Shanghai Secrets

by Sulari Gentill

  Taking comfort in her maternal practicality, they did as they were told.

  Rowland, for his part, was ill enough to be thoughtlessly compliant. He barely registered the fuss around him. “I’m all right,” he said when he realised how worried they were. “I’ve just caught some kind of chill.” He was thankful to wash the grime and decay of the prison cell from his body, to put on his own clothes, and to lie on clean sheets in a bed. He didn’t notice the shock and fury of his friends when the welts and bruises left by the batons were revealed. His mind wandered to the men with whom he’d briefly shared a cell, but he couldn’t hold the thought.

  He felt Edna’s hand stroking the hair away from his face, and he breathed the soft scent of her rose perfume. Milton told him something about Du Yuesheng, and Clyde asked him about the livid bruise on his neck.

  “Must have happened when they hanged me… I think the rope snagged on one of the bodies for a while…”

  Clyde glanced anxiously at his watch, concerned by the delirium.

  Harjeet brought in a fragrant spiced tea made of roasted coriander seeds. She called it “Kothamalli” and insisted Rowland drink, if only a couple of sips. He gagged on the first mouthful, but Harjeet persisted and he kept down the second. It was hot and honey-sweet, brewed with ginger. It soothed his throat and he thought he felt better.

  Gilbert Carmel arrived with a Frenchman he introduced as Dr. Henri Le Fevre. The physician chased them out of the room so he could examine his patient in private. They took Carmel into the cavernous drawing room. Milton poured the lawyer a drink. Carmel drank deeply and looked so utterly dejected that Edna moved to sit beside him on the settee.

  “You mustn’t blame yourself. You weren’t to know that Rowly would be arrested.”

  Carmel patted her hand. “You must not worry about me, my dear. Not when Rowland is lying on what might be his death bed.”

  “Death bed?” Edna pulled back, shocked.

  “Did I say death bed? I meant sick bed… It’s been a difficult day. Forgive me, my dear. I’m a little weary, that’s all.”

  When Dr. Le Fevre emerged he was sombre. “I suspect Monsieur Sinclair has contracted pulmonary tuberculosis at Ward Road.”

  Edna gasped. Tuberculosis could be as much a life sentence as any the courts of Shanghai could hand down.

  Carmel sighed. “I was afraid of that.”

  Milton stood. “Tuberculosis? Are you sure?”

  “Mr. Sinclair has a very high fever, he complains of chest pain and is coughing blood.”

  “I didn’t notice any blood.”

  Le Fevre’s response was not without compassion. “It was evident in my thorough examination. I am quite certain of my diagnosis.”

  “We have to take him home.” Edna’s voice was unsteady.

  “I’m afraid Monsieur Sinclair cannot travel now,” Le Fevre said gravely.

  “Even if he were well enough, he cannot leave Shanghai,” Carmel added gently. He hesitated and then went on. “I think it’s only fair to warn you that Chief Inspector Randolph is already taking action to have Rowland’s bail revoked. Apparently Rowland assaulted a warder while he was incarcerated.”

  “They can’t do that—not when he’s so ill!” Edna was close to tears now.

  “Ward Road Gaol is equipped with an infirmary,” Le Fevre advised.

  “I’ll bet,” Milton replied bitterly.

  Carmel took a deep breath and lifted his chin. “Rest assured, my friends, Inspector Randolph will not be unopposed. I shall meet him on every legal battlefield, but…”

  “But what?” Milton demanded.

  Carmel shook his head. “It would be easier if Rowland had friends of influence.”

  “Wilfred’s contacts—”

  “Have been alienated by this business with the Japanese.”

  “Excuse me, gentlemen.” Edna stood to leave.

  “Where are you going, Ed?”

  “To see Rowly.”

  Le Fevre shook his head firmly. “No, Mademoiselle Higgins. Mr. Sinclair has pulmonary tuberculosis, a highly contagious disease. We must move him to a private chest hospital as soon as it can be arranged.”

  “I’ll need to speak with him,” Carmel objected. “To take instructions, for what it’s worth.”

  Le Fevre was unhappy with the notion. “You do so at your own risk, Monsieur Carmel.”

  Carmel waved away the physician’s warnings. “It would be a small price if I can compensate for letting the poor boy down.” He rubbed his face. “Dr. Le Fevre, would you be so kind as to make arrangements for Rowland to be admitted to a private sanatorium? Spare no expense—I will cover it personally.”

  “Steady on,” Clyde interrupted. “Is moving him necessary?”

  “I assure you, Mr. Watson Jones, he will get the very best of care.”

  “Does Rowly know that he has tuberculosis?”

  “Not yet,” LeFevre replied.

  Carmel rose. “I’ll tell him,” he said grimly. “I can speak to him about his defence, reassure him and apologise.”

  “We’ll come with you,” Edna said. Clyde and Milton stood hastily.

