The Secret Adventures of Charlotte Bronte

40

A rhythmic creaking noise pierced the veil of sleep that enshrouded me. I became aware of the hard surface upon which I lay, a rocking motion, and a sensation of nausea. My head ached; my tongue felt furry inside my parched mouth. Rough, thick fabric covered my body, which was stiff and sore. I heard splashing noises. Above me was the night sky, filled with stars that wheeled, like lanterns on a carousel, around a full moon. A cold, reviving breeze swept my face; I inhaled the scent of the ocean. My memory was a blank. More puzzled than afraid, I sat up, and the world rocked; my stomach slid to and fro inside me. I saw that I was in a boat-a small, open craft. A man sat not far from me, rowing. His oars splashed in the ocean, which spread all around us, its black waves shimmering with reflections from the moon and stars. For one frightful moment I imagined that I had died and that the man was Charon, ferrying me along the River Styx. Then I recognized him. It was Nick, the mute servant of Kuan.

“Good evening, Miss Bronte,” said Hitchman’s voice.

I turned and saw him seated behind me in the boat. Eerie lights from the sea played across his face, which wore its familiar, sardonic smile.

Terror surged within me. “Where are the children?”

“Right next to you,” Hitchman said.

Now I became conscious of warm, solid weight pressed against me. Vicky and Bertie lay under the blanket that covered us. Their delicate faces were pale in the moonlight. Vicky’s eyelids fluttered; Bertie whimpered. I felt them stirring.

“How long have I been asleep?” I said, trying to speak calmly and hide my fear lest it rouse his suspicion.

“Long enough,” came the reply.

My heart plunged, for I calculated that I must have slept through an entire day. By now the Queen must have discovered that the children and I were gone, and Mr. Slade must have begun a search, but still no one had rescued us.

“Where are we?” I said.

“On the North Sea,” Hitchman said.

I looked backward as Nick rowed and our boat cut across the water. Lights twinkled on a distant shoreline. My hope that Mr. Slade would come for me waned further.

“Where are we going?” I said.

“To meet Kuan.”

Ahead loomed the dark form of a steamship floating at anchor. I deduced it to be the vessel that Kuan had stolen from the opium traders and that had brought him to England. Lanterns burned on its deck. Skeletal masts supported weather-beaten sails on rigging that was like the web of a giant spider. The huge, curved wheel-houses bulged with latent power. The funnel rose tall enough to impale the heavens. Nick brought our boat alongside the ship. A ladder was mounted on its hull.

“Up you go, Miss Bronte,” Hitchman ordered.

Still weak and sick from the laudanum, and trembling with fright, I climbed the ladder. The ship’s hull was scarred from long journeys, infested with barnacles, algae, and wormholes. Two Chinese sailors hauled me aboard. Their narrow, hostile eyes stared at me; they wore pistols and daggers at their waists. More Chinamen loitered around the deck. I felt as though I’d stepped onto foreign territory. I despaired, knowing that Mr. Slade would never find me there.

Hitchman, Nick, and the sailors brought Vicky and Bertie and the dinghy onto the ship. Hitchman said, “Come, Miss Bronte, I’ll show you where you’ll live during our voyage to China.”

China! I felt a stab of horror. I never imagined events would reach this point. Hitchman and Nick carried the children down a flight of stairs below deck. My responsibility towards Vicky and Bertie outweighed my fears for myself: Whatever happened, I could not allow harm to come to them. I followed them into a narrow passage that smelled of coal smoke, tar, and fish as well as those odors produced by humans living in close, unsanitary quarters. We entered a tiny chamber that had four bunks mounted on the walls, a washstand, and a porthole window.

“See to the children,” Hitchman said as he and Nick laid them on the two lower bunks. By now they were restless and yawning. “Make sure they behave themselves. Nick will bring you food and water. You’ll find everything else you need in the cupboards under the bunks.”

The men departed. I unwrapped Vicky and Bertie. They had wet themselves while asleep, and their nightclothes were soaked. In the cupboards I found children’s garments, and some that would fit me. Those were of much better quality than I usually wore. Kuan had provided well for us. This dismayed rather than pleased me: It seemed the final confirmation that I would indeed be going on this journey. Nick brought bread, cheese, cold meat, and a water jug. I cleaned the children and dressed them.

