The Cloud Leopard's Daughter

by Deborah Challinor

  ‘Happy to meet you, dear. I think.’

  ‘And this is Ka,’ Kitty said, embarrassed because no one had introduced her. ‘She doesn’t speak English.’

  Ka bowed deeply and Biddy, clearly still confused, gave a little bob back.

  ‘Well, come on, come inside, don’t stand around cluttering up my doorstep,’ she said. ‘The kettle’s on and I’ve just made a nice batch of buttermilk scones.’

  She led them into the room that served as parlour and kitchen, of which she was immensely proud, and urged them to take a seat at the table, dressed with a lace cloth and a vase of spectacular coral and pink dahlias. Kitty could see that Biddy had just finished her morning cleaning routine as every surface gleamed and the smell of furniture polish was heavy in the air, but before she sat, Wing surreptitiously wiped the seat of her chair.

  Unfortunately, Biddy saw her.

  Kitty tensed but Biddy merely crossed to the stove and removed the kettle. Ka got up to help but Biddy shooed her back to her seat. ‘Tea, everyone?’ she asked.

  ‘Green, thank you, if you have it,’ Wing said.

  Biddy replied, ‘Oh dear, you’ll have to forgive me, I only have black, so I do. And it’s nothing fancy.’

  ‘In China we have more different types of tea than you can count,’ Wing said. ‘We believe that growing and producing tea is an art.’

  ‘Is that so? Well, here it’s bloody expensive so, believe me, paying for it’s an art.’

  Here we go, Kitty thought. She dared not catch Rian’s eye.

  While Biddy bustled about preparing the tea and scones, Mick recounted their adventures in China. Biddy was agog, especially when he got to the part about Tahi killing Israel.

  ‘Holy Mary!’ she exclaimed. ‘Lucky you were in a Godless country where the law doesn’t apply.’ She frowned, her head on one side. ‘Mind you, he probably could have done that here and got away with it.’

  ‘English law does apply in Hong Kong,’ Rian said. ‘To British citizens, anyway. I expect some poor person out for an early morning walk through the gardens must have found him the next day, but we’d sailed at daybreak. And he had nothing on him to tie him to the Katipo. All the same, we might not go back there for a while.’

  ‘And Amber’s quite all right after being passed from pillar to post?’

  ‘She wasn’t “passed”, Biddy,’ Kitty said. ‘She was abducted. Kidnapped. She must have been terrified. And I think the worst of it was when Israel had her. He drugged her with opium for days. He could have killed her.’

  Biddy looked appalled. ‘He didn’t . . .?’

  Mick looked deeply uncomfortable and Kitty could see Rian’s jaw muscles tense and the cords in his neck tighten.

  ‘He said no, and she doesn’t think so,’ Kitty said, ‘but would you ever really know?’

  ‘Is this your servant’s house?’ Wing asked Biddy.

  Biddy slowly and very carefully set the tea tray down on the table. ‘No. Why, does it look like it should be?’

  ‘It is very small. Mick said you and he own a lot of property. I thought, because you are so rich, you would live in a wonderful big house.’

  Biddy looked at her son. ‘He said that, did he?’

  Mick reddened. ‘I’m not sure those were me exact words.’

  His mother stared at him piercingly a moment longer, then sat down, urging, ‘Help yourselves, everyone.’

  She took a scone for herself, cut it in half and spread a slab of butter onto each half. When she bit into one, there was so much butter it squeezed out through the little gaps between the tops of her teeth.

  Rian plastered almost as much butter onto his own scone, took a huge bite and said, ‘These are delicious, Biddy. You must give Pierre the recipe.’

  ‘He gave it to me.’ Biddy turned to Wing. ‘What are you planning to do in Sydney, dear?’

  Wing said nothing, simply batted her eyelashes at Mick.

  You cunning witch, Kitty thought.

  Mick cleared his throat and took a quick sip of tea then flinched, having obviously burnt himself. His eyes watering, he swallowed furiously. ‘We thought, Wing and I, that is, well, I thought I might ask Wing to marry me.’

  Biddy’s eyes narrowed just as Rian’s scone broke, scattering crumbs everywhere. ‘What?’ he said.

  ‘Well, you know, I’m getting on, so I am. It’s time I thought about finding meself a decent woman. And I think I have.’

