River of Smoke - Amitav Ghosh [72]
‘Art is a dead letter in China, sir, a dead letter …!’
Fitcher had understood that he had found the artist in one of his dark moods: he had decided to excuse himself, perhaps to return another day. But when he stood up to leave, the artist, perhaps repenting of his ill-humour, had asked if Fitcher knew the way to the jetty, where he was to catch his boat. When Fitcher said no, he did not, Mr Chinnery offered to send someone with him, to show him the way: it so happened, he said, that he had a nephew staying with him, his brother’s son; he had arrived from India some time ago and had quickly learnt his way around the city.
Fitcher had gratefully accepted this offer, whereupon Mr Chinnery had summoned his nephew, who proved to be a young man in his mid-twenties. He bore a close family resemblance to the artist: their faces, with their prominent eyes and knob-like noses, were so similar that they could have been avatars of each other, separated only by age, and also, perhaps, by a slight tint of complexion, which in the case of the younger man, was a little swarthier. So alike, in fact, were the two Chinnerys that if Fitcher had not known better he would have taken them to be father and son rather than uncle and nephew: nor was the likeness merely a matter of appearance – on the way to the jetty Fitcher learnt that the young man was also an artist, much in the mould of the senior Mr Chinnery. Indeed Mr Chinnery had been his first teacher, said the youth: now following in his footsteps, he was planning to go to Canton in search of commissions; through his uncle’s influence he had already secured a chop and intended to leave in a few days.
On hearing this, Fitcher had been struck by an idea: he had shown young Chinnery the two camellia paintings and had asked him if he might be interested in making inquiries about them while he was in Canton. Young Chinnery had responded enthusiastically and in the course of the short walk to the jetty they had reached an agreement: Fitcher would pay him a retainer in exchange for regular reports on his progress; in the event of success there would be a substantial reward.
The one thing about the arrangement that had worried Fitcher was the prospect of being parted from his paintings. But this concern too had been quickly addressed: it turned out that the younger Mr Chinnery prided himself on his skills as a copyist. He had asked to keep the pictures only for a couple of days: it would take him no longer than that to make copies of them, he had said, and as soon as he was done he would deliver the originals to the Redruth in person.
‘And may I ask sir,’ said Paulette hesitantly, ‘what was the name of this nephew of Mr Chinnery?’
‘Edward – Edward Chinnery.’ Here Fitcher paused to tug awkwardly at his beard. ‘But he said ee’d know him as Robin.’
Paulette caught her breath: ‘Oh did he?’
‘Young Chinnery was very pleased, I might say, to hear that ee were here; said ee’d been like a sister to him once but there’d been a falling-out over some trivial thing. Said he’d sorely missed eer company – but he called ee by some other name – what was it? Pug-something?’
‘Puggly?’ Paulette had clasped her hands to her cheeks in mortification, but she dropped them now. ‘Yes – he has many nicknames for me. Robin was … is … indeed a close friend. Please forgive me sir. I should have told you – but there was a most unfortunate incident. Shall I tell you of it?’
‘Ee needn’t trouble eerself with that Miss Paulette,’ said Fitcher with one of his rare smiles. ‘Mr Chinnery has told me already.’
*
The cry caught everyone unawares: Kinara! Land ho! China ahead! Maha-Chin agey hai!
Bahram and Zadig