She made a low bow and went to the stairs, followed by the scribe.
‘Handsome lady,’ Tao Gan remarked.
Judge Dee had not heard him. He had taken up the plate with cakes and examined them one by one,
‘What’s wrong with those cakes, sir?’ Tao Gan asked, astonished.
‘That’s what I am wondering about,’ the judge replied with a vexed frown. ‘I offered them to Mrs Mei just now, and the sight of those cakes badly frightened her, Yet it’s the ordinary kind of rice-cake always served with tea.’
Tao Gan regarded the plate. Then he pointed at the blue landscape decorating its centre.
‘Could it have been the design of the plate, sir? It is quite a common motif, though, popular with potters all over the country. The so-called Willow Pattern.’
The judge tilted the porcelain plate so that the small round cakes fell on to the table. He examined the design. It showed an elegant country villa with many pointed roofs and outhouses, built on the waterside. The bank was lined with willow trees. On the left a narrow, curved bridge led to a water-pavilion. Three tiny figures were crossing the bridge, two close together, the third somewhat behind them, waving a stick. In the air flew two birds with long plumage.
‘What’s the story of this motif again?’ he asked.
‘There are at least a dozen versions, sir. The most popular one, related by the story-tellers in the market, is that, many centuries ago, the villa with the willows belonged to a wealthy official. He had only one daughter, whom he had promised in marriage to an elderly colleague of his, also a very rich man. The daughter, however, had fallen in love with her father’s secretary, a poor young student. The father discovered their secret love-affair. They wanted to flee, but he pursued them across the bridge. Some versions say that the young lovers then drowned themselves in despair, and that their souls were changed into a pair of swallows or mandarin ducks. Others say that they had a small boat lying moored under the pavilion, and succeeded in escaping. They settled down in a distant part of the country, and lived happily ever after.’
Judge Dee shrugged his shoulders. ‘A nice romantic tale. I can’t see anything in it that would frighten a distinguished lady. However, she is very upset about her husband’s accident, of course. What is your hurry, Ma Joong?’
Ma Joong, who had been coming up the marble stairs three at a time, quickly stepped ‘on to the terrace.
‘Mr Yee has been murdered, sir!’ he announced. ‘In his own house. Chiao Tai is there now.’
‘Yee? Do you mean the so-called Marquis Yee?’
‘Indeed sir. Brother Chiao and I met his doorman on our way downtown.’
‘I shall change and go there at once, with Tao Gan. You wait here for Chiao Tai, Ma Joong. Then you two see about those sewers, that is urgent too. Get me a thin cotton robe, Tao Gan.’
VIII
The four soldiers put Judge Dee’s sedan chair down in front of the towering gatehouse, and the judge and Tao Gan descended into the dead quiet street. At the head of a flight of broad stone steps they saw an enormous iron-studded double gate. In the right panel was a narrow door, barely broad enough to let through one man.
‘When passing by here,’ Judge Dee told Tao Gan, ‘I often wondered why this mansion, located in the centre of the town, is built like a fortress.’
‘In the olden days, sir, about a century ago, this place marked the entrance to the city. The Marquis Yee, then the self-styled ruler of this part of the country, exacted toll from every vessel passing underneath the Halfmoon Bridge. The canal was then the outer moat of the city.’
The small door in the iron gate opened and Chiao Tai appeared, the young doorman behind him.
‘It was murder all right, sir,’ Chiao Tai reported. ‘Yee was struck down in the gallery that runs all along the back of the house, ovedooking the canal. This boy’s mother found him, she is the old lady’s maid. I searched the whole place, but there wasn’t a trace of the murderer. He must have come in and slipped out again, all by this same door. For there’s no other exit.’ Pointing at the high, crenelated wall that loomed above them, he went on: ‘This wall surrounds the property on three sides. The fourth is protected by the canal.’
He led them on to a spacious paved courtyard. It was lit by a single lantern suspended over the gate of the doorman’s lodge, on the right.
‘The small door in the gate,’ Chiao Tai resumed, ‘is closed by a latch. From the outside it can only be opened by using a special key, but on the inside you can lift the latch with your finger. And when you pull the door shut behind you, the latch falls into place and the door is locked.’
