The Cloud Leopard's Daughter

by Deborah Challinor

  ‘Depends what lies Israel told him.’

  ‘Does he lie?’ Rian realised who he was talking about, what he’d been like as a lad. ‘Of course he does.’

  ‘The thing is,’ Haunui said, ‘if that’s what he’s done, where will he take her? If he wants her for himself he won’t bring her back here, will we?’

  Rian stared at him, the full horror of the situation sinking in. Would he ever get his daughter back? ‘Where would he take her?’

  ‘At least we know he won’t hurt her,’ Ropata said.

  ‘That’s easy for you to say!’ Tahi exploded. ‘He probably won’t beat or kill her, but what about the rest? She’s my wife!’

  Haunui rested a calming hand on his shoulder. ‘Settle down. She knows how to take care of herself.’ To Rian he said, ‘To Australia, maybe? England? America?’

  ‘Bloody well anywhere, you mean?’

  ‘You settle down too, eh? We’ll find them before they get far. Don’t worry.’

  *

  Kitty and Bao were sitting on the deck, trying to make use of the natural light – which was rapidly fading due to a bank of nasty-looking black cloud piling up overhead – to do some mending, and pretending not to hear the raised voices below. Kitty couldn’t really concentrate anyway, when she had far bigger things to worry about than holes in socks.

  A disturbance on the wharf made her look up just in time to see two Chinese women running along the boards, one trying not to fall off high platform shoes, both carrying an assortment of baskets and bags. They skidded to a halt in front of the Katipo, back-tracked slightly, then clattered across the gangway and along the deck, bowing quickly to Bao, then disappeared down the companionway.

  A moment later Rian shouted, ‘Kitty!’

  ‘Who was that?’ she asked Bao.

  ‘Ah. Those were the two women who helped me escape from Yip Chun Kit’s compound. I offered them sanctuary? Perhaps I should have reminded you. I am sorry.’

  ‘Oh, well,’ Kitty said as she put away the undarned socks. ‘Let’s go and see, shall we?’

  Below decks Lai Wing Yan and Ka stood on one side of the mess room and Haunui, Tahi, Ropata and Rian stood on the other. Pierre hovered in the galley doorway, flour in his pointy little beard and a tea towel in his hand.

  Wing’s hair had fallen out of its elaborate arrangement and long strands hung down her back and over her shoulders. Her face powder had smudged, revealing flushed skin beneath, and one of her eyebrows had rubbed off. Poor Ka now held all the luggage, out of which spilled badly packed folds of silk and satin, her frightened eyes peeping above the pile.

  ‘You said we could come if we needed to,’ Wing said to Bao in Cantonese, her voice high and panicky.

  ‘What happened?’

  Ka burst into tears. Mortified, she drew the end of a garment over her head.

  Bao clapped her hands at the men. ‘Out, please. They need privacy.’

  Meekly Rian and the others trooped up the companionway. Pierre made to follow but Bao stopped him.

  ‘Not you. We need tea, please.’

  ‘But I don’t know the special Chinese tea.’

  ‘Then make ordinary tea. It’s the same thing anyway. With lots of sugar. Do you need food?’ she asked Wing and Ka. ‘What would you like?’

  ‘Cake,’ Wing said.

  ‘She would like cake,’ Bao translated for Pierre.

  ‘Cake for les dames Chinoises,’ he declared, delighted to be able to feed someone in need, and scurried into the galley.

  Kitty divested Ka of her overflowing bags and baskets and led her to a seat, patting her arm as she sat down. ‘Don’t worry, you’re safe here,’ she said, hoping that they would be. What on earth had so frightened these girls?

  ‘Excuse me!’ Wing stood glaring with her pale, manicured hands on her shapely hips.

  Bao, and Kitty, stared back. Bao hadn’t realised Wing could speak English.

  In Cantonese again Wing announced, ‘I am the premier concubine and I am the one to be escorted to the seat, not my servant!’

  Ka shot to her feet, looking horrified.

  ‘No, stay where you were,’ Bao commanded.

  Ka sat again.

  Wing barked, ‘Get off that seat!’

  Ka did.

  ‘Stop it!’

  Everyone turned to Kitty.

  ‘Stop being so awful to her. She’s not a . . . a puppet!

