“You laugh, but don’t underestimate the control foreign women have over their husbands. Women in the West have a lot of say in how their households and even their country is run. Britain has a queen who rules in her own right, don’t forget.”
“That is true,” he said, regaining his composure. “So are you friends with the diplomats’ wives?”
“I don’t know,” she said. “I only visited them a few times. I was only married for four years, and I was pregnant or in confinement for two of them. While he might have been able to bend the rules enough that I would be allowed out of my home to visit the ladies for tea once in a while, he could not bend them enough to let me be seen outside while I was with child. That would have been too much. I also couldn’t leave the house during my year of mourning. After so long, it seemed strange to reply to their invitations.”
“Do they still message you?” he asked.
She nodded and crossed the room to a small table. She opened one of the drawers and pulled out a small stack of letters. “I don’t receive invitations very often, but some of the women there seem to still remember me.”
Inspector Gong looked at the letters. He couldn’t read them, but he recognized some of the Roman letters. They were definitely in English. “Lady Li,” he said, “I think it’s time you accepted these invitations.”
“And do what?” she asked.
“Find out what you can about the girl and her death. This has to be the talk of the town in there. Maybe you can interview the family she worked for. The neighbors even. If you could encourage them to let us investigate, even release the body to us, that could change the tide of the investigation.”
“But…why would they listen to me?” she asked, incredulous. “Didn’t they nearly throw Prince Kung out of the legation? A prince! The prince. The one man trusted by foreigners and Chinese alike. Why would they listen to me if not him?”
“As you said, the women are different,” he said. “He didn’t talk to the merchant’s wife. And she was definitely hiding something.”
Lady Li sighed and paced the room. She was exhilarated by the chance to help, but terrified as well. She had nearly been killed in the investigation in the Forbidden City. She only found out who the killer was by accident really. This sort of investigation would require so much more finesse. And not only to question those involved, but he wanted her to persuade the family to cooperate? She shook her head.
“I don’t know,” she said. “It…it is so much to ask. I wouldn’t know what I was doing.”
“I know I am asking a lot,” he said. “But you speak English, can get into the legation, can speak with the women. That is more than I can do. Anything you find out will be more than we knew before. I have faith in you.”
“Who is the family?” she asked. “Who did the girl work for?”
“A Mr. Gibson and his wife. They had the largest house on the street I think.”
“Gibson?” Lady Li asked. She took the stack of letters from Inspector Gong and rifled through them. She found one in particular and held it up. “She just wrote to me two weeks ago.”
“Are you going to reply?” Inspector Gong asked.
She hesitated for a moment, but then she nodded.
“I’ll do it,” she said.
3
Inspector Gong was glad to have the aid of Lady Li, but he did not know just how much help she could be. Would the foreigners even admit her into the legation now, with tension so high? If they did, why would they take her words into account? Would they tell her anything of use? Even though he had his doubts, at least they had a plan to try. But the inspector was not without his own work to do.
With half a dozen of his own men, the inspector returned to the main gate of the Foreign Legation. The crowd had grown considerably, yet no violence had broken out. While half of the crowd seemed ready to attack with only the slightest provocation, the rest of the people appeared to only be watching, waiting to see what would happen.
When the inspector arrived, he could feel the tension increase. The people watched him closely, wondering if he were there to support the crowd or disperse it? Would this be the match that ignited the tinder of war?
The inspector had ordered his men not to harm the people or use excessive force. They were merely to act as a barricade between the people and Inspector Gong. But the vast crowd didn’t know that. Hopefully the mere presence of the guards would keep the people from escalating the situation.
The people parted ever so slightly, just enough for Inspector Gong and his men to shoulder their way through the crowd and make their way to the dead girl’s parents, who were still publicly mourning their daughter.
Inspector Gong had to speak loudly for his voice to carry over the noise. “Zhao Laoye. Zhao Fuwen,” he said. “I am Inspector Gong. I have been ordered by Prince Kung to investigate your daughter’s death.”
“Murder!” the girl’s father yelled. “She didn’t just die! She was murdered!”
The crowd growled their agreement.
“I don’t disagree,” Inspector Gong said. “But to find the killer, calmer heads must prevail. Will you speak with me?”
“What good will it do?” the old man asked. “There will be no justice for her. You can’t arrest a White Devil for killing a Chinese girl, can you?”
Again the crowd erupted with jeers. One of the inspector’s men stepped forward, as if he was going to punch the old man for his insolence. It was as though every person present held their breath to see what would happen. But Inspector Gong placed his hand on the man’s shoulder and pulled him back. He then turned back to the old man.
“Come talk to me, uncle,” he said, which was a polite way to refer to an older fellow even if he wasn’t a relation. “Help me find out what happened to your precious daughter.”
At this, the girl’s mother nodded to her husband and stood. She swayed a bit on her tiny bound feet, but quickly found her balance.
“There is an inn nearby we can talk at,” Inspector Gong explained. “Let me buy you some food. You must be starving.”