“Miss Bronte,” Vicky murmured. “Where are we?”

I felt a terrible pity for her, and a guilt even more terrible. “On a ship.”

“What are we doing here?” Vicky sat up, rubbing her eyes. “I don’t feel good. Where are we going?”

I hadn’t the heart to tell her.

“Where’s Mama?” Bertie demanded. I tried to put shoes on him, but he kicked at me. “Go away! I want Mama!”

“I’m sorry, but your mama isn’t here.” Wondering how in the world I would manage him, I resorted to an outright lie: “Be a good boy, and you’ll see her soon.”

Bertie began to cry and wail, “Mama! Papa!”

When I tried to soothe him, he pushed me away and wailed louder. Vicky sat silent on her bunk, prim as ever; but her chin trembled.

“You must be hungry and thirsty,” I said in an attempt to distract the children from their woe.

Vicky drank some water, but she refused the food. “No thank you, Miss Bronte,” she said politely. “I don’t think I can eat.”

Bertie said, “I’m going to find Mama,” and scrambled out the door.

I followed, calling, “Bertie! Come back here at once!”

He ran down the passage, but Nick stood blocking the stairs. Nick picked up Bertie, who shrieked and fought, carried him into our chamber, and dumped him on the bunk. Bertie lay there squalling. Nick gave me a look that warned me to keep Bertie inside, then left. The rolling of the ship churned my stomach. I wanted to vomit up my sickness and terror, to weep with despair. But I had to hold myself together for the sake of the children. It was up to me to save them from Kuan. I sat beside Vicky and took her cold little hand in mine.

“Can you keep a secret?” I whispered.

She gave me a somber, questioning look. Then she nodded.

“Some bad men have kidnapped us,” I whispered. “I promise I’ll take you and Bertie back to your mama and papa.” Somehow, God willing, I would. “But I need you to promise to help me. Can you?”

I couldn’t explain to a child the terrible specifics of what might transpire, but Vicky seemed to understand at once that we were in danger and must band together. She said, “Yes, Miss Bronte. What do you want me to do?”

“You must try not to make those men angry,” I said. “Should there arise a chance for us to escape, be ready to do whatever I tell you.” She nodded solemnly. “And if you can calm your brother, please do it right now.”

Vicky hopped down from her bunk and addressed Bertie: “Shame on you, Prince Albert Edward. That’s no way for the future King of England to carry on. Be quiet!” She cuffed the sobbing boy on the head. “Show some courage!”

At that moment she sounded just like her mother. Bertie ceased his tantrum and pouted. I gave Vicky a look of thanks, which she acknowledged with a gracious nod.

Hitchman appeared at the door. “Mr. Kuan would like to see you,” he told me.

He locked the children in the room. Apprehension gripped me as we went up on the deck. Kuan stood gazing eastward out to sea. He had shed his European garb and now wore the coat, trousers, cap, and slippers of a mandarin. He looked altogether foreign, and even more sinister than before.

“Greetings again, Miss Bronte,” he said.

He motioned for Hitchman to leave us and extended his hand to me. The Chinese crew loitered nearby, armed and wary. I gave Kuan my hand, which he pressed to his lips. I stifled a tremor of revulsion. No matter that I could still sympathize with his cause, Kuan was the devil incarnate. I avoided his gaze, lest mine reveal my thoughts.

“A thousand thanks for delivering the royal children to me,” Kuan said. “You have performed admirably.”

Despite his extensive network of informants and virtual omniscience, he seemed unaware that I had betrayed Captain Innes and that the man was dead. Nothing in his manner indicated that he suspected me of collaborating with his enemies. I silently thanked God.

“It was my pleasure to serve you,” I said, eager to keep his trust, the better to find a way to escape.

“I regret holding your family hostage,” Kuan said. “It was but a necessary precaution. Before we set sail for China, I will send word to my men to release them. I hope I haven’t caused them any inconvenience.”

He spoke as if imprisoning my family were so trivial that I wouldn’t mind. I swallowed my anger and said, “When do we sail?”

“Tomorrow,” he said, “when the rest of my men arrive. They will bring the gold we need to journey around the world and carry out my plans in China.”

My spirits lifted momentarily, thinking I’d been granted a reprieve; then it dawned that I had but one day to save the children. And how could I, when we were on this ship, so far from shore? If only Slade would find us!

