The Palace of Heavenly Pleasure

by Adam Williams

  Fan Yimei dropped the gun. Sinking to her knees, she began to weep.

  A ghastly stillness settled over the room. The doctor crouched in a prayer position where he had fallen; Nellie, Madonna-like with the recumbent body of the naked Helen Frances in her arms; Henry slumped in his bonds like a wounded St Sebastian, gaped at the twisted corpses. Frozen in attitudes of open-eyed horror, they resembled carved devotees worshipping at some hideous parody of a baroque shrine.

  A film of smoke hung over the obscene tableau. Their ears still reverberated with the echoes of the gunshots—but gradually, through the ringing silence, the more familiar household noises seeped up from the stairway—a girl’s cry, men’s raucous laughter, and the drunken singing of Iron Man Wang’s retainers revelling in the delights of the Palace of Heavenly Pleasure below.

  Eighteen

  The enemy officers ride horses. The sunlight gleams on their heavy guns. I wish Little Brother were here.

  A child’s voice broke the silence. ‘Mummy?’

  Nellie turned in alarm. George and Jenny were hovering nervously outside the door.

  All her maternal instincts welled to protect them from the horrors they had, no doubt, already glimpsed in the room, but with Helen Frances in her arms there was nothing she could do. In her anguish she screamed at her husband. ‘Edward, get them away!’

  Airton turned his head blankly, still lost in his stupor, but the sight of his children galvanised him. ‘Oh, my God!’ he cried, and flung himself towards them. He threw his arms around them, covered their staring eyes with his hands and pushed them back into the corridor. With a violent effort he kicked shut the door behind him, as if to keep out the butchery that had occurred there. Panting, he pulled them down the gallery towards their own room, only stopping when he realised that his grip on their wrists was hurting them. George’s eyes were filling with tears. Airton knelt in front of them, covering their pale, frightened faces with his kisses.

  ‘I’m sorry,’ he sobbed. ‘I’m so, so sorry. Oh, God forgive me. What have I done?’

  ‘Oh, Papa, don’t cry,’ said Jenny, hugging him. ‘It’s not your fault. Really it isn’t.’ Choking, he put his arms around them, squeezing them fiercely to his breast.

  As he was doing so, he heard a voice behind him. In consternation he looked up to see the cruel, smiling face of Mother Liu. ‘The poor dears,’ she was crooning, as she hobbled down the gallery towards him. ‘Whatever could be the matter? The naughty little things.’

  He could hardly breathe for fear. He stared at her, his mouth wide open, his limbs shaking.

  Her shrewd eyes narrowed. ‘Is something wrong with you, Daifu? You’re not looking very well.’

  ‘No.’ His voice came out as a croak and he had to repeat himself. ‘Excuse me. I’m fine,’ he said. ‘We’re all fine.’

  ‘I’m pleased to hear it,’ she said, examining him.

  He continued to stare at her. He was blocking her path down the corridor. She looked suspiciously over his shoulder. In panic he also turned to give a frightened glance behind him. She noticed the guilty movement. ‘Will you let me pass please, Daifu?’ She spoke quietly but her tone was threatening. ‘Please let me pass. I have some urgent business with my son.’

  ‘He’s not here,’ he said quickly. ‘No, he left—with his friend. Yes, he’s gone,’ he repeated.

  ‘With his friend? What friend? I met Major Lin downstairs. Ren Ren was not with him. He must still be here.’

  ‘I mean, his other friend,’ the doctor said. He realised he was sweating. ‘They left together. You won’t find them here. Downstairs, perhaps. Yes, downstairs. Why don’t you look downstairs?’

  Mother Liu tried to edge past him. Airton sidestepped her, blocking her. ‘No, please, Madam Liu. I don’t think you should go any further.’

  She did not answer. She shuffled to the left, he to the right. Panting, she tried to push him aside. He grabbed her arm to prevent her. She stared at him in surprise and anger. She attempted to pull away her arm but he held on. ‘Get your dirty hands off me, you foreign ghost,’ she hissed. ‘Let me by.’

  He held on. Her eyes were two black coals of hatred. She wheezed as she struggled with him, swaying on her lotus feet. ‘No, Madam Liu, you are not going down that corridor,’ he muttered. He also was panting with exertion.

