* * *
Mr. Lachlan hardly spoke at supper Monday night. When Siri went into the library later to turn out the lamp, she found him sitting alone. A book lay open on his lap, but he was not reading it. Instead he seemed to be staring at something unseen.
Something unpleasant, she decided, from his frown.
He started when she tapped on the open door.
"Please turn out the lamp when you go to bed," she said.
He nodded, but did not look at her.
"God natt," she told him, wishing she could ask what troubled him so.
He did not answer.
* * *
When Buff woke Tuesday morning, he resolved to put the murders out of his mind. The police were doing their best to find the killer, and he'd done all he could to help. Today he'd check at the Portmaster's office, see if the clerk had found anything useful.
The list the young man handed him was disappointingly short. "Don't you have any record of survivors? All I see here is cargo and numbers. Nobody kept lists of who was lost?"
"They did, when there were survivors. But too often we didn't hear about the ships until the wreckage washed ashore." The young man scratched behind his ear. "There was a fire, back a few years. We lost some records, but I don't know which ones."
Once more Buff read down the list. "What about this one? The Dancing Goddess, out of Macao? It says there were eleven passengers and two crewmen saved." The date was right, the ship's name was one he'd run across before in his search, but she was listed as carrying spices and silks. He pretended surprise. "That many passengers? On a cargo ship?"
"All I know is what I copied. You can look at the original entry in the port log, if you want. I brought 'em up here to make the list."
"I'll do that," Buff said, "if it's not too much trouble."
"Oh, it's no trouble. You can use the table back there. I'll get the logs." He stepped aside so Buff could pass behind the high counter.
Two frustrating hours later, Buff had a little more information, but not much. He'd read each entry in the port log, struggling with faded writing and dog-eared pages, even a hole where someone's pipe or cigar ashes had landed on the page. The Dancing Goddess was the likeliest candidate for the ship he sought. She had been in the Java Sea at the right time, had made landfall in Macao and offloaded half a dozen girls. He'd seen her listed in the Honolulu port records too.
He returned to his research. Except for a laconic note that the surviving passengers of the Dancing Goddess were all 'China girls' who had been passed on to someone in Chinatown, there was nothing that might shed light on his search.
He waited until the secretary leaned back and rubbed his eyes. "I've got a few more questions. Got a minute?"
"Sure, Mr. Lachlan. Did you find something?"
He hadn't told the young man what he was looking for, just that he was seeking a passenger list for a ship that had been reported lost off the mouth of the Columbia in 1859. "Maybe. There's a note here that a fishing boat, the Magli Arnesdotter picked up some shipwreck survivors. Is her master still about?"
"I don't recognize the name. Let me check." He pulled a big book from a shelf, opened it toward the middle, and ran his finger down the page. Then the next. A third. "I don't see it. If it was registered here, then it isn't any longer. Hasn't been for at least five years."
"Do you have records before that?"
"Nope. They were stored in the old port office and it burned down about three years ago."
Well hell! "So where would I go to find somebody who's been around since 1859?"
"Well, there's the Seaman's Hall. Somebody there might be able to help you."
Buff thanked the young man and departed, taking the list of shipwrecks and his notes. He wasn't much forwarder than he'd been this morning, but at least he had an idea of the next place to look.
* * *
Siri's habit on her day off was to breakfast on the remnants of the previous night's supper, then sew until dinnertime. This morning she attempted to work on little Annie Beglan's lace-trimmed communion dress. After having to take out nearly six inches of poorly-done insertion, she gave up and went downstairs, nearly drowning in the process. Yesterday's storm had not abated. She hung her coat on a hook in the back porch and went into the kitchen where she curled up on the settee near the fire. Her skirt was damp and her half-boots squished as she walked. She slipped them off and slid her feet into the boiled wool scuffs Bao kept near the hearth for that very purpose.
"Have you seen Mr. Lachlan?" she asked Carleen when the other maid came through, carrying a basket full of soiled laundry.
