The Qing Dynasty Mysteries - Books 1-3

by Amanda Roberts

  He sat at the table and a maid served him a steaming bowl of congee with pickled vegetables on top and some steamed buns.

  “We have to talk about Lady Swan,” his mother said, pushing her older son out of the way so she could sit right next to Inspector Gong.

  He ripped open a bun so the meat inside could cool. “What about her?” he asked, not really wanting to know. “Didn’t you meet with Lady Li about her? Isn’t this settled yet?”

  “I met with Lady Li,” his mother confirmed. “But nothing is settled yet. I wish you would reconsider.”

  “Why?” the inspector asked, dipping the bun into his congee. “What can you possibly have against her?”

  His mother blew out her cheeks. “What don’t I have against her? She’s too old. She’s used up. She’s not one of us. Did you even ask the prince? What is the point in continuing until you have his permission?”

  “I did speak with the prince,” he said, not wanting to address his mother’s other baseless concerns. “But we got distracted by the thing at the opera. I’ll have to talk to him again later.”

  “What thing at the opera?” his sister Daiyu asked.

  “Someone went and got murdered,” his mother growled. “What else is new? We need to deal with Swan now.”

  “Who was murdered?” his brother Zhuang asked, bouncing his little girl on his lap.

  “Dammit, Ma!” Inspector Gong snapped. “What did I say about your big mouth?”

  “Oh, this must be good,” his other sister Biyu said. “What happened?”

  “Shut up, you yapping dogs,” his mother yelled, slapping her hand on the table. “Look at me, Anguo. It makes no sense to marry this girl. Take her for a concubine, yes, but not a wife.”

  “I’m not married, Ma,” Inspector Gong said. “If I don’t take her as a wife, it will be a grave insult to her, and to Lady Li.”

  “But what about the insult to me?” his mother cried. “Have you no thought for the woman who carried you in her own body for months on end? Who nursed you for five long years?”

  His siblings sputtered in laughter at that, and his face grew red. “Ma…” he warned.

  “What have I ever done to deserve such treatment by my own son?” she lamented.

  “You should have been an opera singer,” Inspector Gong said. “You would put those supposed actors I saw last night to shame.”

  “Stop making such jokes!” his mother said, slapping his arm. “Please, consider your mother before you make this mistake.”

  “When I didn’t want to marry, you said I was punishing you,” he said, fed up. “Now, when I want to marry, you say she isn’t good enough, even though she was good enough for a Manchu lord not long ago.”

  “You really want some Manchu—” She spit at the floor for good measure. “—bastard’s castaway?”

  “She’s not a castaway,” he said. “She’s a widow. A woman worthy of respect. If anything, she is granting you a great honor in willing to humble herself as your daughter-in-law. If she remained a widow, her name would be carved on the temple gates and young wives would be forced to make offerings to her day and night. I’ll not dishonor her by making her a concubine. And you will treat her kindly when she comes here. Am I clear?”

  “Fine!” his mother said, standing up quickly. Too quickly on her bound feet. She squinted but showed no other sign of pain all the children knew she felt but were too polite to comment on. Daiyu and Biyu grimaced in sympathy. “But bring me the approval for marriage from Prince Kung. I’ll scrape and bow to Lady Li no further until I know this marriage is even going to happen.” She turned and walked with her back straight. She would have stomped had it been possible, but she slammed the sliding door shut behind her instead.

  “That was poorly done, brother,” Zhuang said as soon as their mother was gone but probably still within earshot. They all knew that her hearing her other children defend her would go a long way toward soothing her bruised ego. “She’s not entirely wrong about this marriage raising eyebrows in the community.”

  “What would it even be like having a Manchu in the family?” Biyu wondered. “Will you have to bow to her every morning, brother? Will she let you bind your daughters’ feet?”

  He didn’t respond because he hadn’t actually thought about what it would be like marrying a woman from a different ethnic group.

  “Mothers bind their daughters’ feet,” Daiyu said. “If Swan’s feet aren’t bound, she obviously won’t bind her daughters’ feet, even if her daughters are Han. She won’t know how. She won’t see the value in it.”

