River of Smoke - Amitav Ghosh [132]
I lived in Calcutta for a long time, he said with a smile. I went there as a sailor and jumped ship, to get married. Over there people called me Baburao.
And now you live in Canton, do you, Baburao-da?
Yes; when I’m not out on my boat that is.
He turned to point to his vessel, which was anchored nearby, and explained that he travelled regularly between Canton and Macau and frequently acted as a courier, dropping off letters and packages at various points along the way.
If you need anything let me know; I may be able to help.
Paulette could tell, from his demeanour, that this was not an idle boast: he looked like the kind of man who was spoken of, in Bengali, as jogaré – a resourceful improviser, with his ears close to the ground.
Tell me, Baburao-da, she said, do you think it might be possible to find a couple of horses here, on the island?
Baburao scratched his head and thought a little. Then his face brightened: Why yes! he said. I know a man who lives on the island. He has some horses. Would you like to meet him?
So it was arranged: the next day Baburao came by in a sampan and rowed Paulette and Fitcher to a picturesque little village on the shores of an inlet. The horse-owner was duly found, the horses were examined and a reasonable price was quickly arrived at. But when everything was almost settled an unforeseen problem arose: the owner possessed only two saddles and both were of the Chinese type, with a high pommel and cantle.
Fitcher took one glance and shook his head: ‘Ee’ll never be able to manage that in eer skirts, Miss Paulette.’
Paulette had already thought of a solution but she knew she had to be careful about how she put it across.
‘Well sir,’ she said, ‘skirts are not the only clothes in my possession.’
‘Eh?’ Fitcher frowned.
‘You will remember, sir, that when we met at Pamplemousses, I was wearing a shirt and a pantalon. Mr Reid had lent them to me and I still have them.’
‘What?’ barked Fitcher. ‘Dress up as a man? Is that what ee’ve got in mind?’
‘Please sir, it is the only sensible thing. Is it not?’
Fitcher’s face went into a deep scowl, tying itself into so tight a knot that the tip of his beard came within a few inches of touching the twitching tips of his eyebrows. But then, having thought the matter through, he unclenched his jaws.
‘Since ee’ve set eer mind on it – we’ll try it tomorrow.’
So they returned the next day, with Paulette dressed, once again, in Zachary’s clothes, and even Fitcher had to concede that it was a happy solution. The horses carried them to a height of over a thousand feet, where they came upon more orchids: pale rose ‘bamboo orchids’, Arundina chinensis, and a small primrose-yellow epiphyte, growing in a nullah – the first was already familiar to Fitcher, but not the second.
‘Why Miss Paulette, I think ee may have found something new there. What’d ee like to call it?’
‘If it were up to me, sir,’ she said, ‘I would call it Diploprora penrosii.’
Ten
Markwick’s Hotel, Nov 26
Dearest Puggly, so much news! So many developments – and not least in regard to your camellias … but I will not speak of that immediately for fear that the rest of this letter would be wasted on you. And I do want you to know, dear Puggly, that I have never been so happy as in these last few days …
Lamqua has given me the run of his studio and I have spent many joyful hours there. I sit beside Jacqua, on the apprentices’ bench, and have become an expert in the art of using stencils. He has taught me some of his little tricks, like that of painting flesh tones on the reverse side of the paper – you would not believe what a marvellously lifelike translucence this lends to the skin! But some of the things he can do I do not think I could even attempt. His pictures are not large, yet when he paints clothing you sometimes have the impression of being able to see the very threads of the garments. If you could see how it is done I warrant you would declare it