All the Tears in China

by Sulari Gentill

  Holding his breath, Wing could only nod. Fortunately Romanov’s inebriation had reached a point of compliant stupor and so they were able to coax him up the stairs.

  Clyde and Milton took Blanshard into the drawing room, telling him quickly about the state in which Rowland had emerged from Ward Road Gaol. Blanshard listened gravely.

  “So Carmel came back?”

  “Yes. We thought you’d used your contacts to fetch him.”

  Blanshard shook his head. “No, my contacts in Nanking couldn’t find him. I did, however, discover the name of the client for whom he was acting. It appears Mr. Carmel also represents Andrew Petty.”

  “Petty? Are you sure?”

  “Petty let it slip himself.”

  Milton swore. “Would Andrew Petty have known about Bertram Middleton?”

  “Carmel might have mentioned it to him.” Clyde checked his watch. It was late but the lawyer had promised he would not rest until Rowland had been exonerated. Perhaps he was still in the office. “We should ask him. I’ll telephone to let him know we’re on our way.”

  36

  REST FOR TUBERCULOSIS

  I was visiting an ex-heavyweight amateur boxing champion who was a patient in a tuberculosis hospital. He looked so well that I told him he didn’t look like a T.B.

  “Well,” he said, “I am one all right. I’m lying on my back for a year, then sitting up for six months, then up and around the grounds for another six months and then home.”

  He was not only a good fighter or boxer, but he loved to fight, and yet he was willing to remain absolutely quiet for two years in order to get well.

  …It is rest that allows the protecting scar tissue to form slowly yet surely.

  When rest by simply lying down is not sufficient to allow the protecting wall to form, then other means of resting the lung—cutting the nerve that moves lung, injecting air into the pleural cavity in which the lung lies—may be used.

  However, for the great majority of patients, simply resting for long period brings about the cure.

  Northern Star, 21 January 1935

  Le Fevre snapped shut the doctor’s bag as Edna walked into the room.

  “Mademoiselle Higgins. I’ve just given Monsieur Sinclair a sedative to help him sleep. I’m afraid he will not be lively company but rest is vital to his recovery.”

  Edna smiled. “I might just sit with him till he drifts off.” She smoothed the covers on Rowland’s bed. He mumbled a drowsy greeting. “How is he?” she asked Le Fevre.

  “Quite unwell,” Le Fevre said disapprovingly. “It’s imperative he rests.” The physician regarded her almost accusingly.

  “Of course. I won’t stay more than a couple of minutes. And I won’t say a word.”

  “I shall return tomorrow morning. He should sleep till then.”

  “Thank you, Dr. Le Fevre.”

  “Good night, Mademoiselle.” The physician tipped his hat and walked out. Edna waited until his footsteps faded before she closed the door. She relaxed a little. There was something about Le Fevre that unnerved her.

  “Rowly!” she said, startled to find him sitting up when she turned from the door.

  He moved his finger to his lips and beckoned her over. Opening his hand he showed her the pills Le Fevre believed him to have swallowed.

  “Oh Rowly, you have to take your medication,” she whispered.

  “I haven’t got tuberculosis, Ed. Just a bit of a chest cold. Do you know where my clothes are?”

  “Why?”

  “We have to get out of here and I really don’t want to walk the streets of Shanghai in my pyjamas.”

  “What? Rowly, be reasonable. You’re ill.”

  “Ed.” He took her hand. “Le Fevre is a fraud, a charlatan.”

  She tested his forehead for a fever, some cause of delirium. He was warm but not particularly so.

  “Rowly, you’ve been so ill. You don’t know what you’re saying.”

  “I’m not that ill. This diagnosis of tuberculosis is positively absurd.”

  Edna clasped his face between her hands and spoke slowly. “You’re not a doctor, Le Fevre is.”

  “He hasn’t so much as taken my temperature, Ed. He’s done nothing but sedate me!”

  “Perhaps he is experienced enough to tell without a thermometer… and darling, he’s just trying to keep you quiet so you get the rest you need.”

  “There’s nothing but a revolver in that bag of his—I got a glimpse of it when he was pretending to examine me.”