  “I hadn’t even considered that,” Biyu said, shaking her head. “No wonder Ma is so against this marriage.”

  “Can we talk about something else?” Inspector Gong asked, even though at this point he was only picking at his food, having lost his appetite. Why did everything have to be so complicated? He just wanted to wed and bed Swan so he could stop thinking about Lady Li all the time.

  “Like murder?” Daiyu asked, leaning forward conspiratorially.

  “Shit,” Inspector Gong sighed, at this point simply dropping his spoon into his bowl. He had hoped she had forgotten about that. “No, I am not talking to you about the murder at the opera last night.”

  “Come on!” she begged, pulling on his sleeve. “Tell me! I was so sad I had to miss the show last night.”

  “What are you doing going to the opera?” Inspector Gong asked, raising his eyebrow. “Does Ma know about this?”

  “She just looks the other way,” Daiyu said. “It’s harmless fun. And all the girls go. Fanhua is just so gorgeous. If our parents forbade us from going, we’d just sneak out.”

  “What are you talking about?” the inspector asked, confused. “What girls? And you think Fanhua is good looking? He looks like a girl.”

  “That’s the appeal, apparently,” Zhuang said as he helped his own little daughter hold her chopsticks. “According to my wife, young unmarried girls are drawn to effeminate men.”

  The inspector turned to Daiyu. “Is this true? Why?”

  “I don’t know,” Daiyu said. “I’m not allowed to talk to any real boys, so Fanhua is just…safe, I guess.”

  Inspector Gong nodded. Unmarried girls were carefully guarded, rarely let out of the house for any reason other than attending temple or visiting the daughters of other noble families. Daiyu was only sixteen, and Biyu fifteen. They were of marriageable age, yet probably still too young to know what they would actually like in a man. Not that it mattered. If they wanted tall burley men or thin, scholarly ones, they wouldn’t have a choice in who they married. He wondered if their mother had been making arrangements for them. It was strange he hadn’t heard anything about a marriage for Daiyu at least.

  “So who died?” Biyu asked. “Was it Wangshu? I heard that lots of Fanhua’s admirers hate her.”

  “No, it wasn’t Wangshu, surprisingly,” the inspector said.

  “So who was it?” Daiyu asked. “Tell me. Was it someone in the audience?”

  The inspector paused for a moment. He hadn’t planned on telling anyone, but Daiyu knew a surprising amount about the theater and Fanhua, more than he ever would have. Maybe she could tell him something about Fanhua’s admirers that would be useful.

  “It was Fanhua,” he finally said. “Fanhua is dead.”

  Daiyu blinked. Then she sat back. “You…you’re lying,” she said. “You’re teasing me because you know I like him. You’re such a jerk!”

  “I’m not lying, Daiyu,” he said seriously. “Fanhua was killed last night.”

  He watched as all the color drained from her face and tears welled up in her eyes and then spilled down her cheeks. “No! No! This can’t be true!”

  Biyu patted her sister’s back to comfort her. “Oh, Daiyu, I’m so sorry!”

  “Good job, Anguo,” Zhuang said as his daughter started fussing and he stood to take her from the room.

  “What?” Inspector Gong asked. “What is happening here? Why are yo
u so upset, Daiyu? He’s just an actor.”

  “Just an actor?” Daiyu asked as she rubbed her eyes with her sleeves. “He’s just the most beautiful actor. The sweetest, kindest, most gentle person.”

  “What the hell do you know about what kind of person he is?” the inspector asked. “You shouldn’t be getting so close to him. He might play a woman, but he’s still a man. You should think about your reputation!”

  “You’re one to talk, Manchu lover!” she yelled as she stood and tottered out of the room on her bound feet, Biyu stumbling away behind her.

  Inspector Gong ran his hands down his face. “What did I do to deserve this?” he asked the kitchen god over the doorway.

