by Rhys Bowen
“What a nerve,” I said. “Did you show this to Sarah?”
“I thought it wiser not to. She told me that Monty was adamant that she give up coming here and she didn’t want to upset him. I expect she’d have been livid if she found that he’d written to us.” She looked up at me. “I hope Sarah is doing the right thing marrying him.”
“But she loves him, doesn’t she?”
“I think she likes the idea of being a grand English lady and living in a castle,” Hermione said, “and of course he’s in love with her money. Who wouldn’t be?”
“But surely he doesn’t need her money—he’s from an aristocratic family with large estates.”
“And has squandered his inheritance in riotous living, to paraphrase the Bible. Believe me, Mr. Monty Warrington-Chase can’t wait to marry and settle his debts.”
“How do you know this?”
“My brother is a member of the same club. Monty spilled out his problems one night while in his cups,” she said. “Naturally I’ve said nothing to Sarah. If she really does love him, then all is well.”
“I think she does,” I said. “She was most concerned about his health.”
“His health? I put that down to aristocratic pallor.” She laughed. “Then I wish them every happiness. Here, take this tray into the living room and I’ll follow with the teapot.”
A few minutes later Bo Kei reappeared in a Western skirt and shirtwaist. “Now I am proper American lady,” she said, laughing with relief.
“Tell this lady your story,” I suggested, but Hermione shook her head. “Let’s not put her through that again. Sarah has already given me a most riveting account. I gather you leaped between rooftops and shimmied down drainpipes.”
Bo Kei nodded, her hand shielding her mouth as she giggled. “Nuns always call me tomboy.”
We took tea together and then Hermione suggested that she meet Annie. “We have another Chinese girl here you might know,” she said.
We proceeded up the stairs. Annie was lying as if asleep, but she opened her eyes as we came in.
“A visitor, Annie. A Chinese girl like you.”
Bo Kei gave a squeal and rushed toward Annie’s bed, letting out a stream of Chinese. Annie recoiled for a moment, then threw her arms around Bo Kei. We watched them as they sat together, holding hands, looking incredulously at each other’s faces. Then Bo Kei looked up at us.
“This girl my cousin. She went away from my village and nobody knew where she has gone. We think she is dead.”
Thirteen
Job well done, I said to myself as Sister Molly of the Unholy Order made her way back to Sid and Gus. They were waiting anxiously and were delighted that the story had ended so happily.
“But what are you going to tell this Chinaman who hired you?” Sid gave me a worried stare.
“That’s a problem, isn’t it. I’m not quite sure,” I said. “From what I hear he’s a powerful and ruthless man. I don’t like to think what he’d do if he found out I’d helped the girl escape from him.”
“Molly, you can’t risk putting yourself in that kind of danger,” Gus said. “This girl isn’t anything to you and I’m sure this kind of marriage arrangement is usual in their culture. Would this life be so much worse than a marriage to someone in her village at home?”
I sighed. She had made a valid point. If women could be bought and sold in China, could she have expected any better for herself? And at least here she would have enough to eat and nice clothes. And if she produced that son, she’d be treated well. But she clearly did not want to be treated as chattel. She had taken a terrible risk to run away. I knew how she felt. I had fled from Ireland when the odds had seemed against me. I had received help when I least expected it. How could I deny it to Bo Kei?
“Maybe I’ll tell him that I’ve looked diligently but that the girl is nowhere to be found at any of the missions—which is true of course.”
“Are you sure that nobody at the settlement house will betray the presence of Chinese girls there?”
“No, I’m not at all sure. If they stay hidden upstairs, then maybe they are safe, but if they come down to communal meals, then anyone could inadvertently give them away. The house is too close to Chinatown. Our only chance is to spirit her far away as soon as possible. So if you two could get to work trying to find a position for her—”
“Molly, we’re planning your party, remember?” Gus said. “We’ve a host of people coming who will need to be fed and entertained. We’ve decorations to design, food to make, drinks to order. Can’t you put off reporting in to your Chinaman for a day or so? He can’t expect you to work miracles in a single day, surely?”