  She spat in his face but he only tightened his grip on her sleeve. ‘Ta made!’ she swore. With her other hand she reached for the hairpin that secured the bun on her head. He saw what she was doing, and desperately grabbed for her other arm, missing his hold in his panic. The long shining needle glistened in her hand.

  He sensed a flurry of movement. Jenny had jumped up behind the old woman and caught the arm with the pin, pulling it backwards with all her strength. George was clinging to her legs. With a curse, Mother Liu toppled over, the doctor falling with her. With surprising agility she rolled away from him, and began to crawl at a fast pace towards the staircase.

  The doctor felt a chill run down his spine. With sudden clarity, he realised that if he allowed her to reach the stairwell and cry out to Iron Man Wang’s men, he, his wife, his children, Helen Frances and Manners would be dead within the hour.

  He had to stop her, whatever it took.

  He scrambled to his feet. On the floor lay the fallen hairpin. He picked it up and ran after her, panicked by the knowledge of what he was about to do.

  * * *

  Nellie in her desperation shouted at Fan Yimei. The Chinese girl was still slumped against the wall, staring blankly at the revolver on the floor. ‘Get up, get up, will you, girl?’ Nellie cried. ‘Oh, can somebody not do something to help? Untie that man there. Get up, get up, woman, and untie Mr Manners.’ Fan Yimei’s eyes slowly focused.

  For a moment she stared uncomprehendingly. Finally, realising the meaning of the European woman’s frantic gestures she nodded, although she was still dazed by the momentousness of what she had done earlier. With an effort she pulled herself to her feet, and hobbled unsteadily towards Henry. She flinched as she stepped over Monkey’s leg. She turned away her head as she pulled at the bonds. That way she would not have to see the contorted corpse of Ren Ren on the bed. ‘Cut the rope with the knife,’ Nellie shouted, when she saw that Fan Yimei was making no progress with the knots. Fan Yimei followed the pointing finger, and gingerly reached for the knife lying by Monkey’s dead, outstretched arm. She was sobbing and panting as she sawed at the thick strands.

  Eventually she cut through, releasing the tension on the cords so that Henry himself could wriggle out of his bonds. He tore in a frenzy at the gag in his mouth, and stood swaying on the bloodstained carpet. His chest heaved as he gulped air into his lungs. Fan Yimei staggered away from him, terrified by his rolling eyes and savage expression. His fists were clenched and he stood like an enraged bull seeking somebody to charge or maim. His maddened eyes flashed around the room, but when he saw Helen Frances, there was an immediate transformation. A despairing cry, half bellow, half howl, erupted from his cracked lips. His features crumpled, he dropped on to his knees; it was as if his body had suddenly been drained of spirit. Weakly he crawled towards her, his eyes pleading, his hand stretched out, his face a mask of horror, trepidation, and remorse.

  The effect on Helen Frances, who had been lying comatose in Nellie’s arms, was dramatic. Her eyes widened in fear. Henry reached to touch her and she flinched away. Whimpering quietly, her body shaking and shuddering with revulsion, she pressed herself against Nellie’s bosom, watching warily the movements of this imagined would-be attacker out of the corner of one half-exposed eye.

  Henry froze. After a moment he shook his head, moved backwards in his confusion.

  Now that he was retreating, Helen Frances seemed to calm. Curling into a ball, she moaned, as if taking comfort in a reversion to infancy. Nellie cooed endearments as she would to a child, smoothing the wet hair on her brow. Gradually Helen Frances relaxed.

  Henry, bewildered, was aware that Nellie was loo
king angrily up at him. ‘Are you really surprised, Mr Manners?’ she said coldly. ‘You’re a man. Men raped her. Do you wonder she’s scared of you? She probably blames you directly for what happened to her. I know I do.’

  ‘I—I…’ But he had no words to answer her.

  ‘Well, what are you going to do about it?’ Nellie persisted, her voice rising in her fury. ‘Have your brains evaporated with your manhood? You do understand that we’re in danger here? That horrible woman will be returning any moment. I wouldn’t be surprised if the whole house heard the shots.’

  ‘What—what would you like me to do, Mrs Airton?’ Henry managed.

