Fragrant Flower Read online

  She picked up the pen, and although her writing looked as if a spider had crawled across the page, she wrote the words that her uncle required.

  “Sign your name!” the General commanded.

  She signed and he lifted the paper from the blotter. Without speaking he picked up his whip and walked across the room to the door. Taking the key from the lock he went from the room.

  Azalea heard herself being locked in. Then like a hunted animal she crept back into bed and hid her face in the pillow.

  The pain of her body prevented Azalea from sleeping until after the dawn had crept up the sky lighting the darkness of her room.

  Then she must have dozed a short while, because she awoke with a start to hear the door open. She looked with terror to see who was approaching the bed, afraid that it might be her uncle.

  But it was a Chinese maid who stood there, an elderly woman who had been on the staff of Flagstaff House for many years and had served under many successive Generals.

  “Me-Lady say Missy get up at once,” she said in her lilting voice.

  “Get up?” Azalea asked in surprise. “What time is it?”

  “Five o’clock, Missy.”

  “Why am I to get up?” Azalea enquired.

  “Missy go ’way,” the Chinese woman replied. “I pack few things for Missy in bag.”

  Azalea tried to sit up in bed and gave a groan of anguish from the pain it caused her back which had now stiffened.

  “I do not – understand,” she said after a moment.

  “Missy best get up,” the Chinese maid advised, “or Me- Lady be angry.”

  Azalea was certain that the maid could give her no more information than she had already received.

  At the same time it was puzzling that her aunt should wish her to rise so early. Where could she be sending her? Perhaps she was to go back to England, in which case, she thought, she would be able to find Lord Sheldon again when he returned home.

  She was quite certain he would not be satisfied with the note she had written him, or believe that she had written it of her own free will.

  But she could not help wondering what her uncle had said to him and whether he had painted so black a picture of her that Lord Sheldon might be influenced by it.

  Then she told herself that he loved her even as she loved him and would not believe anything which was said about her.

  She was sure of his love.

  With difficulty, because every movement was an agony in itself, Azalea got dressed, finding her whalebone corsets were like an instrument of the Inquisition. But she dared not risk her aunt’s rage should she omit them.

  The weals on her waist from her uncle’s whip made the tight band of her petticoat seem intolerable and it hurt even to put her arms into her gown and wait while the maid buttoned it.

  She arranged her hair in a tight chignon and, because she felt her aunt would expect it, she put on a small plain hat which tied with ribbons under her chin.

  While she was dressing the Chinese maid put some of her underclothes in a small valise and added her brushes and combs, her washing materials, her wrapper and bedroom slippers.

  “What about gowns?” Azalea asked.

  The Chinese maid shook her head.

  “Me-Lady say these only things I to pack in bag. Nothing else.”

  Azalea was puzzled.

  Surely her aunt would not expect her to return home on a ship with only one gown to wear for the whole of the voyage?

  And if she was not going back to England then where could she be going?

  As Azalea picked up her gloves and her handbag the maid went from the room to return almost immediately.

  “Come! Me-Lady waits!”

  Wondering what could be happening, Azalea went down the passage to find her aunt waiting for her outside her bedroom.

  One look at her face was enough to tell Azalea how angry she was.

  “Where are we going, Aunt Emily?”

  “You will learn that when we get there,” her aunt replied. “I do not wish to speak to you, Azalea. I am disgusted by your behaviour and since we must travel together it will be in silence.”

  “Very well, Aunt Emily,” Azalea said. “But – ”

  Before she could say any more Lady Osmund had walked ahead and was preceding her down the stairs.

  As she followed, Azalea could see that outside the front door there was a closed carriage.

  Quite suddenly she was frightened. Something was happening she did not understand. Where were they taking her? How would Lord Sheldon find her?

  She had a wild impulse to run away, to refuse to get into the carriage, to run away down the drive – perhaps to go to the Changs’ house and ask them to protect her.

  But she knew that her uncle would have every right to fetch her back, and that he would not hesitate to do so. She could not involve the Changs in this unpleasantness – and besides she had a feeling that long before she could reach them, the servants would be ordered to overtake her and drag her back, forcibly if necessary, to Flagstaff House. It was impossible to contemplate such humiliation, and apart from anything else, owing to the pain of her back Azalea was almost certain she would not be able to run very far.

  Her aunt had reached the hall.

  There were several Chinese servants in attendance. Suddenly Azalea saw that Ah Yok was holding open the carriage door.

  She realised at once that here was her only chance to communicate with Lord Sheldon.

  What could she say? What could she tell him?

  Then, as Azalea reached the front door, she saw on the lowest step a spot of blue.

  Because it was so early the steps had not yet been scrubbed as they were every morning, and the blue magpie’s feather must have fallen from its wings as a bird flew over the house.

  Azalea bent down and picked it up.

  Her aunt was already stepping into the carriage and Azalea, putting the feather into Ah Yok’s hand, tried wildly to remember the Cantonese for ‘Nobleman’.

  She could not remember it, so instead she whispered,

  “Give to English Mandarin.”