  ‘Then Wing should not treat her as one,’ Bao said. Addressing Wing, she said, ‘You were premier concubine in Chun’s house but you are here now and you will find things are very different.’

  ‘She is still my servant.’

  ‘Perhaps she is not.’ Bao switched to Cantonese. ‘Ka, do you wish to remain as Wing’s servant?’

  Ka looked very much as though she wanted to say no. ‘Yes. Miss Wing is a good mistress.’

  Bao pulled a face that made her look like a duck. ‘Well, we will see.’

  Pierre appeared bearing a tray piled high with teapot, cups, and plates of recently baked cake and pastries.

  ‘Sit down, ladies, and Pierre will serve the treats.’

  No one moved.

  Confused, Pierre raised a wiry eyebrow at Kitty.

  ‘Ka—’ she pointed to her, ‘is Wing’s servant. Ka sat first and now Wing’s upset.’

  Pierre said, ‘Pfft. If you do not all sit down, the tray I will take her away and no one will have the lovely cakes.’

  Bao and Kitty sat, then Ka did, right on the edge of the bench. A few moments later Wing followed, sighing theatrically. Pierre poured the tea, served them each with a slice of cake and a pastry, bowed, and went up on deck.

  ‘Tell us what happened,’ Bao said.

  ‘It was so frightening. We had to run for our lives and we did not know if your ship would still be here.’ Wing’s arms went up, a pastry in one hand. ‘It was like leaping across a precipice during the very blackest of nights, unable to tell whether—’

  ‘Could you just tell us what happened?’ Bao interrupted.

  Wing deflated slightly. ‘Oh. When we returned from the Central Marketplace no one seemed to notice that the woman who left with Ka was not the woman who came back. I encountered Chun in the front courtyard garden, and spoke to him, as I went to my apartment to rest but it was not long before Chun realised that you were not in your apartment. The gardens were thoroughly searched, then the privies and bathrooms, then every room in the compound, including his mother and father’s.’ She smirked. ‘They did not like that, I can assure you. It became clear to him that you had escaped. We could all hear him shouting and throwing things about. Your apartment was examined from top to bottom but nothing was found. You must indeed have been successful at hiding the evidence of your face-painting.’ She paused to shovel a large mouthful of pastry into her mouth in a very unlady-like manner, chewed for quite a while, then eventually swallowed. ‘Mmm, this is delicious. Does that little man bake these himself?’

  Kitty nodded.

  ‘You are very lucky. I am surprised you are not fatter.’

  ‘And then what happened?’ Bao prompted.

  ‘Chun personally interviewed every single person in the compound about what they were doing that day, and what they had seen or heard. It took him two whole days to do so.’

  ‘And?’

  ‘And nothing. Nobody knew a thing.’ Wing grinned. ‘It was as though you had become a ghost and slipped through the compound walls. But then, this afternoon, Ho remembered that the woman, that is, you who were me, who left with Ka to visit the Central Marketplace on the day you escaped, was wearing earrings of pearl and jade.’ She made a disparaging face. ‘It would take him that long to remember, not being the cleverest man. And he remembered because they were familiar to him, but he could not remember why they were familiar. But Chun knew. They are your earrings.’

  Kitty glanced at Bao’s earlobes: she was wearing them now. She always wore them.

  ‘I had forgotten all about my earrings,�
�� Bao said.

  Wing took another bite of pastry and said through it, ‘A servant overheard Ho telling Chun, and he told Tan’s servant, who told Ka, who ran to tell me. As I spoke directly to Chun when Ka and I returned from the Central Marketplace, I knew it would not be long before he realised I must be involved. I had thought of telling him you had given me the earrings, but of course, I could not produce them. So we ran.’

  ‘How did you get out of the compound?’ Bao asked.

  ‘A window in my apartment. It opens onto the lane beside the compound.’

  ‘The only window I had looked out over the garden.’

  ‘I was not a prisoner.’

  ‘And did you get away unseen?’

  ‘I think so.’

  ‘Does he know where you are?’

  ‘I said nothing to anyone about this ship.’

  Bao spoke to Ka in her own language, and she answered by shaking her head violently.

  ‘Then I expect you are probably safe for now, but I do not think you can stay in Hong Kong. Where is your village?’