  ‘Hide the bodies, man. What do you think? We can’t leave them here for all to see. Oh, come on, Mr Manners, do gather some self-control. I can’t do the thinking for everybody. And besides,’ she looked down at Helen Frances, ‘it’s this poor wee lass who needs me now. Is that a bathroom next door? If you’ll kindly ask this Chinese girl to help me move her, I’ll be obliged. She’ll need to be cleaned of the filth those brutes have put on her. Then Edward will have to examine her for her hurts. I don’t doubt he’ll be giving her the morphine again, after all she’s been through. I can’t bear to think of it. Oh, Mr Manners, you have a lot to answer for.’

  Fan Yimei understood immediately what had to be done. Gently, between them, she and Nellie lifted Helen Frances to a semi-standing position; they helped her move, one hesitant foot at a time, into the bathroom, closing the curtain behind them.

  Henry surveyed the bloody scene. For a moment he stood there uncertainly, perhaps overwhelmed by the apparently impossible task of transforming this charnel house into a semblance of normality. He closed his eyes, as if gathering internal strength, then, with violent decision, he pulled the bloodstained rug from under Monkey’s body, flattening it on the floor. Overcoming his revulsion, he rolled the body onto it again, wrapping the stiff sides of the carpet over him so it half covered him. He pulled and pushed the makeshift shroud under the bed. The carpet left a red smear behind it on the floorboards.

  He contemplated Ren Ren’s body tangled in the bed curtains. Picking up Monkey’s knife, he climbed on to the bed itself, straddling the corpse, so that he could reach the rings and cut away the part of the curtain that had not been pulled out already by the weight of Ren Ren’s fall. He had just finished, the released body had fallen backwards on to the bed, when he heard a timid knock on the door. Leaping off the bed, wielding the knife now as a weapon, he ran to the door, flattening himself against the wall beside it. There was another timid knock, and the door inched open. Henry relaxed when he saw Jenny’s worried face peering into the room. She noticed his at the same instant, saw the knife in his hand, and whimpered with fear. Henry squatted in front of her, taking her hand. ‘It’s all right,’ he said gently. ‘I won’t hurt you.’

  Jenny burst into tears. ‘Mr Manners, please come. Please come,’ she squealed through her sobs. ‘Papa needs you, please come.’ Desperately she pulled at his hand.

  Henry paused only to pick up the revolver. With this and the knife in his hand he followed Jenny into the gallery. His heart sank as he saw the scene at the end of the corridor close to the stairs. Two bodies were lying tangled together on the floor. George stood beside them wringing his hands. ‘Oh, my God,’ he muttered, running forward. ‘What the hell…?’

  His immediate apprehension that he had two new corpses on his hands was removed when the two bodies jerked into violent movement. Coming closer he recognised the doctor and Mother Liu. The former had the latter literally pinned to the ground. Henry saw what could only be a hairpin embedded in Mother Liu’s right shoulder. Seeping blood was staining her embroidered silk jacket a darker black, but the wound had not incapacitated her. Her eyes were glaring with hatred and anger, and her body was arching and writhing in its attempts to shake Airton off. She could not give full vent to her fury, because the doctor’s hand was thrust firmly into her mouth. The blood streaming from the hand indicated that she had bitten it to the bone.

  ‘Manners, is that you? Will you get a gag or something, and help me with this she-devil?’ panted the doctor.

  Henry’s answer was to press the muzzle of the revolver between the woman’s blazing eyes. It had the desired effect. Mother Liu immediately ceased her struggles. With his other hand Henry reached into his pocket and pulled out a soiled handkerchief. ‘This will have to do for now,’ he told Airton. ‘Can you extricate your hand from her mouth?’

  ‘I—I think so,’ said Airton. ‘Jenny, will you rummage in my medical bag and bring me a roll of sticky bandage. Quick, girl.’

  With the bandage and the handkerchief they achieved a suitable gag.

  ‘Oh, Lord forgive me, I’ve stabbed her,’ moaned Airton.

  ‘Never mind that,’ said Manners. ‘She’d have done worse to you. You’d better bind that hand of yours if you don’t want to leave a blood trail down the corridor.’

  ‘Aye, you’re right,’ muttered Airton gloomily. ‘Oh, Lord, Manners.’ He exclaimed, as he wrapped the bandage round his hand. ‘What are we to do with her? I have to bind her wound too. We can’t take her to that room. We’ll have a madwoman on our hands if she sees what’s happened to her son.’

  ‘If I tie her to the bed in my room, can you look after her there? I’ll leave you my gun. And you can keep the children with you. When I’ve—tidied in the other room we’ll think again.’