Kuan said, “How are the children?”

“They’re a bit shaken,” I said, “but otherwise unharmed.”

“Very good,” Kuan said. “I need them alive. Your duty is to keep them in good health.”

That answered my question regarding what else he wanted from me. The voyage to China might take as long as a year, depending on the seas, the winds, and the vicissitudes that travelers face. And Kuan’s crewmen were obviously ill qualified to serve as nursemaids.

“Once we get to China, I will issue an ultimatum,” Kuan went on. “Either the British must leave my kingdom, or their Queen’s children will die. The secret arsenal of weapons that I’ve sent to my accomplices in Canton over the years is waiting for me. With the gold that my men are bringing, I will raise an army. I will ban foreigners from China forever and restore Chinese honor.”

Clever though his plan was, I couldn’t share his confidence that he would succeed. Would the Queen surrender to him because he held her children hostage? More likely, she would send the army to rescue them and crush him.

“The emperor will reward me as a hero,” Kuan said. Visions of glory swirled in his eyes, and I realized that he was no longer the genius who had previously laid so many remarkable entrapments. His quest for revenge and power had driven him to near insanity. “I will resume my status as an imperial official. You will live in my estate, where you will want for nothing.”

But I predicted that Kuan and his country would face more war, and suffer even greater defeat and humiliation than before. What then would become of Vicky and Bertie? Would Kuan kill them after they had outlived their usefulness to him? Would they die during a war between England and China? What terrible fate awaited me unless we escaped?

Hitchman and T’ing-nan joined Kuan and me. “Ah, Miss Bronte, here is your former pupil,” Kuan said.

T’ing-nan gave me a baleful look: He was no gladder to renew our acquaintance than was I.

“When China is purged of foreign influence and peace is restored, my son will study for the civil service exam,” Kuan said. “He must work hard to make up for the education he has missed while we’ve been abroad.” He gave T’ing-nan a warning look. “You must practice self-discipline instead of lazing about as you have become accustomed to do.”

T’ing-nan slouched against the railing; a sneer twisted his mouth.

“What’s the matter?” Hitchman said, irritated by the boy’s surliness. “You’ve been longing to go back to China. Aren’t you pleased that you finally are going?”

“We no go China,” T’ing-nan said. “I never get home again.”

“Discontent has become a habit for you,” Kuan rebuked him. “You would rather complain than appreciate your good fortune.”

T’ing-nan pushed himself away from the railing and glared at Kuan. “You think you know everything. But you not as smart as you think.” A cunning, malevolent smile stole across his face. “You a fool to think you can take children to China and drive out British.” He thumped his fist against his chest. “I know better.”

Hitchman’s expression derided him; but the conviction in T’ing-nan’s manner made me wonder if he wasn’t just baiting his father. I saw Kuan narrow his eyes as the same thought struck him. “Why do you say that?” Kuan asked T’ing-nan.

The young man’s eyes glinted with mischief. “You trust her,” he said, pointing at me. “You think she help you. But she no good. She trick you.”

Hitchman and Kuan turned on me. The suspicion I had often seen in Hitchman’s eyes was now reflected in Kuan’s. Dismayed, I looked at T’ing-nan, who grinned. We both knew he’d spoken the truth, but how had he found me out?

“Explain,” Kuan ordered his son.

“The night I run away,” T’ing-nan said, “I hide outside house. I see her come out while you and Nick and Hitchman looking for me. She run off. I follow her.”

Now I remembered my feeling of being watched by someone. It had been T’ing-nan, spying on me. Horror crept into my bones.

“She go to house in village. There she meet man. She tell him all about you.” T’ing-nan regarded his father with triumph. “She not work for you-she work for him. She try help him catch you, punish you.”

He’d seen me with Mr. Slade and overheard us through the open window. Now T’ing-nan’s triumphant smile included me. He had said he would make me pay for refusing to hide him from Kuan. Now he’d fulfilled his threat.

“Is this true, Miss Bronte?” demanded Kuan.

“No!” I cried with all the conviction I could feign. “I don’t know what T’ing-nan is talking about.”

But I instinctively backed away from him, and I could no longer hide my terror. Kuan’s gaze pierced straight through it to the truth. A storm of rage gathered in his eyes. “Who is this man?” His voice was a quiet, menacing hiss.