‘Which means that the murderer had to be admitted by someone inside,’ Judge Dee remarked, ‘but that he could leave all by himself.’ He asked the youngster: ‘What visitors did you admit tonight?’
‘None, sir! But I was in the kitchen most of the time. The master might have let somebody inside himself.’
‘How many keys are there to the door in the gate?’
‘Only one, sir. And that I always keep with me.’
‘I see.’ In the dim light the judge could not see the young doorman’s face clearly, but he seemed ill at ease. He decided to question him closely later. ‘Lead us to the scene of the crime!’ he told Chiao Tai.
His lieutenant hesitated a moment or two before he said:
‘I think, sir, that it might be better if you first saw Mrs Yee. Her maid told me that the old lady is very upset, and eager to talk to you.’
‘All right. The doorman shall take us to her. You may go back to the office now, Chiao Tai. Ma Joong is waiting for you there.’
The doorman fetched a lampion from the gatehouse and took the judge and Tao Gan into a large, dark hall. The light threw erratic flashes on the rows of halberds and spears that stood in red-lacquered racks against the walls on left and right. At the end stood a large portable signboard with the inscription ‘Clear the way!’ in big black letters.
‘Those symbols of authority ought to be removed,’ Judge Dee remarked peevishly to Tao Gan. ‘It is more than a century since the Yee family had executive power—and usurped power at that!’
‘They are just relics of the past, sir.’
‘That’s what they ought to be, at least!’ the judge muttered.
They went through a number of winding corridors, their footsteps echoing hollowly under the high, vaulted roof.
‘Ordinarily there are nearly eighty servants here, sir,’ the young doorman said dejectedly. ‘When the sickness came, many wanted to leave, but the master would not allow it. But after ten servants had died, the master became afraid and sent them to the mountains, all of them. Except my mother and me, that is.’
They crossed a small walled-in garden, planted with flowering shrubs: their sweet scent mingled with the dank smell of the hot, still air. The boy raised his lampion and knocked softly on the intricately carved panel of the gold-lacquered door.
A tall, bony woman of about fifty opened it. She was dressed in a long, dark-brown gown. Her untidy grey hair was done up with a blue band. While she was making a stiff bow the judge asked her:
‘When did you discover the murder?’
‘About one hour ago,’ she replied in a harsh, grating voice. ‘When I went up to the gallery with the tea-basket.’
‘Did you touch anything there?’
She gave the judge a steady look from deep-set, glittering eyes.
‘Only his wrist. He was dead, but his body was still warm. This way, please.’
Judge Dee and Tao Gan followed her into a narrow passage. Her son stayed behind, at the garden door.
The maid ushered them into a dome-like hall, dimly lit by a tall candelabrum of wrought silver in the back, and by the glowing coals in a large copper brazier in the corner; on the coals stood an iron tripod carrying a steaming medicine jar. The hot, moist air, saturated with the pungent smell of drugs, was nearly suffocating.
The judge stared, astonished, at the raised pl
atform of carved ebony in the rear, near to the silver candelabrum. On the platform stood a colossal throne-seat of gilded wood. Among the red-silk cushions a thin woman was sitting, stiffly erect, motionless but for her emaciated white hands, which were playing with the amber rosary in her lap. She wore a sumptuous robe of yellow brocade, embroidered with green and crimson phoenix birds. Her grey hair was done up in a high, elaborate chignon, bristling with long golden hairpins ending in jewelled knobs. On the wall above the throne hung a painted silk scroll nearly six feet high, representing a pair of phoenixes in full colours. The platform was flanked by two fans mounted on high, red-lacquered stakes.
Judge Dee cast a meaningful look at Tao Gan. The phoenix was the sacred symbol of the Empress, just as the five-clawed dragon symbolized the Emperor. And the two standing fans were the privilege of persons of the Imperial blood. Tao Gan pursed his lips.
The maid went hurriedly across the marble floor and whispered something to the still figure on the throne.
‘Come nearer,’ a cracked, toneless voice spoke.
The judge went to the platform. He now noticed that Mrs Yee’s eyes had a strange, remote look. She could not be much older than fifty, he thought, but sickness and sorrow had ravaged her once handsome face. He now also saw that the colours of her robe had faded and that here and there large tears had been clumsily patched. The scroll painting was disfigured by ugly stains, covered with mould, and the cracked lacquer of the throne was peeling off.