  With the gun against her head, Mother Liu did not struggle as they pushed her along the corridor. It was while Henry was tying her to the bed that the doctor, standing behind him, noticed a lady’s portmanteau on the floor, spilling over with female clothes and one of Helen Frances’s boots. So absorbed had he been in his struggle with Mother Liu that he had temporarily forgotten what had happened to her. Now his earlier anger and disgust returned in full force, especially when he remembered Henry’s role in her defilement, that it had resulted from a bargain between him and the Mandarin done, unbelievably, in the doctor’s name, and that, however indirectly, he himself was implicated in this atrocity, and therefore shared the blame. Shaking with fury, he lifted the gun Henry had given to him. He was shocked by the violent impulse to strike down this monster of an Englishman. The gun trembled in his shaking hand.

  It was at this moment that Henry turned. ‘I think that’s done it, Doctor. She won’t…’ He saw the wavering gun and the venom directed at him from Airton’s eyes. ‘Do we really have the time for this?’ he asked calmly.

  ‘You monster,’ hissed the doctor. ‘That you could treat your own woman in such an abominable…’

  ‘What took place I did not plan or envisage.’ Henry used the same quiet tone.

  ‘You cynical, lying…’ Airton stopped, aware that his children were gazing at him, open-mouthed. ‘Oh, God,’ he moaned, clenching his cheeks. ‘Forgive me. Forgive me.’

  ‘Doctor, there’ll be time for recriminations later, when we’re all out of here. If we get out of here. For now, don’t you think we’d both better get on with the jobs we have to do?’

  Airton sighed, raising his eyes to the ceiling. ‘Aye,’ he acknowledged weakly. ‘We’re all passengers in the same boat now. Though the Lord alone knows where He’s sailing her.’ Quietly Henry left the room.

  * * *

  An hour later all that they could think of doing had been done. Mercifully there had been no other visitor to this secret floor to disturb them.

  Henry, later helped by Fan Yimei, had achieved miracles in turning the butcher’s shop back into a garish bordello. He had secured both bodies out of sight under the bed. Fan Yimei had taken a bucket and sponge from the bathroom, and painstakingly wiped away all traces of blood from the floor and the walls. She had done the same for the bloodstains in the corridor. Where Monkey had fallen, the sheer quantity of blood that had soaked into the floorboards was impossible to clean. Their solution had been to cover the irremovable stain with a carpet taken from one of the other rooms. The bloodstained curtain at the
front of the bed had also initially proved a problem. It was too soiled and tattered to rehang, and in any case it had been appropriated as Ren Ren’s shroud. With some artifice, Henry had arranged the remaining curtains round the front of the bedposts, so a quick glance would suggest that all the curtains were still there. After ascertaining that there were spare sheets and coverlets in the cupboard, the bloody originals had been stuffed under the bed with the bodies. The furniture was back in its original position, the erotic paintings on the wall had been straightened. When he and Fan Yimei had finished, there was no obvious sign that anything amiss had occurred.

  Meanwhile the doctor had dressed Mother Liu’s wound, and double-checked that the old woman was securely gagged and tied. He had left the children on guard outside the door while he went to his own room to treat Helen Frances. She had been brought there by Nellie and Fan Yimei some fifteen minutes earlier, after they had finished bathing her. They had dressed her in her original clothes, and led her like a sleepwalker down the gallery. Now she was lying in the Airtons’ bed. He had treated the bruises on her face with iodine, and ascertained that she was no longer bleeding below. As far as he could tell, no harm had come to the baby inside her. There was nothing that he could do to succour her broken spirit, or drive away the nightmare that replayed itself in her mind. He had been pained by the way she had initially flinched away from him. Obviously in her confused state she identified even her physician as another would-be attacker. Well, he had acknowledged sadly, that was to be expected: in her present state, she would have reacted with revulsion to any man who came near her. That was the worst of the horror that the brute Manners had allowed to be inflicted on her. Her poor body had been cruelly ravaged. Those scars would heal. There was no healthy prognosis for her spiritual and mental wounds. Pregnant, only recently recovered from a drug addiction, surrounded by horrors and murders and fears for their safety, and then savagely betrayed and assaulted in this way—he doubted whether any woman could survive such a trial without becoming severely unhinged.