"And is it my day to watch over him?" Carleen said, shouldering her way through the door to the laundry. "That Captain Stokes! If he don't learn to keep his hands to hisself..."
Siri followed, used to Carleen's complaints about the captain. She had done her share of dodging the old man's pats, until she'd realized they were only harmless displays of affection. "They mean nothing. He's a raring...a sweetheart."
"He wants to lay his hand on my bottom, he'll give me a present like the others do. I don't give nothin' for free."
"There is much difference between letting a harmless old man pat you now and then and sharing your bed with him." Siri said. Carleen's activities were common knowledge, but Siri was still embarrassed to be speaking of such things in Chu's presence. She was sure he understood far more English than he admitted.
"I don't share my bed with nobody," Carleen said, as she started to sort through the basket's contents. "I share theirs. You'd better get out of here before the old besom comes in and puts you to work."
Mrs. Welkins didn't like it when the maids loitered in the kitchen and laundry. She believed it distracted Chu and Bao. Her favorite saying was 'Idle hands are the Devil's own workshop,' and she certainly allowed no idleness in her house. Siri truly believed the housekeeper resented giving anyone a day off. Nevertheless, she took time to make herself a pot of tea and to wrap a thick slice of fresh bread and a slab of gjetöst in a napkin.
At the door leading to the outside stairway, she paused, looking with dismay at the rain beating on the window. If she went up to her room, she'd be soaked before she reached the first landing. She and Carleen were not expressly forbidden from using the indoor stairs to the fourth floor, but they were certainly not encouraged to do so. The lobby looked directly on the stairs, so Mrs. Welkins was sure to see her if she went that way.
"You come hide here," Chu said from behind her. "She no find you."
Siri turned. He held the door to the drying room open. While sitting among damp linens to eat her meal was not Siri's idea of comfort, it would be better than making her way up the stairs. "Let me bring my boots. They will dry just as well in there." And not be so visible as they were sitting by the kitchen hearth.
Chu had set a chair close to the open fireplace that provided heat for drying laundry. Today he was washing guests' linens. Already two lines were hung with shirts and nightshirts. She would be completely hidden from anyone peering in the door. "Tusen tack, Chu." She set her tray on the floor and herself on the dilapidated wooden chair. Almost immediately she jumped up again. "Chu? Wait! If Mr. Lachlan söker mig, if he comes seeking me, I..."
"He come back suppertime. You wait," the laundryman said. "Stay here, nice warm. Welkins Missus not know you here."
"How do you know--"
"He go talk Li Ching. Back suppertime. You eat now."
"But--"
"Eat," Chu ordered, before closing the door.
Once again she forced herself to eat abundantly. This morning she had taken a good look at herself while she was dressing. Always slender, she was now gaunt and bony. No man would find her attractive. She'd peered into the scrap of cloudy mirror that hung on the wall and had seen the face of a stranger. Her cheeks were hollow, her eyes were sunken, and her lips, once her best feature, were thin and tight across her teeth.
The food sat on her belly like so much lead. She willed
it to stay there, to digest.
After a while the feeling of over-fullness went away and she sipped at her now-tepid tea.
Mr. Lachlan had reacted to her on Sunday, but might he not have reacted to any woman he'd held in his arms? He was young, surely lusty. Would she offer herself to him in return for his help? Could she?
And would he want her, if she did?
Chapter Seven
"Ten? Not eleven?" Buff stared across the table at Li Ching. The man had not aged a day since Buff had last seen him almost nine years ago. "The Portmaster's records say there were eleven passengers saved."
"I assure you, Mr. Lachlan, if my predecessor recorded the receipt of ten girls, then ten was the correct number. He might have been somewhat lax in some ways, but not where profit was concerned." He sipped from the delicate, bowl-like teacup, never taking his gaze from his visitor. "Perhaps there was an error made in recording the number of survivors."
"Maybe." Buff shrugged. "More than likely, in fact. But I'm not giving up until I find the skipper of that fishing boat that helped in the rescue. The Magda... No, that's not right." He pulled his leather notebook from an inner coat pocket, flipped through pages until he came to the last one written upon. "The Magli Arnesdotter. You ever hear of it?"
