The Hidden Blade: A Prequel to My Beautiful Enemy (Heart of Blade)

by Sherry Thomas

  We spent a fortune cabling back and forth, debating what to do. I decided to proceed to England anyway, in case your attempt had failed.

  While in England, via various channels, I ascertained that you had not yet been located. I didn’t know whether it would help or hinder to send men out to find you, so I did the inverse. I hired men to keep an eye on Sir Curtis instead, as that would let me know with virtual certainty if and when you became recaptured.

  (Knock on wood that would never be the case.)

  Please, my son, stay safe. I pray constantly that you meet with only the kindest fellow travelers. That you will ever be in plentiful funds and abundant health. And that you will cable me at the first opportunity to let me know that you are well—or whether you are in need of assistance of any kind. Any kind at all.

  Marland has stopped asking me when you will come to visit—I burst into tears when I hear that question. But I often catch him with a photograph of the two of you in his hand. He misses you as much as I do.

  Come home to us. Until then we pray and we wait.

  I love you more than I can say,

  Mother

  P.S. It is I who must beg for your forgiveness. Stay safe, my son, stay well, and stay free.

  Leighton wiped at the corners of his eyes. She would have received his cable by now and learned that he was both well and free. And he would never need to lie or be cruel to her again—they were all safe now.

  He read the letter two more times before he put it back into its envelope. As soon as he picked up the other item, the package, he knew what it was: the jade tablet in Herb’s possession.

  Herb had left him a note. My dear boy, your mother wrote that you had sent your father’s jade tablet with her to America for safekeeping. Which must mean that you have not seen it for years upon years. I thought you might like to see this one, for old times’ sake. Love, H.

  Leighton didn’t need to see it; just holding it through the layers of wrapping and already he was back in Starling Manor. It was summer, always summer. Father and Herb were always smiling. And his heart always brimmed over with hope.

  He unwrapped it anyway, and held the tablet in his hands until the cool jade had become as warm as his skin.

  Chapter 22

  Lantern Festival

  Bang. Bang. Bang. The firecrackers detonated in rapid succession a second after they left Ying-ying’s hand. Red confetti swirled in the air, then dispersed in a blast of fierce northerly wind.

  She lit another firecracker with her incense stick and held it until the fuse had disappeared into the shell. She flung it. It burst almost before it left her fingertips. She felt the sting of hot black powder exploding bare inches from her skin. Like needle pricks. An acute sensation that fell just short of pain.

  She took a deep breath. The air, after more than twenty days of Spring Festival celebrations, had that particular metallic tang Ying-ying always thought of as the New Year smell, a whiff of residual heat and warmth in the bitter January chill. Outside in the city, the streets and alleys would be covered with festive red bits and pieces, remnants of paper firecracker shells. And children would gather them into piles and make small bonfires.

  She and Amah had once done just that, long, long ago. She remembered laughing and clapping around that little flame on the ground.

  It had been five months. Amah still had not returned. In the beginning she had sent two letters every month. Her father’s condition, which Ying-ying took to mean Amah’s own, was improving, but not yet satisfactory. But after three months the letters abruptly stopped. This could mean a number of things: Something could have gone catastrophically wrong; she might be dead; or she could have fallen prey to her old gambling habits. Some people spent their entire lives in gambling dens, emerging only to forage for more funds.

  There were days when Ying-ying was near frantic, imagining Amah lying in agony, with no one about to help her. Other days she was beside herself with anger. How could Amah so wantonly let go of her self-control? If she’d started gambling again, who knew what follies she’d commit to feed her habit?

  She heard Master Gordon’s footsteps as she let fly another firecracker. It burst in midair with a head-clearing bang.

  “Too reckless, Bai Gu-niang!” came Master Gordon’s voice. “You shouldn’t hold on to the firecracker that long!”

  She turned around. “You are back.”

  When she went to his rooms earlier, she had found a hastily scrawled note waiting for her, telling her that he had to be at the British Legation today.