“I suppose you’re right,” I said. “I’m sure he’ll want to hear from me immediately, and I don’t think I could face him in person, but I could write a letter to let him know that I am still working hard on the case, and then hand-deliver it to his secretary.”
This decision made me feel better. At least I had bought myself some time and the girl would be safe, unless Mr. Lee had his own spies out looking as well. I went to my room and composed the letter carefully, trying not to tell an outright lie in it. It must have been that Catholic upbringing and the beatings from my mother that made it so hard for me to tell an untruth. So I simply stated that she had not been at any of the missions around Chinatown—which was true—and that I was now expanding my search further afield and hoped to have news for him soon.
And I hoped to come up with a brilliant solution before I had to see him again. Maybe if Sid and Gus could find someone to take Bo Kei in as a servant, I could truthfully claim that she had left the city and I had no means of tracing her. Or maybe a convent somewhere would take her in. I could look into convents suitably far from the city.
I was feeling considerably more hopeful by the time I alighted from the El at Chatham Square the next morning. One way or another this would sort itself out. I made my way through the bustling Saturday morning crowd to Frederick Lee’s office on the Bowery. I went up the stairs and found the outer door shut. I knocked on it, gently at first and then louder. Nobody came. I waited, then had to admit that Frederick Lee was not there. Was his employer enlightened enough to give him Saturdays off, I wondered.
I wasn’t sure what to do now. I could just post the letter through the mail slot, but then tomorrow was Sunday and the next day was the Labor Day holiday so Mr. Lee would not receive it until Tuesday. This might mean that he’d send someone looking for me long before then. I supposed my only course of action was to take the letter to the Golden Dragon Emporium and ask one of the employees there to deliver it to Mr. Lee. Of course there was a risk that I might encounter Mr. Lee himself on the street or in the shop, but I decided that was preferable to Mr. Lee sending someone to find me where I was living. I didn’t want to put Sid and Gus in any kind of jeopardy. So I took a deep breath and crossed the Bowery to Mott Street.
Again there was the instant contrast between the chaos of the Bowery and the relative tranquility of the Chinese street. I spotted Kitty Chiu playing jump rope with some friends and a couple of old Italian women in black veils, huddled together and clutching each other’s arms for protection as they went into the Catholic church. Then I heard the sound of footsteps and a loud American voice booming, “This way if you please, ladies and gentlemen.” And around the corner from Park Street came an unlikely procession. It was led by a large, florid man with that typically Irish face. He was wearing a bowler hat perched jauntily on top of an impressive head of hair, and a jacket adorned with a row of pearl buttons, in spite of the warm day. He was carrying a megaphone. Behind him came a group of well-dressed and respectable-looking American men and women—mostly women, it must be noted, and mostly women of my own age.
“What you are about to see will shock you to the very core,” the Irishman boomed through the megaphone to his wide-eyed charges, his voice echoing back from the tall buildings on either side. “Please, ladies, do not faint. Deese streets here are
particularly dirty underfoot and you would spoil dose pretty dresses.” In spite of the Irish appearance, he spoke with the strong accent of the New York gutter. He paused outside an open door with steps leading down to a basement. “Down these steps you will see the ultimate in depravity. Deese poor people are slaves to the opium habit. They have spent the night in this sqalid den, smoking opium, not knowing if it’s one day or the next. Why, they even do it on the Lord’s day—think of that. The ultimate heathens.”
One of the ladies gasped and had to fan herself. Her friend grasped her in case she fainted. I tried not to smile because I had realized that this was the slumming tour that Mrs. Chiu had told me about and the so-called opium den they were about to see was a fake one. The Irishman looked at me with interest as he passed me.
“And can you imagine this,” I heard him saying, not through the megaphone this time, “there are Irishwomen of such depravity that they actually enter into so-called marriage with Chinamen.”