  Edna stared at him. “A gun?”

  He nodded. “And nothing else.”

  She exhaled slowly. “Right then. Mr. Carmel told us he was a specialist…”

  Rowland took her hands from his face and pressed them to his lips. “I’m not entirely sure what Carmel is up to, what Le Fevre’s told him. He seems convinced that unless I deal with the Japanese, I’ll die in prison. I’ve told him to draw up an agreement, that I’ll sign it.”

  “But—”

  “I don’t intend to go through with it, Ed.” He stood carefully. “I just needed him to leave, so we could leave.” Though he still felt quite weak, he was sure on his feet. “Perhaps you should leave first, Ed. You’re not a patient. You could tell them you’re meeting someone for dinner and just leave—”

  The sculptress shook her head. “I made such a fuss about staying with you, they’d be suspicious. And I’m not leaving you, anyway.” She opened the cupboard and took out the dark grey suit and freshly laundered shirt they’d brought in when Rowland was admitted, though they hadn’t expected him to need it for several days. Rowland changed as quickly as he could. It was possible that one of the “nurses” would come in to check if Le Fevre’s pills had taken effect.

  Edna helped him slip on his shirt, still shocked by the black bruises which covered his back and shoulders. He’d still not told them what had happened to him. She wasn’t sure he ever would.

  “How do you feel?” she asked, studying him anxiously. Whether or not he had tuberculosis, he had been ill when they’d collected him from Ward Road. She buttoned his shirt gently, being careful not to pull the fabric against his injuries. “I’m not sure you’re well enough to do this.”

  Rowland pulled a handkerchief out of his back pocket and turned away to cough. “It’s a chest cold,” he said when the paroxysm finally abated. “If we were in Sydney, you’d tell me to quit complaining and stop being such a baby.” He ran his hand through his hair in a vague attempt to tidy it.

  Edna helped him with his tie, and then his jacket before she turned off the light and opened the curtain to look out. “So how are we going to do this?”

  “Le Fevre believes he’s sedated me, and convinced you that I’m dangerously ill. He probably won’t have expected us to try and walk out. With any luck the night staff will be taken by surprise and not know what to do.”

  Edna looked at him sceptically. “You want to just walk out?”

  “I don’t think there’s any other way.”

  “We could get a message to Milt and Clyde, or the police.” Edna was not fooled by his refusal to bend to pain. “They’re going to try to stop us and you’re in no condition to fight or even run.”

  There was a movement of light at the window. Rowland looked out to see Carmel’s Packard come through the gate. The chauffeur got out and opened the rear door. Looking down on the dimly lit garden, it took Rowland a few moments to recognise the gentlemen who climbed out with his lawyer: Yiragowa and Akhito. Le Fevre emerged from the front passenger seat and the party proceeded briskly into Denville Sanatorium. “What the devil are they doing here?”

  Edna took his hand. Any doubts that he was completely lucid were long allayed. Rowland’s manner was urgent but there was nothing fevered or hysterical about it. “What now, Rowly?”

  Rowland opened the door. They could hear Carmel and his guests below. He beckoned Edna out into the hallway and closed the door after her. Rowland scanned the long corridor. All the do
ors along it were closed. They tried each in turn. Loudening footsteps on the stairs counted down the time. All but Edna’s room were locked. They slipped into it. A poor hiding place but their only option. Rowland hoped it might give them enough time to slip past.

  He kept his ear to the door. “The moment they step into my room we’ll make a break for it,” he whispered. He could see Edna’s eyes in the darkness. Large. Worried. “I’ll be all right,” he promised.

  They waited.

  Le Fevre’s voice was first. Brusque, annoyed. “I told you before, I had to sedate him or the girl might have noticed he was improving… he might have realised.”

  Now Carmel. “We’ll stick his head under a cold shower if we have to. The Japs are suspicious, they want to see him sign.”

  “He might not cooperate.”

  “Leave it to me. I’ll talk him round. Our friend Whitely did his job and Rowland has already agreed to sign. The poor boy, bless him, is not particularly bright.”

  “What about her? Sinclair’s tart.”

  “Don’t worry, I’ll take care of her.”