  “Yes. Do you remember the letter I received a while ago, about my dear friend’s son? He arrived in Peking last night.” His face was full of wonder. “He actually came.”

  She studied him. “I knew you would be happy—thrilled. But I didn’t expect to see you…” She searched for a word. “Humbled.”

  “I am. I am overwhelmed by gratitude.”

  “I am not sure I understand. If you, a member of the older generation, traveled ten thousand miles to see him, then he should be overwhelmed by gratitude. But he, a member of the younger generation, taking some trouble to come to see you is as it should be.”

  Master Gordon expelled a long breath. “Well, you see, I hold myself partially responsible for his father’s death. So the fact that he would see me at all, let alone come this far…”

  His eyes reddened.

  Ying-ying was staggered. Was there some sort of blood feud that Master Gordon had never told her about? Did it have something to do with his exile? And how could his friend’s son still think affectionately of him, if he had been in some way responsible for the death of a father? “I’m not sure I understand.”

  “It’s complicated, but I think I can at last talk about it, now that I know all is well—except I don’t know where to start. Or even if I should explain the whole thing to you—you are still so young.”

  Yet old enough to be someone’s concubine. And sometimes in her heart, already a thousand years old. “Did you do something terrible?”

  “I want to say no, but I can never know it for certain.”

  She waited. He borrowed a few firecrackers from her, set them on the ground, and lit them with her incense stick, a blistering sequence of explosions.

  “You know I have told you that you are a beautiful girl.”

  “Yes?” What did this have to do with her?

  “And you are. Very beautiful. But what if…what if I told you that no matter how beautiful you are, and even after you grow up, I would never look at you the way a man looks at a woman?”

  She certainly hoped not. It would dismay her to no end if one day he were suddenly to leer at her as Shao-ye had. “That would be fine by me,” she said.

  He shook his head. “Let me put it another way, then. What if I look at another man the way a man usually looks at a woman?”

  He looked away from her, his face red with embarrassment.

  She was puzzled. “Then you go with that man.”

  His eyes widened with astonishment. “What did you say?”

  She repeated her answer word for word.

  “I don’t understand,” he murmured. “How do you take it so lightly?”

  “How should I take it, then?”

  “I…I don’t know. In my country, people like me can be put into jail.”

  “Because you like other men?”

  “If I act on it.”

  What a strange place England was. Women were allowed to show their bosoms to the world but not wear trousers. And men were not only restricted to one wife, but also forbidden to go into the bedchamber with other men. “Why?”

  He shrugged, the gesture he sometimes used when an adequate explanation was beyond him. “Because we are thought to be deviants. An abomination in the eyes of God, and a fair target for anyone high-minded enough to hate us.”

  “Why?”

  He shrugged again. “It’s always been so. Are you sure it’s not just you who’s particularly open-minded?”

/>   She didn’t think so. There had been emperors who liked handsome young men in addition to their hundreds of concubines. As long as a man sired sons to carry on the family name, no one cared that he might prefer his valet to his wife. “The majordomo—you know him?”

  “Master Keeper Ju? Yes.”

  “He sponsors an opera singer. And when I still lived in my own home, the merchant who supplied my mother with her silks, Boss Wu, he was also very friendly with an opera singer.”

  “In England rich men also have opera singers and ballet dancers as mistresses,” he said.

  “No, no, not mistresses,” she corrected him. “Our opera singers are all men, even those who sing the female roles.”

  “Oh, how did I forget.” A moment later, Master Gordon turned to her, agape. “Master Keeper Ju? Does Da-ren know it?”

  “Everyone knows it.” His isolation saddened her. She had learned within weeks of coming into the compound. Not that people didn’t snicker behind the majordomo’s back, but before him they dared not show the least disrespect.

  “And the merchant also? Everyone knew?”

  “Yes.”