Another gasp from the crowd and I suspected that he was probably pointing at me. I reached the Golden Dragon Emporium and stood outside, hoping that someone would come out and thus make this task easier for me. Nobody did. The Irishman and his slumming tour had descended into the fake opium den and the only sound on the street was the rhythmic chanting of the girls as they turned the rope. I peered into the store. The interior was so dark that I could detect no sign of movement. I took a deep breath and stepped inside. As my eyes accustomed themselves to the darkness I could see that the walls and ceiling were richly carved, like the screen at the front of Mr. Lee’s apartment. There were displays of bolts of silk and stacks of porcelain on one side, and open boxes of teas and spices on the other, producing heady and exotic scents. I waited, expecting someone to come forward, but nobody did.
From a backroom beyond I heard a clattering sound and then a sudden shout. I plucked up my courage and went through beaded curtains, down a narrow hallway. The room beyond was dark and full of smoke, but I could make out the long braids of men sitting around a table. As I watched they slapped down tiles, yelling out excitedly. By this point I had realized I was looking at a gambling den, and the moment I had taken this in, I knew that I shouldn’t be here. I tried to retreat quietly. I crept back down the hallway, past the bead curtains, but they made a tinkling sound as they fell back into place.
A voice called out behind me. There was no point in trying to run or hide. I turned to see Bobby Lee coming after me.
“You—what you doing? What you want here?” he demanded, pointing an accusing finger at me.
I decided that attack was the best form of defense. “Such a gracious welcome,” I said. “Your father greets me most politely. Don’t you think he’d expect you to do the same?”
He frowned. “What business you have with my father? You not missionary lady?”
“I told you before that I am not a missionary lady,” I said. “And I understand that Mr. Lee is only your paper father, not a blood relation at all. What’s more, I’m afraid I can’t tell you the nature of my business with Mr. Lee if he hasn’t chosen to share it with you.”
His frown deepened; in fact he was positively scowling now. “What you want here?” he demanded again.
“I was hoping to see Frederick Lee,” I said. “I went to his office but it was shut.”
“Frederick Lee no work there no more,” he said, and there was a note of triumph in his voice.
“Oh, has he been transferred?”
“Not work for my father. Gone.”
“He’s left Mr. Lee’s employment?”
“My father dismiss him. He not trustworthy,” Bobby Lee said.
“I see.” I had a strong feeling that Bobby Lee had something to do with this sacking. I had witnessed his intense dislike of Frederick yesterday. And the feeling was reciprocated. But whatever the reason for their dispute, Bobby Lee was the paper son. He had won.
“So why you need to see Frederick Lee?” he demanded. “You his sweetheart?”
“Certainly not,” I said. “I came to see him as your father’s secretary. I had a letter I wished to give to your father.”
“My father not here today,” he said. “You give me letter. I give to him.”
There was no way I was going to hand over a letter to Bobby Lee, who would undoubtedly open it and read it. I couldn’t remember whether I had said anything specific in it about looking for the girl, but I couldn’t take the chance. Bobby Lee obviously hadn’t been informed of the reason for my visits, or he would know why I was here today and would ask if I had been successful in my search. That meant that Mr. Lee didn’t want him to know.
“I’m sorry, but the information in my letter is for Mr. Lee alone,” I said. “I will return on another occasion when he is at home. Good day to you.”
I gave him a curt nod and walked out. When I was safely down Mott Street I let out a sigh of relief. Maybe it was the exaggerated rumors that one heard about Chinatown, but I had definitely not felt safe in that room with Bobby Lee.
* * *
I arrived back at Patchin Place to find a hive of activity. Sid was up on a stepladder, stringing paper lanterns across the garden. Gus was in the kitchen loading the contents of her basket into the pantry. “I hope none of this spoils before tomorrow,” she said, looking up as I came in, “but the market doesn’t operate on Sundays so I had to get the fruit and vegetables now. Luckily Mr. Klein has promised to deliver the smoked salmon and cheeses tomorrow, so I don’t have to worry about them. So—have you safely delivered your letter?”