  ‘Christ, you mean leave the Katipo?’

  ‘Maybe.’

  ‘And where do you think you’re going to live?’ Biddy asked.

  ‘In one of his houses,’ Wing said.

  Mick said, ‘I thought we could stay here.’

  Biddy carefully placed her teaspoon in her saucer. ‘I think it’s time you and I had a talk, son.’

  ‘I don’t. I’ve made up me mind.’

  ‘Oh, well, that’s that then, isn’t it?’ Biddy rose, went to a cupboard and retrieved a broom, which she handed to Wing.

  Wing stared at it. ‘What is it?’

  ‘It’s a broom. If you’re going to live here you can make yourself useful by sweeping up those scone crumbs.’

  ‘Ka will do that. She is the servant.’

  ‘Oh no you don’t. I won’t have any of that nonsense in my house.’

  ‘But I do not do sweeping.’

  ‘You do now. I can lend you an apron if you want one. And while we’re getting a few things straight, I own all the property round here in the name of Doyle, not Mick. Mick can barely lay claim to the clothes on his back.’

  Alarmed, Wing said, ‘What is she saying, Mick?’

  But Mick was extremely busy lining up his butter knife with his plate.

  ‘Time to go, I think!’ Rian said rather too cheerfully. He stood, brushing crumbs off his trousers. ‘Sorry about the mess, Biddy.’

  ‘That’s all right, Captain. Wing can clean it up.’

  ‘No, wait,’ Wing said. ‘I will come with you. I do not wish to stay here after all.’ She barked something at Ka, who sprang to her feet.

  ‘Actually, I might have a job for that one,’ Biddy said. ‘She speaks no English at all, you say?’

  Kitty shook her head. ‘But she’s sweet and a hard worker. And, er, extremely tolerant.’

  ‘I lease two or three houses and two business premises to Chinese folk, and I’d like to lease more. They’re good customers but most landlords won’t lease to them and I can see a gap in the market. I need someone who can talk to my current tenants and drum up a bit of trade in the Chinese community. Except how would I talk to her?’

  ‘She would not be suitable,’ Wing snapped. ‘She is only a servant.’

  Biddy said, ‘I’ll be the judge of that, thank you.’

  ‘I could get Bao to talk to her,’ Kitty suggested, glancing at Ka and wondering if she realised they were talking about her. ‘Perhaps someone could teach her to speak English. She seems bright.’

  ‘She is not,’ Wing said. ‘She is quite dull-witted.’

  ‘We’ll ignore the fact that she puts up with you,’ Biddy remarked. ‘That’s a good idea, Kitty, so it is.’

  Wing said, ‘But I cannot go without a servant. What will I do?’

  Brush your own hair? Kitty thought. ‘You might find another Chinese girl here willing to work for you.’ Very unlikely, though.

  ‘But I do not have any money.’

  ‘Then how are you going to pay Ka?’

  Wing burst into tears. Kitty realised that, mercenary though the young woman’s behaviour was, she was only trying to look after herself the best way she could – by using her feminine attributes to get what she wanted. And genuinely needed.

  ‘Look,’ she said, ‘forget about Mick.’

  Wing withdrew a handkerchief from her little silk bag and daintily blew her nose. ‘I have.’

  ‘Oh. Thanks very much,’ Mick said.

  Biddy muttered, ‘Shut up, son, and be grateful.’

  ‘You’re clever, yo
u’re young and beautiful, and you’re safe from Chun here,’ Kitty went on. At least, she hoped that was true. ‘You can start again. Make the most of it. Life is different in Australia, but you can adapt. Bao knows some of the Chinese people in Sydney. Perhaps she can introduce you tomorrow and help you find a place to live and some work.’

  Nodding, Wing dabbed at her eyes, though she looked less than enthusiastic at the idea of actually having to work. Her tears had worn a track through her face powder. ‘I just . . . it is just so daunting.’

  ‘I know.’ Kitty could barely recall her first months in New Zealand without a faint shudder. ‘But you’ll get used to it. You will, I promise.’

  ‘But I need Ka, for company.’

  ‘Then stop treating her so badly.’

  ‘She does not mind.’

  Snorts from Rian and Biddy, even though Biddy had known Ka for less than an hour.

  ‘That’s because Chun paid her not to mind. And I suspect she hasn’t left you now because she’s loyal. She doesn’t have to stay, you know. You can’t pay her.’