  For a long time he said nothing, only stared at the sinuous whiff of smoke rising from the incense stick in his hand. “My friend killed himself over it. We were caught. He thought it was the end of the world. He thought he was destroyed. So he took a pistol and put it to his head. His brother later sent me the firearm, with his dried blood still on it.”

  For some reason, Amah’s voice rose in her head. I gave up my entire life for him. He loved me for six months, hooked me to gambling, and took up with another woman. How cold Ying-ying had been that night. How unforgiving. And how she regretted it now.

  Lightly she touched her hand to his sleeve. “Your friend’s brother is a heartless man,” she said. “You are not responsible for someone else’s cruelty.”

  “Was,” he said. “My friend’s brother was a heartless man. He is no more. He was the reason I couldn’t return to England. But now I can.”

  He sounded so thrilled. She was happy for him, but dismayed for herself. Amah was nowhere to be found, and if Master Gordon also left… “Are you—already making plans?”

  “Nothing concrete yet. Although come to think of it, even before Shao-ye was sent to Canton, he hadn’t taken lessons from me in almost a year—not very intent on his studies, that one. His brother is also taking only three lessons a week—his Confucian masters have requested that he devote more time to his study of the classics. So I won’t feel as if I’ll be abandoning any pupils midstudy…”

  “Except me,” she said, trying to sound lighthearted. “I am also your pupil.”

  “And I have not forgotten that in the slightest. Ever since my young friend told me that now I am free to return to England, I have been thinking about you. Remember how we have talked about going to see the world together? Would you like to come with me?” he asked with great seriousness. “We will wait until your amah is back and can properly chaperone you.”

  She stared at him. It was one thing to imagine the impossible—and take a great deal of pleasure in doing so—but quite another to make an actual attempt upon a stronghold of impossibility. Amah’s chaperonage or not, Da-ren would never permit her going abroad with two men who weren’t remotely related to her.

  She would not defy Da-ren on this matter, because she did not want to forever alienate him. It was too late for him to love her like a daughter, but he could still come to value her.

  And then Mother could finally stop worrying in the afterlife.

  “You don’t like this idea?” said Master Gordon, a little crestfallen.

  “I adore the idea,” she assured him. It was a wonderful day for him; she would cast no shadows upon his happiness.

  Besides, she did adore the idea. She was immensely touched that he wished to include her in his homeward journey. That she could always count on his esteem and affection. That he made her life sweeter simply by being who he was.

  “Then we will make it happen,” he said as he briefly touched her elbow, his voice at once warm and solemn. “You will see.”

  That night was the Lantern Festival, the fifteenth day following the New Year, and the last celebration before life returned to normal. Beneath the eaves of the Middle Hall, glowing lanterns swayed against one another, a vigilant front of redness and fire, enough to repel a battalion of evil spirits.

  Inside the hall, the lanterns were of greater variety. They hung from every hook, and on cords especially strung for the occasion between the pillars. Red was no longer the sole color, nor round the only shape. Some cylindrical ones turned by themselves, tassels, beads, and lucky knots trailing in gentle swirls; others featured riddles, with promised prizes for those who could guess the answers.

  The musicians who accompanied the opera singers were already in place, tuning their instruments at the side of the temporary stage that had been erected at the western end of the hall. In the middle of the hall congregated the servants, given the night off to enjoy the performances.

  A large dais occupied the eastern end. Front and center were Da-ren and his concubines, both pregnant. But there was yet another pregnant woman present, Little Orchid, who was probably seven or eight months along and sat with Da-ren’s younger son and several visiting cousins at an adjacent table. She was a pretty girl, but even when she smiled, she looked worried.

  Little Dragon was not present, but Master Gordon was, seated near the other household scholars somewhere behind Da-ren, though at a table by himself.

  Face lowered, Ying-ying walked behind Mrs. Mu-he, who had appointed herself Ying-ying’s chaperone during Amah’s absence. But she dozed so much during the day, Ying-ying practically had the run of the residence. The two of them made their obeisances to everyone in the front row, then took their seats at the very back of the dais, along with some other senior servants.