“I couldn’t do so,” I said. “It appears the secretary has been sacked and Mr. Lee’s obnoxious paper son was only too anxious to get his hands on my letter, so I’ll have to go back at another time. I was told that Mr. Lee wasn’t there today anyway.”
“No matter,” Gus said. “You can put your worries aside for the rest of the day and have fun with us decorating the house.”
“Did you finally decide on your theme?” I asked, peering out at Sid on her stepladder.
“We toyed with another nuns and priests, or priests and prostitutes, but we thought they were not suitable as a celebration of marriage, so we’ve simply invited people to come in costume if they feel like it, and we will create a festive environment. We have strolling musicians and a fortune-teller. Sid really wanted fireworks, but it’s hard to set them off in our backyard without offending the neighbors, so we’ll limit those to sparklers.”
I was rather relieved that my wedding party was not to be turned into a Greenwich Village spectacle.
“You must go up to our costume box and choose yourself something to wear.” Gus straightened up as she put a box of peaches onto the pantry floor.
“Not the nun’s habit,” I said. “It was hot and uncomfortable.”
“Quite right. We’ve a lovely French maid or there’s Cleopatra or a milkmaid. I’m sure you’ll find something.”
I couldn’t tell her I’d rather just be myself and I was finding it hard to concentrate on the party, so I offered to help with the preparations. I needed to be busy to take my mind off things. I was in the middle of draping paper streamers across the living room ceiling when the doorbell rang. I looked out of the window to see Frederick Lee standing there.
“Miss Murphy,” he said, his face showing relief when I opened the door. “I am so glad to find you here.”
“I went to find you this morning,” I said, “but instead I met Bobby Lee, who told me that you had been sacked. Is that true?”
“I’m afraid so. A bad business.”
I remembered my manners. “Please, won’t you come inside? Can I fetch you a glass of water?”
“No, nothing, thank you,” he said. He perched nervously on the edge of the nearest chair as I sat opposite him.
“I should not bother you with my problems,” he said.
“I take it that Bobby Lee had something to do with your being sacked? He seemed very happy that you were gone.”
“He
is a bad person,” Frederick said. “He is jealous that Mr. Lee relies on me and asks my advice. Also I know a bit about his underhanded schemes, so he wants me out of the way. He told Mr. Lee a horrible untruth about me, and Mr. Lee believed him.…” He paused, opening and closing his mouth nervously, like a dying fish. “Miss Murphy, I came to ask you—have you been successful in your search?”
“Not yet,” I said.
“But you are still searching? You haven’t given up?”
“No, I haven’t given up.”
I tried to read his face. He was staring at me in a worried way.
“Mr. Lee,” I said, “if you no longer work for Lee Sing Tai, why should you be interested in my looking for a possession he has lost?”
“I know,” he said. “I know what this possession is, and it is dear to me.”
“A piece of jade?” I asked.
“Not a piece of jade. I overheard your whole conversation—in fact I have to confess that I was listening deliberately. I know that his bride is missing and he is trying to find her. So I ask—have you found any trace of her yet?”
I didn’t know what to say. I was all too aware that this could be a trap. He went on, “You see, he sent me to Vancouver to bring Bo Kei to him. On the way back to New York Bo Kei and I were together on the train for several days. I have to confess that I developed—feelings for her. I could never reveal these feelings, as it would be disloyal to my employer. It broke my heart to deliver her to this cruel and sadistic old man, but what can I do? I had no choice. To betray my employer would be to betray my tong and my clan. Besides, I have no idea whether she returned those feelings or not. I believe that she did, so I wondered if she had run away and was looking for me.”
“I have no way of knowing whether she was looking for you, Frederick,” I said.
“So I wondered if you had any idea where she might be. If she’s hiding somewhere she’ll need my help. I’ll do anything for her. And now that I no longer work for Mr. Lee, my first duty is to her. I’m prepared to risk all for her happiness.”