  While his sister’s reaction irked him—there was no way she should have had such an emotional reaction to a man she wasn’t betrothed to—it did give him some insight into just how popular Fanhua was with young women. Would Daiyu’s reaction ripple throughout the theater community? What was the relationship between Fanhua and the women? Did they think they were in love with him? Or that he was in love with them? Was he the sort of person who would lead a woman along?

  He needed to look into this deeper. He also needed to return to the theater to learn more about the rest of the opera troupe.

  He gathered his things and was about to leave the house when a servant approached with a note.

  It was a summons from Lady Li, asking him to come to her mansion immediately. He cursed again. If Lady Li was sending for him, it could only be bad news.

  9

  Lady Li gasped when she opened her eyes. She didn’t mean to fall asleep. She couldn’t have been out long. She turned to find Swan sleeping soundly, so she sighed in relief. She stood up and rubbed her neck and back. The chair had been a terrible place to try and rest.

  Eunuch Bai walked in and handed her a cup of pu’er tea.

  “You didn’t bother trying to sleep at all, did you?” Lady Li asked as she took the cup and breathed in the earthy aroma as she walked to the door and looked out over the garden.

  He stood next to her. “I don’t think anyone did except for your daughters and mother-in-law.”

  “I am glad that Swan did not disturb Popo,” Lady Li said, blowing on her tea. “She needs her rest.”

  “Popo’s health has greatly improved since coming to live here,” Eunuch Bai said. “Loneliness can be its own illness.”

  “At least I’ve been able to do right by one person,” Lady Li said. She watched as the servants went about their business now that their mistress was awake. One person swept the walkways while another skimmed debris from the koi pond. Another servant entered the front gate with a brace of live ducks over his shoulder.

  “You have done right by all your people,” Eunuch Bai comforted. “You cannot blame yourself for Swan’s misery and her poor way of coping. You did not make her a widow or introduce her to opium. Who could have known that things would turn out like this?”

  Lady Li nodded. She knew he was right and there was no point in arguing. But as lady of the manor everything that happened within its walls was her responsibility, so she couldn’t shake the feelings of guilt that settled upon her whenever she thought of Swan.

  She sat on the edge of Swan’s bed and wetted a cloth, which she wiped over Swan’s brow.

  “I want you to send for Inspector Gong,” Lady Li said. “He will be preoccupied with the murder at the opera, but he must see to his domestic responsibilities as well.”

  Eunuch Bai tried not to laugh. “I am sure the thought of him suddenly having domestic responsibilities will come as a shock to him.”

  “Good,” Lady Li said. “Let him learn what he is really getting into.”

  “I’ll send him a note at once,” he said.

  “Wait a little while,” Lady Li said. “It is still early. Let him rest a bit longer.”

  “And what about you, my lady?” Eunuch Bai asked. “As you can see, Swan is fine, for now. Why don’t you lay down? I can fetch you if there is any change.”

  Lady Li was tired, exhausted actually, but her mind was alert. Now that she didn’t need to worry about Swan, her thoughts returned to the murder of Fanhua and the strange girls she met outside the theater.

  “No,” she said. “There is something I need to do.”

  Even though it was early, it was not too early to make a social call. Women were often expected to wake with the first light and begin the business of running their household, though Lady Li doubted much was required of Baoah if she was able to sneak off in the evenings to attend opera performances.

  She rode in her sedan chair to the Liu family compound. Lady Li’s home was a mansion, but it was still rather on the small side compared to the home she now stood in front of.

  In Chinese families, first sons were not the only beneficiaries of an inheritance. All sons usually divided a family’s assets upon the death of a patriarch—and that included the family home. But since a home could not be cut up and moved, most sons never left their family home, but instead stayed there along with their wives and children, and eventually their grandsons and their families. If a family had land, the home could be expanded to accommodate the growing family, with more buildings and rooms added on as needed, but they would still get crowded. Usually it would take a break in the family relationship—a sibling rivalry between brothers or a competition between sisters-in-law too great to overcome—that would result in some members of the family finally moving out and establishing their own residences. From the looks of things, the Liu family had not had any disruptions for a very long time. The main wall was a whole block long, and the many layers of roofs could be seen even from the street level as the house encroached on and then took over the hill behind it.