  A servant brought them tea and small plates of appetizers—nothing like the fancy spread on the front tables, where cold plates had been arranged to look like open-tailed peacocks or goldfish frolicking amid lotus blossoms. Another servant brought a tiny ceramic jug of fiery grain liquor and a brazier, for the hall was cold, even with the heavy blankets that hung over all the entries. Yet another servant handed them a written list of the troupe’s repertoire. Ying-ying read it aloud to Mrs. Mu-he. She herself was of too little consequence to pick anything. But Mrs. Mu-he, by her age, her long association with the family, and the fact that she had once suckled Da-ren, was entitled.

  A great cheer rose from the milling servants as they were rewarded with two large urns of spirits to divide among themselves for the evening. To a one they bowed down and thanked Da-ren, the mistresses, and the majordomo. After they had settled, large bowls of liquor in hand and slurping happily, the master of the opera troupe appeared and did his speech to wish the family a multitude of good fortune and prosperity.

  The performances opened with a raucous act from the Westward Journey. Actors pretending to be monkeys scrambled around, scratching themselves, scratching one another. The menservants responded with guffaws and much thigh slapping. Ying-ying glanced Mr. Gordon. He too was laughing, very much enjoying himself.

  More sedate pieces followed, while dish after dish appeared on the tables. Ying-ying didn’t much care for Peking opera. And she was already full after six dishes. She wished Amah were back so she could enjoy the delicacies and the entertainment. She wished Amah had never left. She wanted to give her a tremendous scolding. She would never get cross with her again if only she would come back.

  She felt someone’s eyes on her. To her left, Chang, the man who had once rescued Little Dragon from a life on the streets, stood just to the inside of an entrance, largely hidden from view behind a thick pillar. He beckoned her with his hand.

  This was odd. What could he want with her? Besides his insistent gestures, he seemed also to be mouthing something at her, something along the lines of, “Gu-niang, please come.”

>   She looked around her to make sure he wasn’t communicating with someone else. No, everyone had their eyes on the stage. Chang had his eyes on her.

  “I need to use the changing room,” she murmured to Mrs. Mu-he, who was raptly absorbed in an act called “The Drunken Concubine.”

  “Master Keeper Chang, what’s the matter?” she asked when she had made her way to him.

  “It’s your amah, Bai Gu-niang,” he answered.

  “My amah?” Ying-ying couldn’t help her voice from rising. “She’s back?”

  Chang motioned her to keep her voice down. “I had to, uh, go to the outhouses just now. On my way back, I saw your amah. She wasn’t feeling so well, so I told her to get inside, that I’d let you know she has returned.”

  She wasn’t feeling so well. Amah should have recovered completely by the end of her retreat. So something had gone terribly wrong.

  She didn’t have money on her person to tip him, so she pulled a small gold pin from her hair. “Thank you, Master Keeper Chang.”

  “I’ll come with you, Bai Gu-niang,” he offered. “It isn’t safe in the dark for a girl to walk alone.”

  She didn’t want a bodyguard. But if she refused, it might appear odd. Most girls her age probably would not turn down such help. “Many thanks, Master Keeper Chang. Your heart is too kind.”

  “Not at all,” he answered modestly. “If anything were to happen to Bai Gu-niang, how could I live with myself?”

  Her courtyard was dark, but the gate was open. Her heart wrenched. Amah was back.

  “Please don’t let me keep you from the performances, Master Keeper Chang,” she said politely. “You have my gratitude.”

  “I’ll wait just a minute to make sure your amah is all right,” he said. “She might need a doctor fetched.”

  A faint glimmering of moonlight entered the house with her, illuminating the outline of one of Mother’s ink paintings that hung in the reception room. Ying-ying hurried deeper inside.

  At the doorway of her bedchamber, she stopped. Someone was on her bed, lying just beyond a beam of moonlight. And this person breathed loudly—a vigorous noise, full lunged and easy.