  Ah Yok’s hand closed over the feather and he nodded without speaking.

  Azalea’s voice had been very low but as she seated herself in the carriage beside her aunt, Lady Osmund said,

  “What did you say to that servant?”

  The carriage door was shut and they were proceeding down the drive.

  “I – I said – good-bye,” Azalea answered hesitatingly.

  “In Chinese?” her aunt asked.

  She was carrying a fan in her hand and she slapped Azalea with it on the side of her face.

  “You have no right to speak to the servants in any language but English!” she said. “Has your uncle not punished you enough for running after the Chinese, for wishing to associate with them?”

  Azalea did not answer. Her aunt had struck her in the same place where her uncle had slapped her the night before, and it hurt intolerably.

  Lady Osmund did not speak again.

  As the horses trotted down the hill, Azalea realised they were nearing the sea, but heading in a direction away from Old Praya.

  Ahead she saw what she knew was a jetty used by the military launches, and that one was waiting for them, the sailors in their white uniforms standing by the gangplank.

  Lady Osmund descended from the carriage and Azalea followed her down the jetty.

  They stepped aboard the military launch and she noticed, and was quite certain it was intentional, that there was no British officer in charge, only a Chinese.

  ‘Where are they taking me? Where can we be going?’ she wondered frantically.

  The gangplank was taken aboard and the engines began to turn as the launch set out into the blue waters of the harbour. Azalea realised they were heading West and as they passed several islands, she longed to ask where they were going, but did not dare interrupt her aunt’s stony silence.

  Lady Osmund sat upright in the laun
ch, apparently taking no interest in the view or the islands as they steamed past them. One hand was gripped tightly around the ivory handle of her sunshade.

  She fanned herself occasionally but otherwise made no movement. Because she was certain she would get no answer to any questions she might ask, Azalea also was silent.

  She could, however, hear the sailors chattering outside, and understood some of the words they spoke.

  She listened attentively and thought that one of them said something that sounded like ‘four hours’.

  If they were to travel for four hours, where could they be going?

  They had left Flagstaff House soon after five-thirty, which meant, Azalea reckoned, that in four hours’ time it would still be only nine-thirty.

  Then she heard one of the sailors say a word she recognised and knew the answer! Macao!

  She had read about the Portuguese Colony of Macao which lay on the western side of the mouth of the Pearl River estuary.

  She was almost certain it was about forty miles from Hong Kong, and she remembered reading that it was the oldest European outpost on the China coast, a Portuguese settlement and Roman Catholic Bishopric.

  It was one of the places Azalea had hoped to visit while she was in Hong Kong because there had been a great deal about it in the history book that she had read, which had described many of the beautiful buildings.

  But she had thought it unlikely that she would ever have the chance since her uncle would have no official duties there, and her aunt would certainly not wish to go sightseeing. But if Macao was their destination now, why should she be taken there?

  She tried desperately to remember more of what she had read, and was almost certain that Macao was connected with gambling, which could not have anything to do with her.

  ‘What else is there?’ she questioned, and could find no answer.

  The sun was rising and it was growing much hotter.

  Her aunt fanned herself vigorously and Azalea wished that she too had thought to bring a fan with her. Nevertheless, she liked the heat. But the burning mark on her cheek was causing her pain and the intolerable throbbing of her back seemed to get worse as the hours passed by.

  Then, suddenly, there was the yellowish water of the Pearl River, full of sediment and very different from the clear, deep ocean water which bathed Hong Kong.

  There was a slight swell which would not have been enough to disturb most people, but Lady Osmund brought out a bottle of smelling-salts from her bag and Azalea wondered whether she would be sick.

  Then, ahead, a narrow harbour came in sight, and above it the towers of Churches. There were many trees in full blossom in front of the beautiful baroque eighteenth-century Portuguese houses.

  The launch reached the jetty and Lady Osmund stepped ashore without even glancing at Azalea.

  She followed, almost like a dog, she thought to herself. There was a closed carriage waiting for them, and when they were seated, the horses started off, and Azalea said with a desperate note in her voice,

  “You must tell me, Aunt Emily, why we have come here! I have to know!”

  Lady Osmund did not answer but because she was suddenly afraid, Azalea insisted.

  “If you do not answer me I shall jump out of the carriage here and now and run away.”

  “You will do nothing of the sort,” Lady Osmund said breaking her silence of over four hours.

  “Then where are we going?” Azalea asked.

  “I am taking you to a place where you will be taught to behave as I apparently have been unable to teach you,” Lady Osmund said with a note of spite in her voice.

  “But what is it?” Azalea asked. “What sort of place?”

  “Your uncle and I have considered what is best for you and for us,” Lady Osmund answered. “We have tried to do our duty, Azalea, but you have repaid us with gross ingratitude. Now we have to take firmer steps to see that what occurred yesterday will not occur again.”

  “But you still have not answered my question,” Azalea said. “Where am I to live – and why Macao?”

  As she spoke, the carriage, which had been climbing the hill, came to a standstill.

  Azalea, who had been looking at her aunt, turned her head and looked out of the window.

