had in his mind, Kimister said nothing. He’d heard of Charley’s visit from his mother and, though her last letter had given him little encouragement, he fully intended to see her.

‘Leave it to me,’ he said.

The interpreter who’d been assigned to the project was a man called Balodin, the son of an Anglo-Russian father and a Chinese mother. He was a sturdy, intelligent-looking man with the jet black hair and lemon skin of a Chinese, and he showed Kelly where he could obtain a twelve-shot Luger to match his own.

On board
Wanderer
, Verschoyle led Kelly to his cabin. ‘Who’s going to look after the Little ’Un while you’re away?’ he asked.

‘Kimister,’ Kelly said, and to his surprise Verschoyle’s smile died.

For a moment he said nothing, then, hoisting his glass, he spoke with forced cheerfulness. ‘Here’s to success,’ he said.

Kelly frowned. ‘Are you getting at something?’ he demanded.

‘Why should I?’ Verschoyle was all innocence.

‘There’s something on your mind. You always were a dirty dog, Cruiser.’

‘Well, it’s true, I always did believe in trampling on the silly little skulls of smaller men to make my way to the top. But not you. Not you, old boy. I saw you come back from Jutland remember? That’s where it stopped.’

‘Then, for God’s sake, say what you’re thinking.’

‘Look–’ for the first time in his life Kelly saw Verschoyle looking uncomfortable ‘–leave it alone. It’s nothing.’

‘It must be something. Or you wouldn’t have said “It’s nothing.”’

Verschoyle frowned. ‘I didn’t say a word. Only “Here’s to success.”’

Kelly was beginning to lose his temper. ‘There was a lot you didn’t say!’

‘For God’s sake man,’ Verschoyle snapped. ‘It’s none of my damn business!’

‘What isn’t?’

‘Look, I don’t want to cause trouble, but I think it’s a pity you can’t find someone other than bloody Kimister to meet your Little ’Un.’

‘Why
not
Kimister?’

‘I wouldn’t trust him, that’s all. You forget Sister Mabel and I are like that.’ Verschoyle held up two fingers close together. ‘Always mentally and very often physically. Mabel’s a bit of a shyster like me. But she’s got her sister’s welfare at heart. She always thought she needed her head examining to feel the way she did about someone like you who’s spent most of his career trying to get himself killed. But, in the perverse way of women, she also wants the Little ’Un to get you to the post.’

Kelly stared. ‘What are you getting at?’