Li Ching looked thoughtful. "Perhaps. Just a moment." He clapped. When a young man peeked through the door behind him, he spoke in Chinese. The young man retreated, closing the door behind him. "He will see if our records show a boat of that name berthed here or in the Skipanarwen moorage. It may take some time." He gestured at the lacquered tray sitting to his left. "Will you take more tea?"
"Perhaps I should come back later," Buff began.
"Please, no. It is not often I have the opportunity to speak English with one who does not assume I am an ignorant, unlettered simpleton."
"Your English is better than half the folks I know." He accepted the fresh tea, sat back. "I don't recall your talking half this well, back in Idaho."
"I had not yet learned the language well. One winter, a young miner was severely injured in a fall. When I discovered he had been a schoolteacher before coming west to seek his fortune, I offered to provide him lodging and meals during his recovery. In recompense, he taught me the principles of your language and introduced me to its literature. Your uncle lent us several books from his library, in fact."
"Shakespeare," Buff said, remembering how Silas had enjoyed reading the plays aloud of an evening, the winter they'd spent in the gold camp.
"Among others. Your literature is rich, though young and brash in comparison with that of my country. Still, it holds wisdom and is worth reading."
They discussed books for a spell, then Li Ching changed the subject. "You say you seek a lost child, but you have not told me why you do this? Is there a reward?"
"I'm doing a favor for a friend. That's all. I was coming this way anyhow, so it's been easy to do. I'm on my way home."
"Ah? You have traveled then?"
"Lord, yes, I've traveled. I left Boise City in '65 and I've been on the move ever since." Except for those months in Festung Uberderwelt, but he wasn't about to tell anyone but his pa about that misadventure. "I've seen a good bit of the world, including some of your country. I was in Shanghai six months ago. Took a boat ride up the Yangtze a ways. That's some river."
"You were seeking this child there?"
"No. No, there's no indication she was taken to China. I was just sightseeing." And what sights he'd seen, too. He sure wished he'd had one of those fancy cameras, so he could have brought home pictures of the places he'd been to show his folks. "I figured since the trail was more than twelve years old, there was no need for me to hurry."
"You enjoy visiting new places? You are not in a hurry to reach your honorable father's home?"
"I don't reckon it's going anywhere. Ma and Pa know I'm coming. They won't expect me until they see me." To himself Buff admitted he was getting a mite anxious to see his family again. Eight years was a long time. He still couldn't feature his tomboy sister, Katie, as a mother.
"Perhaps you would be interested in performing another favor then, a good deed, for one who has nowhere else to turn."
Buff looked at him carefully, wondering what trap was hidden in the mildly spoken suggestion. "That depends," he said. "I want to finish up this wild goose chase I'm on. If there are answers, I want 'em. If there aren't, then I'll be done with it." He stared across the desk, but Li Ching was as inscrutable as they came. "Tell me more."
"Of course." Li Ching picked up a long stemmed pipe.
"There is a woman," he said, when his pipe was giving off fragrant smoke, "whose children were stolen. She has no money, no influential friends, and no means of seeking them. The one who stole them has many friends, some of considerable influence. She has gone to ground--"
Buff leaned forward, his curiosity piqued. "She?"
"Yes, the one who stole the children is their grandmother. She is a woman of strong beliefs and one of them is that her daughter-in-law was a bad mother."
"But you don't think so?"
"I am certain the woman was an excellent mother. But she lacks...audacity. She was a quiet, obedient daughter, and then she became a quiet, obedient wife. Not a bad thing for a woman, but too much obedience can be seen as subservience."
Buff thought about his ma, and how she'd been willing to kill a man to protect his oldest sister. "So she just let her mother-in-law walk all over her?"
Li Ching nodded. "A good way of putting the situation. I have provided some small bits of information, such as came my way, but I have neither the resources nor the inclination to involve myself in your countrymen's affairs. As long as we Chinese keep to ourselves, we are left alone...most of the time. If it were known we have helped the young woman, some might be tempted to show their displeasure."