  She saw a high wall, a huge doorway with an iron-studded door, and in the centre of it a grille.

  She thought for a moment that it was a Church, then as she stared trying to understand, Lady Osmund said,

  “This, Azalea, is the Convent of the Penitent Sisters of Mary.”

  “A Convent?” Azalea exclaimed.

  She was so astonished that she was unable to say any more as her aunt descended from the carriage.

  They were obviously expected – before the bell could be rung, the door was opened by a Nun.

  “I wish to see the Mother Superior,” Lady Osmund said.

  “She is expecting you,” the Nun answered in broken English.

  Azalea wondered for one moment if she should run away now, but before she could make up her mind the heavy door had closed behind them and they were proceeding down a long, flagged passage with the Nun leading the way.

  She was a very old woman, and judging by her appearance and the sound of her voice, Azalea guessed she must be Portuguese. They walked a long way, their feet seeming to echo in the cool quietness of the passage.

  They passed a courtyard that was full of green plants, then on again along passages whitewashed and empty of all furniture.

  At last the Nun stopped before a high door and knocked. A voice bade her in Portuguese to enter and the door was opened.

  In a square room furnished only with several high-backed chairs, a plain oak table and a huge crucifix on the wall, was an elderly Nun dressed all in white with a rosary hanging from her waist.

  “You are the Mother Superior?” Lady Osmund asked in English.

  “I am, Lady Osmund,” the Nun answered in the same language. “Will Your Ladyship sit down?”

  Lady Osmund sat down in front of the table.

  The Nun made a little gesture with her hand towards Azalea who sat on another chair.

  “You received General Sir Frederick Osmund’s letter?” Lady Osmund asked.

  “The message arrived after midnight,” the Mother Superior replied, “and as the Sister on duty gathered it was urgent, she brought it straight to me.”

  “It was in fact very urgent,” Lady Osmund said. “I think Sir Frederick made it very clear what we require.”

  “I understood from his letter,” the Mother Superior said, “that you wish your niece, after instruction, to take the final vows.”

  “That is our wish,” Lady Osmund said firmly.

  “No!” Azalea cried. “If that is what you have planned for me, Aunt Emily, I will not agree! I will not become a Nun!”

  It was frightening that neither the Mother Superior nor Lady Osmund even looked at her – they just ignored her outburst.

  “As Sir Frederick will have explained,” Lady Osmund said, “there is no other course where this girl is concerned. He has, I am sure, spoken of her misdemeanours and the fact that she is beyond our control?”

  “Sir Frederick wrote very fully,” the Mother Superior answered.

  “Then I feel I can leave her in your hands,” Lady Osmund said. “You have a reputation, I believe, for dealing with young women who are in need of correction?”

  “We have been successful in many instances,” the Mother Superior agreed.

  “Then may I say that my husband and I are deeply grateful to you for taking this girl in your charge. We feel sure she will be brought to a better state of mind than we have succeeded in creating.”

  “And we are grateful,” the Mother Superior said, “for the dowry which Sir Frederick enclosed, and which will be used for the good of our Order.”

  “You understand,” Lady Osmund said, “that we have no wish ever to hear of this girl again. It is, I believe, unnecessary for her to keep her own name, nor will it be rec
orded in your Register.”

  “That is correct,” the Mother Superior answered. “We are an enclosed Order. Your niece will be baptised into the Catholic faith with a name we will choose for her. Her surname will cease to exist from that moment. She will thereafter be addressed only as she has been newly christened.”

  Azalea looked from one to the other.

  She could not believe that what she was hearing was true. It was impossible that they should be planning her whole life, her whole future in these few sentences!

  She rose to her feet, and as she would have run towards the door, the Mother Superior said in a tone of authority,

  “If you try to run away you will be forcibly restrained.”

  Azalea paused and turned back, her face very pale, her eyes enormous.

  “I cannot stay here,” she said. “I do not wish to become a Nun, and I will not be a Catholic!”

  “God and your Guardians know what is best for you.”

  “But it is not best,” Azalea said. “I have no desire to be confined here.”

  Lady Osmund rose to her feet.

  “This is very distressing and unnecessary,” she said. “My husband and I have done our duty. We can do no more. I leave this girl and her wickedness entirely in your hands.”

  “I understand,” the Mother Superior said, “and I promise you that we shall pray for her and for you also, my Lady.”

  “Thank you,” Lady Osmund replied with dignity.

  She walked towards the door, passing Azalea as she did so, but she did not even look at her.

  The door was opened before she could touch it, and Azalea knew that the Nun outside had been waiting for her to leave.

  She turned towards the Mother Superior.

  “Please listen to me,” she pleaded, “please let me – explain what has happened and why I have been – brought here.”

  “There will be plenty of time later for me to hear all you have to say,” the Mother Superior answered. “Now I want you to come with me.”

  She walked from the room, and because there was nothing else she could do, Azalea followed her.

  There were several Nuns waiting outside in the passage and she had the feeling that they were there to prevent her from running away and to force her, if necessary, to behave as they wished.