“Nothing fills an empty stomach like grief,” the father said, but he headed toward the inn anyway, followed by his wife.
Inspector Gong nodded to his men. Two of them were to escort him and the elderly couple to the inn while the others worked to disperse the crowd. Without the mourning parents there as a rallying cry, he hoped the rest of the people would lose interest and head home.
The inn was sort of like a tavern, with rooms to rent, alcohol to drink, and food to eat. There were also people gambling and women soliciting their services. In one corner, two men were playing the pipa and the erhu for tips. Inspector Gong ordered a round of fried noodles for himself and the dead girl’s parents and a pot of tea.
“So, where are you from?” the inspector asked as they waited for their food.
“Right here in Peking,” the father said.
“Really?” the inspector asked, dubiously. Few people were actually “from” Peking.
“Well,” the old man hedged. “My family was from Kwangsi Province. But during the Taiping Rebellion, we fled. You know it?”
Inspector Gong nodded. “I do. I was in the Hunan Army at the time. Kwangsi is beautiful.”
“The Yao, the Taiping, Jintian, the war with the foreigners. Over and over again, our lands were ransacked and our sons killed. We couldn’t stay. We came here for a better life. A peaceful life.”
The food arrived. While Inspector Gong dug in, he noticed that the couple only picked at their food and sipped their tea.
“I am sorry for the loss of your daughter,” he said. “Was she your only child?”
“Yes,” the old man said quickly. “No other. Only one. We were depending on her to care for us in our graying years.”
“How do you make a living here in the city?” Inspector Gong asked. Farming supported the people in the countryside, but in the city, one needed a trade to survive.
“I am a woodcarver,” t
he father said with some pride. “I make the small, decorative panels many people use around their doorways. My wife, she makes lotus shoes.”
Inspector Gong nodded. He didn’t notice the girl having bound feet, but he hadn’t had much time to examine her. “Did your daughter have bound feet?” he asked.
The old man shook his head. “We wanted to, of course. It is very proper. We wanted her to marry well. But when we first came to the city, the missionaries, they helped us. They helped us feed our…our daughter while we established ourselves. They taught her English. They would not allow us to bind her feet if we wanted her to go to their school.”
Inspector Gong noticed that the father had stuttered a bit while telling his story, as if he was carefully choosing his words. He would only do that if he was trying to hide something, but he didn’t want to pressure him now. He would try to find out more later.
“Tell me more about her,” Inspector Gong said. “You said the missionaries taught her English.”
“She was a very bright girl,” the father said. “She could read and write English very well. And she could write Chinese. Had she been a boy, she could have been a scholar.”
“Such a waste,” Inspector Gong said as he refilled their teacups.
“Indeed,” the father said as he nodded. “But she eventually got a job as a maid in that merchant’s house. Not many Chinese girls can get such a good placement, or so we were told.”
“Was it a good placement?” Inspector Gong asked.
“We thought so,” the father said. “Until she was killed.”
The mother coughed, chocking a bit on her tea, and gasped loudly. She had not said anything during their meal, but that was not uncommon. Most women would not have a conversation with a man who was not a member of her family. It was normal to let her husband speak on her behalf. But now, she began to cry and held a cloth to her eyes. She was not wailing for show now, but from real grief.
“They…they will not even give us her body,” she stuttered through her tears. “Who is taking care of her? Who will wash her and brush her hair?”
The old man put his arms around his wife and looked at the inspector. “Can you help us?” he asked. “I know we will never get justice for our daughter, but will we at least be able to help her spirit rest?”
“I will do my best,” the inspector said. “I have someone going to speak with the family she worked for. We will try to get the body released and find out what happened.”
“Did you see our daughter? Do you have an idea of what happened?” the father asked.
Inspector Gong shook his head. Of course, he had seen the girl and knew how she died, but he didn’t want to tell the father too much right now. Anything the father heard could influence his perception about what had happened to the girl. And he needed her parents to be as honest as possible, though he already had the feeling they were keeping things from him. Not that such a response was unusual. Most people had a few things about their lives they didn’t want to become common knowledge. The trick was finding out if those secrets played a part in the death of the girl.
“Tell me more about your daughter. Did she have any enemies? Did she have a lover?”
The father shook his head. “No, nothing like that. She was a good girl.”
Inspector Gong noticed that the mother was worrying her lower lip. “Zhao Fuwen?” he asked. “Is there something about your daughter I should know?”
She slowly nodded her head. “There…there is a boy. But they are in love. He also works in the legation. He is a…I don’t know what they call it. Not a common coolie. He has to wear a suit and serve the family.”
“You mean like a butler, or a footman?” the inspector asked.
“Something like that,” she said.
“Why didn’t you tell me this?” the father asked. “Was she whoring? Is that how she brought in extra money?”
