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One side of Mr. Hughes’s serious mouth lifted. “Your brother is given to dramatic interpretations, but in this case, he’s quite correct. Even so, no, we didn’t forge our connection over long work days, nor long evenings drinking claret or gambling.”
She searched her memory. “Were you in China together during the Opium War?”
“It might well have been called the Tea War or Silver War—but yes. And it was during the war I came to owe my very life to Elijah. More importantly, that of my beloved.”
Her eyebrows rose. “I thought women weren’t permitted at the Factories!”
“They’re weren’t.” He waited for that to register before continuing. “Your brother has shared that you know of… his proclivities.”
She inhaled, forcing herself not to show any reaction.
He smiled patiently. “Fear not. I share the very same.”
“Ah!” Helen patted his arm. “Isee.”
He shook his head. “No, no. Proclivities and friendship, Elijah and I share, nothing more. In China, much separated us. I passed my days bent over ledgers. In the evenings, I was locked away with the other clerks, staring at the walls while traders like your brother played whist or raced boats on the river.”
Helen smiled, recalling her brother’s grand adventures.Perhaps his stories aren’t all exaggerations.
“You Americans, though, had a habit of treating most men like equals—clerks and merchants alike. Elijah always greeted me, even if he didn’t know my name.”
“That sounds like him.”
He nodded, but his expression took on the pensive air of someone traveling to dark times. “By the late thirties, China couldn’t tolerate the opium being smuggled right under their noses. Not with millions addicted—and they were bleeding silver to buy it. We found ourselves under siege at the Factories. The Chinese ordered all their citizens out, including our servants, and they blockaded supplies from entering.”
Helen recalled her brother’s account. “You were forced to prepare your own meals! Elijah wrote that when it was his turn in the kitchens, he boiled eggs for hours, having no idea how long they required over the fire. Everyone choked them down, tough as leather!”
Despite his serious mood, Mr. Hughes laughed. “Men who’d never swept in their lives became acquainted with the broom. The Chinese hoped that when we starved—or at least tired of living off rats—we would agree to their demands. In the end, it took three months of emptying our own chamber pots for the British trade superintendent to give in.”
“Compared to certain people I’ve met, it’s a credit they lasted that long without servants. What did the Chinese want?”
“Oh, the contraband, of course. Twenty thousand chests of opium. Handed over.”
“Whatever did they do with it?”
“Fouled it and dumped it into the river.” He shuddered. “That was in thirty-nine—and the first time I owed your brother. When the siege began, I was ill with fever.”
Elijah was generous and many things, but he wasn’t a doctor. “How did he help you?”
“I was near death,” he said stoically. “A Chinese healer was caring for me. He wouldn’t leave my side—despite the order for all Chinese to leave. My firm was set to turn him over. Your brother intervened, though, and moved us to the American Factory.”
“I’m grateful you recovered!”
“It’s thanks to Elijah—and to Sing Hoo.”
“The healer?”
“Yes. And my beloved.”
Helen’s mouth parted, finally understanding. “I see.”
“After the siege, my fellow citizens left, vowing to return with force. The Americans stayed, all too happy to trade in their competitors’s absence. Your brother hired me, and I stayed at the American Factory under his protection.”
“And the English returned…?”
“With a fleet of warships. The Royal Navy fought its way up the Pearl River in forty-one, capturing Canton while your brother and I were there. We—the British—withdrew, but the Factories seemed safe enough.”
“That’s when a mob attacked?”