  The click of a latch being turned and the voices stopped. This was their chance. Rowland counted to three and opened the door. He stepped out into the barrel of Le Fevre’s gun.

  37

  HYGIENE.

  THE DAILY BATH.

  The necessity of a daily bath from a health point of view, is, I trust, too well understood to need any explanation from me on the subject, but many men do not realise that not one of the least benefits to be derived from a bath is the rubbing which should follow it. Such an opportunity of promoting the circulation should not be lost, for it is only when the blood is healthy and circulates freely that all the organs of the body can do their work in a satisfactory manner. The surface of the skin being freed from the perspiration and greasy deposit thrown off by the sebaceous glands is more susceptible to properly applied friction than at any other time. The skin should be thoroughly dried before it is rubbed; if left moist, evaporation will go on, and a certain amount of heat will be abstracted from the body. It adds greatly to the comfort of the bather to have a large Turkish sheet at hand, which will keep the body covered during the process of drying. The towel used for the purpose of friction should be fairly hard and quite dry. A thermometer should be placed in the water before taking a bath, for it is impossible to test the temperature accurately by any other means.

  Queenslander, 12 March 1898

  “Move back, Monsieur. Say not a word.”

  Rowland did so. He kept Edna behind him.

  “Gilbert,” Le Fevre called with just sufficient volume. “Step this way if you please.”

  Le Fevre forced Rowland and Edna back. Carmel came in and closed the door behind him. He pulled the light switch.

  “You must forgive the good doctor,” he said, frowning at Le Fevre, who lowered the gun. “He is a little fanatical about quarantine. Surely you weren’t planning to leave? It would be reckless in the extreme to do so while you are still gravely ill, not to mention contagious.”

  “I haven’t got tuberculosis and you know it!” Rowland said angrily.

  Carmel shook his head sadly. “My dear boy, that’s the fever speaking.” He turned to Edna. “Talk to him.”

  Edna’s voice was calm. “Why are you back here, Mr. Carmel?” Carmel swallowed and smiled broadly. “I bear good news, my dear young people. Mr. Yiragowa was delighted you’ve come around, Rowland. He was keen to deal with the formalities and I thought that the sooner we could despatch his influence in your aid the better. We cannot risk you being incarcerated again. The next time they hang you it won’t be a hoax.”

  Edna glanced sharply at Rowland, but she said nothing. This was not the time. Whatever went on in Ward Road he would tell them when he was ready.

  “Am I to understand that you were going to take me to Mr. Yiragowa at gunpoint?” Rowland asked staring coldly at Le Fevre.

  “Henri is a little overzealous when it comes to doctor’s orders I’m afraid.” Carmel’s laugh was hollow. “Since you’re up and dressed, what say we go down and do this deal, dear boy? We’ll all sleep a great deal easier knowing you won’t be dragged off to Ward Road.”

  “Aren’t you afraid I’ll infect them?”

  “It’s your welfare that concerns me, Rowland. And that of your friends. We talked about the danger in which you’re placing them by refusing help.”

  Edna shook her head. “Rowly, don’t—”

  Carmel sighed. The explosion of movement caught them by surprise. Le Fevre moved on Rowland. Carmel seized Edna, dragging her away. Rowland froze. A sharpened blade, a bayonet, was pressed against Edna’s throat.

  “Don’t make a sound, dear girl,” Carmel said quietly.

  “And don’t you try anything, Monsieur.” Le Fevre jabbed the revolver’s barrel into Rowland’s temple.

  Carmel was sweating, his face suffused as he spoke to Rowland. “Don’t make me do this again, you spoiled little bastard.”

  Clyde returned the telephone receiver to its cradle. The operator had not been able to raise anyone at Carmel and Smith. Clyde had called the Denville Sanatorium but, so far outside visiting hours, he was told only that Rowland was resting quietly and Edna had long since retired.

  The sound of a baritone from the upper floors reminded him of Sergei Romanov. “Let’s see what Romanov has to say for himself before we try to hunt down Petty,” he said, taking the stairs two at a time. Milton and Blanshard fell in behind him.