“No!” the mother said adamantly, or as adamantly as she could in her low, humble voice she was used to using around her husband. “She was a good girl. But they were young and didn’t want to leave their jobs. She didn’t want you to worry because he lived in the legation too. She thought that if you knew, you would make her quit work. Make her come home so you could watch her.”
“Well that would have been better than her ending up dead, yes?” the father yelled.
The mother’s tears began to fall again at her husband’s sharp tongue. Inspector Gong would usually stay out of a domestic squabble, but he still needed more information. Though people did tend to be more honest when they were emotional.
“The boy,” Inspector Gong interrupted. “What is his name? Where can I find him?”
“His name is Wang Bolin,” the mother said, reducing her sobs to a sniffle. “I don’t know where he lives, but I know he works very close to her. They would see each other often. I don’t know his family.”
The inspector wondered if he lived across the street from the girl. In one of the houses where the killer could have had a clear shot of the room where she died.
“I should be able to find him,” the inspector said. “Were they quarreling, do you know? Would the boy have any reason to be upset with your daughter?”
The mother shook her head. “I don’t think so,” she said. “They loved each other, and they wanted to marry, but they both agreed to wait. He would have no reason to be angry with her.”
“What about her employers?” he asked. “Mr. and Mrs. Gibson. Were they good employers? Did they treat her well?”
“As far as we know,” the father said with a frown. “They always paid her on time and there were few language problems since she spoke English. She would often translate for the other servants as well, so she was well liked by her fellow workers.”
“You mentioned she was bringing home extra money,” the inspector said. “Where do you think that was coming from?”
The father hesitated. “Well, she said it was a bonus for her good work. Or because she made money writing letters for the other Chinese in the legation. Many can’t even read or write Chinese you know. So if someone wanted to write to their parents or their husband or wife in the countryside or another city, she would do it for them and they would give her a few coins.”
“But…?” Inspector Gong encouraged.
“But…” the father slowly said. “Now that you ask, I wonder if there was something we didn’t know. I mean, someone killed her. There must have been more going on, yes?”
“I would have to agree with that,” Inspector Gong said. “Of course, the killing may have been an accident. Or maybe she wasn’t the intended target. Her death might not have had anything to do with her at all.”
The father scoffed. “But you don’t think that is the case, do you?”
Inspector Gong couldn’t hide a small smile. The father was clever. While it was a bit endearing, it could also mean he was hiding more than Inspector Gong thought. He might have to look deeper at this innocent-seeming old timer.
“I…think I need to examine all possible scenarios,” he said. “I will do my best to find out what happened to your daughter. I cannot promise you more than that.”
“We cannot hope for much more,” the father said. “When it comes to the Foreign Devils, there is no justice. They can come into our country, set up camp in our capital, burn our palaces. And what do we do? Give them more land! More treaties! Let them sell more drugs to our people!”
He was referring to the second war with the British over opium about eight years before. The imperial family had to flee the Forbidden City after the foreign powers attacked the Dagu Fort. After the war, several treaties were imposed upon China as punishment, which included fines, the loss of land, the right to import opium, and the creation of the legation inside Peking itself, in the shadow of the Forbidden City. The legation was considered foreign soil, and its occupants were treated as if they were living in their home country and were not subject to China’s rules, laws, or customs. This created much friction
between the foreigners and locals, who thought the foreigners were given special protection and privileges that were denied the local Chinese. Many Chinese resented that the foreigners were treated almost as royalty, instead of interlopers.
“I understand your frustration, your anger,” Inspector Gong said. “First you were routed out of your home in Kwangsi by rebels. And now, your own daughter killed by the foreigners. But you must give me time. If there are riots, or if the foreigners feel threatened in any way, they won’t work with me. Won’t let my informants inside their walls, their homes. Do not go back to the gate. When you leave here, go home. I will come to you as soon as I learn what happened to your daughter.”
“So those bastards’ comfort is more important than my suffering?” the father asked. “Now, I cannot even mourn my daughter because the foreigners might feel scared? They should feel scared! This is China!”
The inspector reached out and put his hand on the old man’s shoulder to calm him down.
“Just give me time,” he said gently. “That’s all I ask. Let me find your daughter’s killer. Then we can decide what to do.”
The man glared at the inspector, but once again, his wife demonstrated that she held more power over him than he would like to admit. She silently placed her hand on his knee and nodded. He calmed down considerably.
“Find out who killed our daughter, Inspector,” he said.
Inspector Gong nodded. He stood to leave and paid the innkeeper for the food and tea. He walked outside and his men followed him. He looked at the gate of the legation and noticed that the crowd had indeed dispersed, for now anyway. There were still more people hanging around than normal, and the gate was closed, the foreign guards tense.
The rest of his men came over to his side. They seemed a bit out of place now that the street was relatively quiet, so he let them attend to other duties.
He hoped that the dead girl’s parents would return home like they promised and not rouse the crowd again. Lady Li had said that it was already too late in the day to call on Mrs. Gibson. She would have to wait until tomorrow.
The Qing Dynasty Mysteries - Books 1-3 Page 18