‘It is only meet that the Lord Chief Justice comes to inquire in person into the dastardly murder of the marquis,’ the toneless voice announced.
‘I am only doing my duty, madam,’ Judge Dee said quietly. ‘I offer you my sincere condolences. Since I want to begin the search for the murderer at once, I beg leave to forego the customary amenities.’ As she inclined her head, he asked: ‘Have you any idea who could have murdered your husband?’
‘Of course,’ the old lady replied curtly. ‘It is the Marquis of Yeh, our arch enemy. He has been planning to bring about the downfall of the house of Yee for many a year.’
Noticing Judge Dee’s bewildered look, Tao Gan quickly stepped up close to him and whispered:
‘During the interregnum one hundred years ago, the Marquisate of Yeh was located on the other side of the river. The family became extinct about sixty years ago.’
The judge gave the maid a questioning look. She shrugged her shoulders and went to the brazier in the corner. Squatting down, she began to stir the medicine with two copper chopsticks.
‘Did Marquis Yeh come here tonight?’ Judge Dee asked.
‘The transactions in the men’s council hall are not my concern,’ the old lady said stonily. ‘Ask Marshall Hoo.’
A corner of her mouth began to twitch. The amber rosary fell from her lap onto the floor with a rattling noise. She rose slowly, and descended from the platform with a strange, automaton-like movement, ascertaining the edge of each step with the tip of her small, embroidered silk shoe.
In front of the judge she sank on her knees. Raising her arms in the long sleeves she pleaded in a voice that suddenly sounded rich and full:
‘Avenge my husband, sir! He was a great and good man. Please!’
Tears came trickling down her hollow cheeks. The maid quickly went to her and helped her mistress rise. She let her drink from a small porcelain bowl. The old lady passed her thin white hand over her face, Then she spoke, her voice toneless again:
‘I have ordered Marshall Hoo and his knights to assist you. You may retire.’
The judge cast a pitying glance at her ravaged face. Just as he turned to the door, he saw the maid making frantic signs at him behind the old lady’s back. Then she pointed at Tao Gan. Evidently she wanted his lieutenant to stay behind. Judge Dee nodded his assent and left.
‘Take me to the gallery!’ he told the doorman.
Following the youngster through cavernous halls and long, silent corridors with raftered ceilings blackened by age, he felt increasingly ill at ease. The meeting with this pitiful old lady, sick of body and mind, leading a shadow existence amidst the relics of a phantom-past had shocked him deeply. Even more disturbing, however, was the uncanny, threatening atmosphere of this old, deserted mansion. One fleeting moment he had a vision of himself as an unreal visitor to a very real world that existed one hundred years ago, a sinister age of brutal violence and revolting bloodshed. Was the past usurping the present? Were the dead of the past rising to join the errant souls of the victims of the plague, was this ghostly horde going to take over the silent, empty Imperial capital? And was this then the reason for the strange feeling of fear and foreboding that had got hold of him earlier in the night, when from his high terrace he was looking out over the dead city?
With an effort he pulled himself together. He wiped the cold sweat from his face and followed the youngster who was ascending a narrow flight of stairs. He pushed a double door open and stepped aside to let the judge pass into a dim gallery.
‘You may go back to Lady Yee’s quarters,’ he told the boy. He closed the door and stared at the man clad in a grey houserobe who was lying sprawled in the armchair beside the table, right in the centre. The light of the spluttering candle on the table threw weird flashes on the horribly mutilated face. Standing still, his back against the door, the judge surveyed the unusual interior. The gallery, paved with red flagstones, stretched out to the right and left of the door, one long, narrow rectangle, about sixty feet long. The outer wall, facing the judge, was pierced at regular intervals by narrow vertical slits, like those used by archers to shoot their arrows through at the enemy outside. All along the front of this wall was a row of pillars, lacquered red. In the middle, behind the table where the dead man was lying, four bay windows formed a kind of portico. The windows, broad and low, were covered by bamboo roll curtains. The wall on Judge Dee’s side had a wainscoting of dark wood. Further along, opposite the table, was a narrow platform, raised about one foot above the floor. The judge thought it might have been used for an orchestra, although that seemed singularly out of place in an archers’ gallery. Beside the platform stood a low couch, covered by a thick reed mat, but without stiles or canopy, and evidently used for sitting rather than for sleeping. Except for half a dozen highbacked chairs placed among the pillars, there was no furniture. He reflected that in the olden days this gallery must have been a strong strategic point. From here one could cover the traffic on the canal and the bridge. The bay windows and the portico had evidently been added later, in order to transform the gallery into a kind of lounge.