  The Russian was still in the bath, singing an aria from Mozart’s Don Giovanni as if he was centrestage at the Royal Opera House. The Australians blanched as Romanov chose that moment to rise from the water in some dramatic flourish. He stood in all his naked glory like an ungainly Aphrodite emerging from the waves. Milton applauded. “Well done, Sergei. You don’t need a violin.”

  Romanov bowed.

  “For pity’s sake, give the man a towel,” Blanchard growled. “Cover your shame, man!”

  Perhaps it was the effects of drink, but Romanov clearly felt no shame. Eventually, however, he was persuaded to don one of the embroidered silk dressing-gowns Edna had bought to take back for Rowland’s mother. It was possibly inadequate for the purpose, but a significant improvement on nothing.

  With Clyde and Milton assisting Wing and Singh, Romanov was eventually out of the bath and covered to some level of modesty. They coaxed him downstairs to the kitchen where Harjeet had prepared chicken pies and black coffee. Once he had eaten, Romanov was a great deal more cooperative and conversant, and they began their questions.

  “Where have you been, Sergei?”

  “Here, there. I stay out of sight. It is hard for a bear.”

  “Why Sergei?”

  “Because he tries to kill me. Because he burns my house.”

  “Who?”

  The Russian shook his head.

  “Why does someone want to kill you?”

  “Because I know Sasha was working for him. Much money he promised, but I know she displeased him.”

  Milton sat down beside Romanov. “What was this man paying her to do, Sergei?”

  Romanov wiped his mouth with the back of his hand. “She was to seduce a married man—that is all.” He swigged the coffee. “Married men are the most easy to seduce, she would say, but he was not married.”

  “Who wasn’t married?”

  “The man she must seduce… and then he seduces her.” He pounded his chest. “She began to think that perhaps this blue-eyed foreigner would be her prince.”

  “Rowly? Do you mean she was employed to seduce Rowly?”

  “But he was not married.”

  Clyde threw his hands up in the air. “He’s still drunk! He’s not making any sense.”

  Blanshard rubbed his chin thoughtfully. “Rowland replaced his brother, did he not?”

  Milton could see where he was going. “And Wilfred is happily married.”

  Blanshard nodded. “Married men have the most to
lose with an affair.” He took a seat at the scrubbed kitchen table. “Could Miss Romanova have been hired to seduce Wilfred Sinclair?” he asked.

  Romanov began on another pie. “I don’t know names. I remember married man. I told her it was not right, but she said it would mean enough money to send her boy to school in America.”

  “Her boy?”

  “Mikhail… everything she does for Misha, to give him the life the Bolsheviks stole.”

  “And where exactly is Mikhail?”

  “Sasha sent him to school in Nanking, but that was not enough.” Romanov shrugged. “Misha must go to America, she say.”

  Blanshard clicked his fingers in front of Romanov’s face to get his attention. “Who was this man who hired your sister to seduce a married man?”

  “An Englishman. I saw him only once.”

  “You saw him?” Milton said. “Then you’d recognise him.”

  “Da.” Romanov scowled. “He knows I did not die in his fire. He comes looking for me. But Sasha’s clumsy bear is not stupid. He knows how to hide.”

  “You say this man tried to kill you?” Blanshard asked.

  “Da.” Romanov broke into a string of exclamatory Russian.

  Clyde poured him more coffee. “What did this bloke look like, Sergei?”

  “An ordinary man… smart, rich. And bald. Hairless on his head.”

  Milton tensed. Petty had a full head of hair. “Bald? Are you sure?”

  “Da. He touched his head like so.” Romanov patted his own thick mop. “Like there might be hair there somewhere. Lysyy durak!”

  Milton stood. Clyde paled. “My God, that’s Gilbert Carmel.”

  “Again?” Rowland stared at Carmel as he held the blade against Edna’s throat. And the realisation that this man had killed Alexandra Romanova surged cold in his veins. “Let her go—I’ll do whatever you want. Please.”

  “Yes, you will.” Carmel’s voice shook. His head gleamed with perspiration. “You will go downstairs with Dr. Le Fevre and you will smile and bow and sign whatever they put in front of you.”