We found a toothless old man down near the docks tending a dilapidated old boat. He spoke neither Mandarin, nor Hindi, nor English, nor German, French, Italian, Spanish or Latin, all of which Lady Hardcastle tried. I even chipped in with a little Welsh, but this was met with the same cheerful incomprehension.
Eventually, using a combination of smiles, gestures and elaborate pantomime, we managed to communicate our desire to purchase his boat. Further non-verbal negotiation followed and we eventually settled on a price of one gold sovereign, one opal ring (a gift from Lady Hardcastle’s aunt which she had never really liked anyway) and a silk blouse that I had bought in a market in Shanghai for next to nothing.
The deal was struck, and although we were left with the feeling that our toothless new friend had definitely got the better end of the bargain, we were not at all dissatisfied with our charming new conveyance.
And so, after one last meal with Chen Ping Bo, we said our goodbyes and set off down the Irrawaddy towards safety.
‘I wonder whatever happened to Chen Ping Bo,’ I said, sipping my tea.
‘He probably wandered off into the interior, righting wrongs and spreading his wonderful brand of calm wisdom,’ said Lady Hardcastle.
‘I do hope so,’ I said. ‘We never did find out why he left his monastery.’
‘We never did,’ she said. ‘Best not to pry too closely into these things, I find. We were with him for months; if he’d wanted us to know, I’m sure he would have said.’
‘I’m sure you’re right, my lady.’
‘I so often am.’
I frowned.
‘I bally well am,’ she said.
‘Yes, my lady. At least half the time.’
‘At least,’ she said.
‘We’re agreed then. Almost half the time you’re completely wrong.’
‘That sounds fair.’
‘Splendid,’ I said. ‘What are you planning to do with the rest of your day, my lady?’
‘I was rather thinking we could take the Rover into Bristol and do a bit of shopping. I thought we could start in Clifton and then take the tram down to the middle of town.’
‘The tram, my lady?’ I said in some surprise.
‘Just so,’ she said. ‘It’s been in the newspaper so much these days, and it occurred to me that in all the years we've been back in England we’ve never been on an electric tram. I feel like an old fuddy-duddy, cut off from modern life.’
‘An old fuddy-duddy with a motorcar and a telephone.’
‘A motorcar, a telephone and an impertinent maid, yes. But a fuddy-duddy who has never ridden on an electric tram. And today, we shall remedy that.’
‘As you wish, my lady. Who shall drive?’
‘I’ll fight you for it,’ she said, putting up her fists.
‘Me, then.’
‘Actually, it probably would be you, wouldn't it. Unless you fancy a shooting contest? My new Derringer arrived last week, after all. Paper targets in the garden?’
The previous summer, Lady Hardcastle had hit upon the idea of concealing a small pistol in a special compartment in one of the newly fashionable large hats such that she might always be discreetly armed. I believed I had dissuaded her from this frankly dangerous plan, but a few days earlier, a package had arrived from a London gunsmith which contained a brand new Derringer and a box of ammunition. At least there was no sign of the holster-hat.
‘To be honest,’ I said, ‘I rather think that it’s your turn anyway. I was just chancing my arm. And I don’t fancy being humiliated in yet another shooting tournament. I really can’t get the hang of that silly little gun.’
‘You’re very kind, pet,’ she said. ‘Come and help me get into my driving togs and we can be in town before lunch.’
Within half an hour, we had set off. As Lady Hardcastle’s driving experience grew so, too, did her confidence and although the little Rover was scarcely capable of dizzying speeds, she was beginning to attempt more adventurous manoeuvres, taking corners at increasingly greater speeds until one sharp turn saw two of the wheels leave the road entirely and I feared we might topple over.
‘I say, my lady, steady on,’ I said once the motorcar had righted itself. ‘You’ll have us in a ditch.’
‘Don’t fret, pet. Live a little,’ she said, turning enthusiastically into the next bend.
‘I would rather live a lot, my lady,’ I said, gripping the dashboard. ‘A lot longer than you seem to have planned for me, certainly.’
She eased off the throttle and we settled into a more sedate, and much safer, pace.
We parked the Rover on Regent Street in Clifton and spent a most pleasing couple of hours perusing the little shops we found. With Lady Hardcastle’s bank balance considerably smaller and with several packages due for delivery at Littleton Cotterell over the next few days, we set off in search of a tram stop.
After twenty minutes’ fruitless meandering, we happened upon a young nursery maid leading or, rather, being led by, her exuberant charges towards the zoological gardens. She seemed amused by the idea of a lady wishing to take the tram, but gave us directions back the way we had come and all the way to Clifton Down railway station on Whiteladies Road where, she assured us, we would be able to catch a tram to the Tramway Centre. We thanked her and set off again.
The tram, when it arrived, was much as I had expected it to be. It was a double-decked railway carriage with a pole sticking out of the top which drew electric current from an overhead wire. The seats were wooden and the fare modest, and although our fellow passengers were cheerfully friendly and politely curious, and although there was a faint sense of wonder at the notion of a vehicle drawing invisible power from a wire, I confess my curiosity to have been entirely satisfied by having seen the vehicle pull up at the stop. I felt no need to board it and ride it, clattering and clanking, all the way to Colston Avenue.
Lady Hardcastle, on the other hand, was enchanted. She asked the conductor all manner of technical questions about the electrical current, the generating station and the power of the motor, none of which the poor chap was able to answer. With an endearing combination of embarrassment and baffled amusement, he suggested she might like to contact Head Office and went off in search of more straightforward conversation.
The day was still sunny and pleasantly warm for the time of year and so we had chosen to ride on the open top deck of the tram. The trees were already in full leaf and the experience was, despite my misgivings, really rather enjoyable. I was beginning to wonder why the other passengers had all chosen to remain below rather than sit upstairs where the view was so enchanting. On the other hand, it was a pleasure to have the entire top deck to ourselves.