  As Lady Li knocked on the door and waited for someone to answer, she thought about just how small her family was in comparison—and how it would be even smaller as soon as Swan left her. While she treasured her solitude most of the time, she did often miss the loud, happy home she grew up in, with many brothers, mothers, and aunts surrounding her. She wondered if her own daughters were missing something in their life by growing up so isolated.

  A male servant answered the door, and Lady Li explained that she was a friend of Baoah. He let her inside, and she followed him down long passageways, up a stone incline, and past several large doors before finally knocking on one.

  “Baobao,” the man called. “You have a guest.”

  Lady Li heard some rather unladylike cursing from inside the room as Baoah stumbled toward the door. The door squeaked open, and Baoah squinted in the daylight that dared to shine upon her unwashed face.

  “What?” Baoah mumbled. “Who is it?”

  “We met last night,” Lady Li said. “At the opera. Do you remember?”

  “Huh? Oh, right,” Baoah said, backing up and opening the door a little wider. “Sure, come in. What do you want?”

  Lady Li cocked an eyebrow at the servant, who shook his head in shame as he walked away, and entered the room.

  “I hope you will forgive the early call,” she said.

  Baoah went over to the other side of the room and pulled some drapes back from a large latticed window to let some more light in. She then moved a kettle over a fireplace.

  “It’s nothing,” Baoah said.

  “I just couldn’t sleep after the performance last night,” Lady Li said. “It was just so exciting. Especially Fanhua. I was hoping you could tell me more about him. Maybe tell me how I could meet him.”

  “Meet him?” Baoah said, her eyes wide as if she were suddenly wide awake.

  “Yes,” Lady Li said innocently. “You said you were his friend. I thought you might be able to arrange something.”

  “Oh, right,” Baoah said. “Well, everything is up in the air right now, you know. I’m not sure what’s going on.”

  “What do you mean?” Lady Li asked, playing dumb. She took a seat on a bench near the fireplace.

  “With Wangshu playing his role,” Ba
oah said. “I have his schedule here.” She rummaged through a stack of papers on a nearby table that looked like performance programs.

  Lady Li stepped over to have a look and found the program from the performance last night along with several other programs, some dating from years ago.

  “Careful with those,” Baoah said, taking them from Lady Li and carefully putting them back in a pile. “Some of those are nearly falling apart.”

  “You see a lot of operas,” Lady Li remarked. “You must have such an appreciation for the art.”

  Baoah handed a paper with performance names and times on it. “Not really,” she said. “I just love Fanhua. I’ve seen every show he’s ever been in. That was his schedule for the month when he was still playing the dan, but now, who knows when he’ll be performing, or what part he’ll even be playing.” She removed the kettle from the fireplace and poured the hot water into two cups that were sitting nearby. She then sprinkled some tea leaves into the cups and handed one to Lady Li.

  Lady Li took the cup and had a small sip even though she wondered how long it had been since the cup had been cleaned. She turned around, taking in the messy room. She saw an opera mask hanging on the wall.

  “That’s an interesting piece,” Lady Li said.

  “Yeah,” Baoah said. “Most opera performers don’t wear masks anymore. They just paint their faces. But Fanhua wore that in Peach Tree Dreams. He was brilliant in it. But he always is.”

  “And he gave you the mask?” Lady Li asked. “That was quite generous of him.”

  “He might not have seen me slip it into my sleeve,” Baoah said with a naughty smile.

  Lady Li made a face like she was shocked—which she was—then she laughed, hoping to make Baoah think she approved of her petty theft, which might not have been so petty considering how expensive opera costume pieces could be.

  “I have quite a few pieces I’ve pinched from him over the years,” Baoah said. She opened a drawer and pulled out a few treasures. “This is a handkerchief he used when he played Madam Butterfly. This is a fan he carried as one of the daughters in Blue Eyes, Blue Sorrow. And this is my pride and joy.” She walked over and pulled a long lance out from behind her kang. “He used this in The Generals of the Yang Family.”