  ‘I do have some money,’ Wing admitted, ‘but it is in Hong Kong currency. And not enough to pay Ka, only enough for food and other necessities. I did not have much money in my apartment when we had to run from Chun.’

  ‘The bank might be able to change it into English money for you,’ Biddy said. ‘Or a money exchange in the Chinese quarter.’

  ‘They can,’ Rian said. ‘Thanks, Biddy. We’ll leave you to console Mick, shall we?’

  ‘Console him? I’ll bloody well knock him into next week, the lying little shite. Let me know when you’ve talked to Bao, won’t you?’

  ‘We will,’ Kitty said. ‘We’re sailing again on Saturday, if not tomorrow afternoon. We’ll see you before we go.’

  *

  The next morning Bao and Ka hurried along the lower end of George Street until they came to the premises of Lau Chi Ho, the draper and tailor.

  Outside, Bao explained to her, ‘Mr Lau is Cantonese but he speaks English and knows several other dialects. He has lived here for some years with his wife, Lok Yi, and their son, Kan Kuen. Their shop is always very busy and I am hoping they may have a job for you. Mrs Doyle’s offer is very kind but you will not be able to start work for her until you can speak at least some English. Mr Lau has taught other Chinese people and he is very good at it. English is a tricky language because whenever there are rules there are always times when they must be broken, which is not sensible, but you are a clever girl. What is the matter?’

  Ka looked worried. ‘I will not be able to pay him. I do not have any money. I gave all that I had to Miss Wing.’

  ‘Then we will just get it back. Stand up for yourself, Ka. In any case, that is why I want to discuss the possibility of a job. You can work in lieu of payment. Now, Mr Lau can seem quite stern and formal, but really he is a very nice man. It is just that he has quite a lot of European customers and he does not wish to give them reason to criticise or mock him. Once you come to know him, should everything go to plan, you will find he is very kind. And so is Mrs Lau.’

  ‘I do not know anything about the business of drapery.’ ‘You do so. You have been dressing Wing for how long?

  You know about how to look after fabrics, you know how they behave, you know about what colour goes with what and what sort of fabric wears best in winter and what is more comfortable in summer. You know everything there is to know about silk. And what about flowers and ribbons and what have you for the hair? You dress Wing’s every day.’

  Ka smiled, her face lighting up. ‘I do, too.’

  ‘You see? Now, shall we go in and see how we get on?’

  Lau Chi Ho and Lau Lok Yi, were both at the counter, Lok attending to a customer while Chi, it seemed, was busy adding up a list of figures. Bao and Ka hung back until the customer had left the shop and Chi’s pencil was parked behind his ear.

  ‘Miss Wong,’ he said in English, ‘how wonderful to see you. It has been a very long time.’

  Preferring to continue in English and thereby save Ka from embarrassment in the event that Mr Lau declined to either teach or employ her, Bao said, ‘It is wonderful to see you, too, Mr Lau. And you, Mrs Lau. Yes, we have been in New Zealand, in Lawrence, gold mining.’

  ‘Any luck?’

  ‘We have been moderately successful.’

  ‘And how is your esteemed father?’ Chi asked.

  ‘Not well, I am afraid. He has a cancer of the stomach. He is not expected to live much longer. I am on my way to Lawrence now.’

  Chi and Lok both looked genuinely distressed: Bao knew they liked Fu, even though they didn’t know him well.

  ‘Please convey our best wishes,’ Chi said. ‘His loss will be deeply felt.’

  ‘I will.’

  Bao noted that Chi hadn’t asked where she’d been. Perhaps he already knew. The Chinese community was as susceptible to gossip as any other.

  ‘And who is your friend? Lok asked.

  ‘This is Chan Ka Yee, who has recently come from Hong Kong.’

  Chi and Lok bowed. Blushing, Ka bowed back.

  ‘She speaks Cantonese and would like to learn to speak English. She has been offered work here but requires English for it, and obviously cannot take up the position until she is at least moderately fluent.’

  The door to the shop opened and several European women entered, briefly interrupting the conversation to ask where the hat notions were.

  ‘The English language cannot be learnt overnight,’ Chi warned.

  ‘Of course not. Fortunately, the offer will remain open to her.’