  Wing looked appalled. ‘In northern Kwangtung Province, near the border with Hunan, but I am not going back there. I am no longer suited to village life! And it is too close. Chun may find me.’

  ‘You have to go somewhere.’

  ‘Yes, we do. I am considering Australia.’

  Oh God, Kitty thought, Rian’s going to love that.

  Chapter Ten

  The sun had almost set by the time Israel and Amber arrived back in Victoria Harbour. Israel was exhausted and he suspected Amber wasn’t faring much better. The rain was just starting, fat drops exploding onto the oily surface of the harbour’s rubbish-strewn waters as he furled the sampan’s sail and rowed towards the shore.

  ‘Why are we landing at this end? Amber asked. ‘Isn’t the Katipo berthed at the other end? Pa said we’re at Pedder’s Wharf.’

  Israel was landing as far west and away from the Katipo, and from where he had nicked the sampan, as he could. ‘I’ll tell you when we get ashore,’ he said. ‘Just give me a few minutes.’

  ‘Is something wrong?’

  Pretending he hadn’t heard her Israel kept rowing, averting his gaze. He was absolutely dreading what was coming next. When the sampan hit solid ground he leapt out, his legs stiff and sore and refusing to behave, and dragged it up onto the sand, then took Amber’s hand to help her disembark.

  She wouldn’t let it go. ‘There is something wrong, isn’t there? Tell me, Israel.’

  At the very last moment Israel lost his nerve. ‘Well, I didn’t want to disappoint you but the Katipo isn’t here. They’ve gone up to Shanghai to talk to the British customs officials.’

  ‘Customs? Why?’

  ‘Did no one tell you?’

  ‘Tell me what?’

  ‘Longwei wanted your father to talk to certain people about the opium trade. It was a condition of your release.’

  Amber dropped his hand. ‘And they’ve all gone? Tahi as well?’

  Israel nodded.

  ‘When they knew I’d be coming back?’

  ‘They shouldn’t be long.’

  ‘When did they leave?’

  Christ, now he was just digging himself a deeper hole. ‘This morning.’

  ‘Shanghai’s bloody days away from here!’

  ‘I know, I’m sorry. I’ve got money, though. We’ll find somewhere to stay and wait for them.’

  ‘Why didn’t Tahi collect me from the pirates? Why did it have to be you?’

  That hurt. ‘Look, I don’t know, all right? I just do as I’m told.’ Israel took her by the arm. ‘Come on, we need to find lodgings.’

  He thought she might cause a fuss but she came willingly enough. She must be tired. He was: he was bloody knackered and his clothes were yet again soaked with seawater. He could murder a bath. They walked for about ten minutes into the city until he spied a lodging house he thought looked respectable. Not one for Chinese, of course, but one with a sign outside saying British Patrons Welcome Only. The woman behind the counter – some bint from Liverpool who fancied she was classy – didn’t even blink when he told her he and his ‘wife’ wanted a room for five nights. He didn’t know if they’d need it that long, but better to be safe than sorry. And quietly, leaning across the counter so Amber wouldn’t hear, he registered as Mr and Mrs Irwin Marshall, because you couldn’t be too careful.

  ‘Excuse me,’ Amber said to the woman. ‘My husband’s made a mistake. He snores terribly so we always sleep apart, so that’s two rooms we’ll be needing, thank you.’

  The woman smirked and selected two keys from the board beside her. ‘That’s ten shillings all told, breakfast included. Bathroom’s on the ground floor, extra for hot water, request in advance, privies are out the back.’

  ‘God,’ Israel muttered, worried about preserving his finances, the reason he’d asked for only one room. In London you could get the same for half that amount, if not less.

  ‘I’d love a bath,’ Amber said.

  Israel sighed. ‘How much for that?’

  ‘Sixpence,’ the woman replied. ‘I’ve to boil the water in the copper, you see. It’ll take an hour or so.’

  ‘One for my wife, please.’

  ‘Right you are.’

  The rooms were adequate. The linen was clean, the furniture dusted and the chamber pots recently rinsed. Israel knocked on Amber’s door. She opened it a crack.

  He asked, ‘Is your room all right?’

  ‘It’s fine. What will we do for food?’

  ‘I’ll go out and pick something up.’