“There was no man,” I faltered. “I never-”

Hitchman seized me by my shoulders. “Who is he?”

His fingers dug painfully into my flesh. His face was so close to mine that I could see the sharp edges of his teeth and smell his sulfurous breath. I shrank from him.

“Answer me!” Hitchman struck my cheek a hard slap.

My head snapped backward. Pain reverberated through my skull. My ears rang; the lights on the deck shattered into bright fragments. I had never been struck with such deliberate, calculated violence. The blow was as shocking and intimate as it was hurtful. It diminished me to a puny, hapless creature. How I wish I could have insisted on my innocence and persuaded Kuan that his son was lying! But my cowardly impulse was to obey Hitchman and avoid another blow.

“His name is John Slade,” I said even as shame filled me. “He’s an agent with the Foreign Office.”

“A spy for the Crown.” Hitchman spoke to Kuan in a tone of revelation and disgust while tightening his hold on me. “I warned you against taking Miss Bronte on. I never quite trusted her myself. But I never suspected that she had such dangerous connections.” He regarded me with amazement. “Well, well-the demure little governess has turned out to be a spy for a spy.”

The rage in Kuan’s eyes turned murderous. His mouth thinned; his nostrils flared. Behind him the Chinese crew was watching, avid to see how he would punish me. T’ing-nan was grinning with childlike joy at my plight. So spiteful was he that he didn’t care that he had jeopardized his own hope of returning to China by not telling his father about me sooner.

“When did you and this agent Slade join forces against me, Miss Bronte?” Kuan asked.

I hesitated, but Hitchman raised his fist to strike me again. Cringing, I blurted, “It was after your henchman stole Isabel White’s book from my home and almost killed my brother.”

“A man purporting to be your cousin accompanied you to Belgium,” Kuan said. “Was he in fact Mr. Slade?”

“Yes,” I said. Hitchman’s fist remained poised above me.

“Did he also accompany you to Balmoral Castle?” Kuan asked. “Did you tell him of my plan to kidnap the children?”

Weak with terror and shame, I nodded. Kuan suddenly reached towards me. Panic exploded in my heart, for I thought he meant to rip it out of my chest. My back was pressed against the railing; Hitchman’s grasp imprisoned me. But Kuan’s fingers merely grazed my cheek in a caress almost tender.

“Miss Bronte, I am most disappointed in you,” he said. His voice was reproving yet gentle, his gaze almost affectionate. “Your deceit is unforgivable. I regret that you will not enjoy the good fortune that I offered you. Instead, you will reap your punishment for betraying my cause as well as myself. So will your family suffer on your account. I will send my men to execute them rather than set them free.”

“Please don’t hurt them!” I knew not what I was babbling. So eager was I to save my family, myself, and the children that I would have said anything. “I’m sorry for what I did. I’ve learned my lesson. I promise I’ll be loyal to you from now on. Have mercy!” I pleaded.

“No more lies, Miss Bronte,” Hitchman said scornfully.

He closed his hands around my throat. I clawed at them, trying in vain to tear them away. “Help!” I screamed.

My voice drifted across empty ocean. T’ing-nan giggled. The crew waited, immobile. In my mind arose an image of the stone tablets inside Haworth Church that bore the names of my mother and my sisters Maria and Elizabeth. Never would I rest beside them. Never would Papa, Emily, Anne, Branwell, or Mr. Slade know my fate. After Hitchman strangled me, I would simply vanish beneath the waves.

Then Kuan said, “No. Wait.”

Hitchman paused, although his hands still encircled my throat. “We can’t let her live,” he said. “She could have destroyed you. She’ll try again.”

“She is no danger to me here,” Kuan said. “She cannot get away. Nor can she communicate with her confederates.”

The reprieve gave me hope. I held my breath and silently prayed for deliverance.

“We’ve no use for her,” Hitchman said.

All along I had feared Hitchman; now he was eroding Kuan’s favor towards me, and my chances of survival.

“I do indeed have further use for Miss Bronte,” Kuan said. “I need her to care for my hostages.”

I started to expel my breath in a sob of relief. Then Kuan said, “We shall wait until we’re far from England, near some foreign port where we can engage a nursemaid to tend the children.” He smiled at me-a dreadful smile that anticipated revenge. “Then we’ll dispatch Miss Bronte to the hell reserved for traitors.”