  Chi said, ‘I would be happy to teach her. My rates are a shilling per two-hour lesson, or eight pence for one hour.’

  The shop door opened again: a party of three this time. Lok left the counter to assist them.

  Bao said, ‘Ka had to leave Hong Kong under less than happy circumstances. She does not have funds to speak of.’

  ‘Are you suggesting that she defers payment?’

  ‘No, but I will ask you if you are willing to take her on as an assistant. You do seem to be quite busy. Does Kan not work here any more?’

  ‘Yes. And no wife yet,’ Chi said gloomily. ‘No grandchildren. He is at the wharves picking up a shipment of cloth. What does your friend know about drapery?’

  ‘Until very recently she was personal servant to the concubine of a very wealthy hong. She knows about clothing, and about silk. And she is honest and a very hard worker.’

  ‘Which hong would that be?’

  ‘I feel that it would be indiscreet to name him,’ Bao replied, but couldn’t resist adding, ‘but he is known to some as the Frog.’

  Chi barked out a laugh, startling the lady shoppers, who turned to look.

  ‘Yip Chun Kit!’ Chi declared, grinning.

  Startled, Bao asked, ‘Do you know him?’

  ‘I know of him. My sister-in-law, who lives with my brother in Guangzhou, has a sister whose elder daughter is a concubine of Yip’s. Her name—’ He clicked his fingers. ‘What was her name?’

  ‘There were three,’ Bao said, ‘and they were called Lai Wing Yan, Yu Peijing and So Mei Yan.’

  ‘So Mei Yan, that is it. In my sister-in-law’s letters we hear stories about Yip passed on via her sister about how fat, rude and arrogant he is. Apparently Mei only stays with him because she likes living in his luxurious compound and it is close to good shopping.’ Switching to Cantonese he said to Ka, ‘No wonder you left Yip’s employ, Miss Ka. I gather he was not the most generous or pleasant of employers.’

  Startled, Ka blinked and visibly struggled for something positive to say. ‘We ate well. And the gardens in his compound were beautiful.’

  ‘What a sweet-natured girl,’ Chi said.

  Lok returned with three huge rolls of black fabric balanced across her arms, trailed by the three shoppers. Bao and Ka stood aside. Chi took the rolls from Lok and set them at one end of the long counter, asking how much of each the women
wanted. Someone had died so a considerable amount of the grosgrain and the barathea were required, along with a slightly lesser amount of the foulard silk.

  ‘Is madam sure she wants the grosgrain?’ he asked.

  Madam said, ‘Of course I am. I wouldn’t have asked for it if I didn’t want it.’

  ‘As you wish.’

  Chi cut the lengths with shears sharp enough to amputate a limb, then carefully folded the fabrics, wrapped them in brown shop-paper and tied the parcels with string.

  Their purchases paid for, the women departed.

  ‘Would you have recommended the grosgrain?’ he asked Ka.

  ‘Was that the heavy ribbed silk?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘What did she want it for?’

  ‘A funeral costume.’

  Ka frowned. ‘Black, for a funeral?’

  ‘It is the European custom.’

  ‘No, I would not, not if the funeral is to be held now. The weather is warm and the grosgrain will cause the wearer to sweat, which will damage the fabric. Perhaps also the other material, in the medium weight. What was that called in English?’

  ‘Barathea. A mix of silk and worsted wool.’

  ‘Yes, that too, but the lighter silk the woman chose will be suitable.’

  The door opened yet again and Bao looked up, expecting yet more customers, but it was Kan, the Laus’ son. Outside she could see the shop’s cart parked in the street, their faithful old horse with her head in her feedbag, munching away. On the cart sat three wooden crates the size of armchairs.

  ‘Hello, Miss Wong,’ Kan said in English as he took off his hat.

  It was indeed warm at the moment and his black hair was stuck to his head, except for a jaunty tuft that stuck up at the back. He was a nice-looking boy of twenty or so, not devastatingly handsome but even-featured and clear-skinned and always quick with a smile.

  ‘Hello, Kan. How are you?

  ‘Very well, thank you. What brings you to Sydney?’

  ‘A bit of business,’ Bao replied, but Kan’s gaze had already slid away to rest on Ka, who had turned the colour of plum blossom.

  ‘Oh. Good,’ Kan said, a bit inanely.

  At the counter his mother nudged Chi quite hard with her elbow.