  Amber sat on the bed and brushed at the saltwater stains on the front of her tunic. Her clothing still hadn’t quite dried.

  ‘Do you need something else to wear?’ Israel asked. It pained him to see her looking so drab, even though she did often get about the Katipo in trousers and a man’s shirt. He certainly needed a few bits and pieces. Unable to pack a bag for fear of alerting the others to the fact that he was leaving, he’d simply walked straight off the Katipo with nothing but the clothes he was wearing, his hat and his purse.

  ‘Do you mean a dress?’

  ‘Well, you can’t go about wearing trousers, can you? Not a white woman.’

  ‘I’m not white, and I can if they’re Chinese ones.’

  ‘You can’t – people’ll think you’re one of those half-caste girls. What are they called?’

  ‘Eurasians.’

  ‘Them.’

  ‘So what if they do?’

  Israel turned his hat around in his hands, lost for a reply. ‘Look, I’ll bring back some food and some clothes for you. Will you be all right by yourself?’

  ‘Why wouldn’t I be? I’ll have a lie down and then my bath, when it’s ready.’

  ‘Make sure you lock the door.’ Israel had noted that the lodging house appeared to be almost fully occupied – by men.

  ‘I will.’

  ‘All right. Back soon, then.’

  ‘Bye.’

  Amber laid down, tucked her arms into her chest and drew up her knees. Israel watched her for a moment then left, worrying that she’d fall asleep before she’d locked the door.

  *

  Israel’s purse was heavy in his jacket pocket and he was grateful for it. He was carrying all the money he had, a significant sum, but he had a fair amount to buy and he knew Amber wouldn’t be happy with anything cheap. He wouldn’t want to give her rubbish anyway.

  The streets of Victoria were still busy as many of the shops remained open until the nightly curfew sent the Chinese indoors. There were also several early evening markets, which sold not only food but well-made clothing and all sorts of other items including household goods, fruit and vegetable plants and livestock. He might find some of what he wanted there, but not a European-style dress. For that he’d need a draper, perhaps? A tailor? He didn’t really know where to start. He did know that generally you – well, women – couldn’t just waltz into a shop and buy a costume. Acc
ording to Kitty and Amber, you had to have your dresses made because of things like measurements and what have you. He, on the other hand, could buy a jacket or a shirt from a shop, if he wasn’t too bothered about the fit, but he always had to have his good trousers made because he was tall and he didn’t particularly like his ankles on show for all to see. But recently Kitty and Amber had been blathering on about the new ‘ready-made’ dresses you could just buy, though Kitty said the fit would never be right. Perhaps he could find one of those? After all, Hong Kong was full of little Chinese men hunched over bits of material stitching away, wasn’t it?

  He was on Wellington Street now, where there were plenty of tailors, which he knew because Pierre, being such a dwarf, sometimes went there to get his going-out jackets and waistcoats made. Instead of shingles above their shops, here in Hong Kong the tailors hung robes on poles to advertise their trade, which he thought wasn’t a bad idea. Though it could be mistaken for washing hung out to dry, he supposed.

  He wandered past a couple, hesitant to enter because it was a bit of a strange request, a man asking for a woman’s gown, and irritated by the fact that there were no windows to look into. Fancy being so uncivilised you couldn’t make glass. Then, after gazing at a tailor’s dummy in a doorway for nearly a minute, he realised what he was looking at. It was wearing a dress! He darted in.

  A woman stood behind the counter sorting buttons into little baskets. She was maybe middle-aged, had her hair pulled back in a plain bun and wore the usual Chinese tunic. Some cove, her husband probably, with a skinny queue that fell all the way to the back of his knees, was up a ladder piling bolts of cloth on a shelf.

  They both stared at him.

  ‘Evening,’ he said. For good measure he took off his hat.

  The woman nodded and the man backed down the ladder, wiping his hands on his trousers when he reached the ground.

  ‘I was looking at that dress on the tailor’s dummy,’ Israel said.

  Another silent stare. Don’t tell me they can’t bloody well speak English, Israel thought.

  ‘Pak!’ the woman shouted.

  A young man appeared through a curtain behind her. She said something to him that sounded to Israel like a monkey in a temper, and the boy stepped around the counter and bowed.