"Yeah, I've heard about anti-Chinese riots here and there. Pa wrote me how feelings against the Celestials in the Boise Basin had led to some problems for a while."
There was a knock on the door behind Li Ching. When bid enter, the young man stuck his head inside again. He spoke at some length.
Li Ching responded briefly.
The interchange went on for a minute and more. Buff wished he understood Chinese.
Li Ching turned back to face Buff as the young man withdrew. "The records have been located and the information about the fishing boat will arrive soon. In the meantime, I have sent for the young woman. She can tell you her story and you will decide if you can assist her." His lips twitched briefly in what might have been a smile. "More tea?"
Buff had a hunch the records were sitting in the other room, waiting until he'd been conned into taking on this 'favor' for a bereft mama. Oh, well, I haven't anything else to do until this evening. I wonder if Astoria has a decent restaurant I can take Siri to. He allowed Li Ching to refill his cup.
Lord a'mighty! If I drink much more of this tea, I'll burst. He sat back, cradling the warm porcelain in his hands. "So, how long have you been in Astoria?" he asked Li Ching. He was prepared to make small talk all afternoon, if it got him some answers.
* * *
Chu came into the drying room with a basket full of wet laundry. Siri watched him hang up a pair of longjohns. When he reached into the basket for the next piece, she said, "Chu, why did Mr. Lachlan go to see Li Ching?"
Children in Astoria were frightened into obedience with threats of being given to Li Ching. He was believed to have long fangs and breathe fire, somewhat like the Chinese dragons pictured on the scrolls and silk paintings she had seen on the walls in Mrs. Leong's store. While Siri had never spoken to anyone who had dealings with the powerful Chinese merchant, she had heard enough rumors and whispered anecdotes that she believed Mr. Lachlan could be in danger.
He could be murdered and his body thrown in the river and we'd never know... Her mind pictured other fates, all every bit as terrible, all derived from stories she had heard as she'd grown up in a town on the edge of civili
zation.
"Not know. He come back suppertime." Chu hung the last shirt on the line and went out, his cork-soled shoes making almost no sound on the brick floor. Siri put her teacup on the tray, slipped her almost-dry boots on, and followed Chu into the laundry room. Warm and dry now, she went on into the kitchen. Bao was nowhere to be seen, but Siri could hear his voice from the back porch. He was speaking rapidly, excitement plain in his voice.
When she heard him say her name, all the disasters she had imagined became real. Ah, Gud! Nej. Var snäll och!
She burst through the door and saw Mrs. Leong's grandson huddled under the big spruce tree that almost filled the back yard. His padded coat was dripping and his short, bowl-cut hair was plastered to his head.
He grinned up at her, then shook his head and said something to Bao.
Bao replied with a stream of incomprehensible syllables. He waved his hand, pointed toward town. The boy spoke again, then turned and ran down the hill, cutting diagonally across the intersection before he disappeared.
"What is it? Is Mr. Lachlan--"
"Li Ching say you come. Pretty quick."
"Me?" squeaked Siri. "What does Li Ching want with me?"
"He find one to help you. Go. Pretty quick."
"To help me?" Her heart leaped into her throat. "You mean--"
"Go Li Ching. He tell you." Bao took her coat off its hook, picked up an umbrella. "Go now," he said again. He held her coat so she could slip her arms into the sleeves.
Siri let him settle the coat on her shoulders, but didn't go in the direction he was gently pushing her. "Bao, why is Li Ching helping--"
"Only Li Ching know. Hurry. He not wait all day." He pushed her harder.
Wondering if she wasn't making the second biggest mistake of her life, Siri took the umbrella and stepped out the kitchen door.
* * *
They were sitting in comfortable silence when a knock sounded on the door.
Li Ching called out something in Chinese. "This will be the information you seek," he told Buff as the door opened.
The Lost Baroness Page 7