Judge Dee went up to the table. A close look at the dead man made him wince involuntarily. He had seen death in many forms, but the sight made him feel sick. The left half of the face had been crushed by a terrible blow that had dislocated the left eye. It was now hanging down on the cheek by a few threads of red tissue. The other eye was petrified in an expression of stark terror. The mouth was opened wide, as if he was about to utter a scream. The left shoulder of the houserobe was a mass of clotted blood.
The judge shooed a few bluebottles away. Their indignant buzzing was the only sound disturbing the profound silence.
The dead man’s arms hung down limply in the long sleeves, his legs were spread wide apart. He must have been standing by the table when he was struck down, the force of the blow smacking him backwards into the solid ebony chair. The judge passed his hands over the arms and legs. The body was not yet stiff. Having rolled the sleeves up he noticed that the arms showed no bruises or other signs of violence. He righted himself. The coroner would do the rest.
On the floor, beside the dead man’s black cap, lay a whip with a short butt and long, thin thongs. Among the thongs he saw some wilting flowers, and a number of shards; they must belong to the vase or bowl the flowers had been put in, made of white porcelain with a design in blue. On the table, beside the candle, stood a large ginger jar of green earthenware, and a platter, filled with ginger sweetmeats. The thick syrup was black
with greedy flies. Beside the padded tea-basket stood two porcelain cups; in one some tea was left, the other was perfectly clean. Another armchair was drawn up close to the opposite side of the table, it had evidently not been used.
With a sigh the judge righted himself. Slowly caressing his long beard, he looked down at the still figure. It was a great pity that he had never met him. For now he would have to rely on second-hand information in order to form a general idea of the dead man’s personality. And even that second-hand information would be hard to come by. Unlike Mei, Yee had always kept to the ‘old world’, he had had no close friends except Mei and Hoo. Hoo the judge had never met either. He racked his brain, but he could not remember Mei ever having passed any remarks on either Yee or Hoo.
‘Wish I could get at least an idea of his expression,’ he muttered disconsolately. With half of the face gone, however, that was a difficult task. A long, rather sallow face, with a thin mouth, a grey moustache and a frayed goatee. That was all. He had been of slightly more than average height, and rather thin.
The judge heaved a long sigh. The outward appearance didn’t matter so much, after all. Most important was the dead man’s character. That was always the best clue to the murderer. Staring at the mutilated face, he idly wondered whether Yee too had been living mainly in the past.
IX
Judge Dee was roused from his musings by the entrance of Tao Gan and the maid. Tao Gan motioned her to wait by the door, then he came up to the judge and said in a low voice:
The maid hated Yee, sir. She has quite a story to tell about him.’ After a quick glance at the corpse, he asked keenly: ‘Have you any idea yet how it happened, sir?’
‘The murderer was either a close friend or a person of low social status,’ the judge said slowly. ‘That much I deduce from the fact that Yee, although he personally admitted his murderer, did not offer him a chair or a cup of tea. After Yee had brought him up to the gallery here, he himself sat down, drank a cup of tea and had some candied ginger—if he hadn’t done so already before, that is, while waiting for his visitor. Then there developed a violent quarrel, perhaps even a hand to hand fight; you see that whip on the floor, and the broken flower vase. Yee screamed, and the murderer killed him with one blow from a heavy blunt instrument. Judging by the shape and nature of the wound, I think it was a thick club with a rounded head. There was a ferocious force behind that blow, Tao Gan. The murderer must have been a man of great bodily strength. That is all I can say thus far. Presently we shall search for clues,’ He beckoned the maid, went to the couch and sat down on the edge.
The Willow Pattern: A Judge Dee Mystery (Judge Dee Mystery Series) Page 4