  “If you are all going to ignore my advice and risk infection”— Le Fevre made no attempt to mask his irritation—“then I must insist you visit one at a time. Do not get too close, and leave the window open. But let me warn you that Monsieur Sinclair is fevered and not at all lucid.”

  Carmel rolled his eyes. “Yes, yes, noted. If you’ll make the necessary arrangements with the sanatorium, Dr. Le Fevre, I must speak with my client!”

  * * *

  Gilbert Carmel went into the sick room first. When he emerged twenty minutes later, he was visibly distressed. He grabbed Edna’s hands. “Oh my dear, our friend is more unwell than I expected—quite affected by delirium and, I suspect, anxiety over the case against him. He is justifiably angry with me—refuses to believe he’s ill. I fear I’ve lost his confidence. He seems to believe that there are conspiracies against him.”

  “That doesn’t sound like Rowly,” Edna replied. “It’s only the fever speaking, Mr. Carmel.”

  “I don’t want you to be upset if he says anything harsh, dear girl.”

  “Harsh?”

  “He seems to believe that you enticed that poor fellow Middleton to follow you to China in order to make him jealous, that Mr. Watson Jones stole his car, and that Mr. Isaacs is a card cheat.”

  Edna stepped back shocked, hurt. “Rowly said that?”

  Carmel’s face softened. “Oh my, now I’ve upset you. It’s nonsense of course…a passing madness he will not remember tomorrow.”

  Le Fevre shook his head. “I did warn you, Monsieur Carmel. Monsieur Sinclair is not in his correct senses. The medication I have administered can have the unfortunate side effect of inducing paranoia and aggression.” He checked his pocket watch. “God willing, the sedative will begin to take effect soon, and he will cease to be so needlessly agitated.”

  Edna nodded tightly. “I promise I won’t take any notice of what he says.”

  The sculptress set her shoulders and let herself into the bedroom, closing the door behind her. She ignored Le Fevre’s advice, sat on the bed, and took Rowland’s hand. It was warm; his eyes seemed a very bright blue. “Rowly, how are you, darling?”

  He turned away to cough. “Ed—thank goodness. Tell those idiots I’ve just got a cold,” he said hoarsely.

  She smiled at him, pressing his hand to her cheek. “Dr. Le Fevre’s taking you to a hospital where you can get proper care.”

  He shook his head. “I’m not sure he’s a doctor, Ed.”

  “Why do you say that?”

  “He seems to think I have tuberculosis for one thing!”

  “Oh Rowly, you just have to do what he says and get well. Mr. Carmel will take care of Inspector Randolph—you’r
e not to worry.”

  Agitated, Rowland tried sit up. “No, don’t trust him!”

  She kept a firm hold of his hand. “Mr. Carmel will keep Inspector Randolph in check, Rowly.”

  “Not Randolph—” The effort of sitting up started him coughing again.

  Edna held him. “Rowly, the medication is muddling your thoughts. You must try to stay calm.”

  Le Fevre opened the door. “I thought I told you not to get too close to him,” he said, frustrated. “Are you trying to get infected, Miss Higgins?”

  The spasm of coughing took Rowland’s ability to speak. Edna ignored the doctor as she rubbed his back and spoke soothingly. “You just get well, Rowly. Leave everything else to us.”

  “Mademoiselle Higgins.” Le Fevre held open the door. “For your own sake, you must leave.”

  “Let me settle him first,” she said defiantly. “When he’s resting quietly, I’ll leave.”

  Le Fevre exhaled, exasperated. “You are taking a dreadful risk, Mademoiselle Higgins!” He stalked out, slamming the door.

  When the doctor entered the drawing room, Milton and Clyde were discussing the necessity of a sanatorium with Carmel.

  “Absolutely, it is necessary, gentlemen,” Le Fevre said. “I know you wish to stay with your friend, but I want only to save Monsieur Sinclair’s life. He is gravely ill. And he is contagious. He cannot be left here.”

  “Having Rowland confined to a sanatorium will be a significant argument against the revocation of bail,” Carmel added. “At all costs, my friends, we must avoid Rowland being returned to Ward Road Gaol.”

  “On that we agree,” Milton said.

  “I’ll go with him,” Edna said, entering the room now. “To the sanatorium.” Her eyes bore the signs of tears hastily brushed away. “It’s the best solution.”

  “That’s not—”

  “If I’m going to get sick, I will have already been infected by now, anyway,” the sculptress said resolutely. “I understand that it’s the fever speaking, but Rowly doesn’t trust either of you gentlemen. I can at least get him to cooperate with his own recovery. I will not let him think we are abandoning him, even if he thinks…whatever he thinks.”

  “My dear,” Carmel said softly. “Dr. Le Fevre has arranged the very best of care, but I’m not sure the facility will be able to accommodate a…visitor.”

  Clyde intervened now. “Actually, I don’t think it’s such a bad idea.” He turned to Carmel. “It’s a private hospital, you say? Surely they can be persuaded to let Ed stay with Rowly. In any case, we would not send Rowly anywhere that we can’t visit.”

  “But Miss Higgins will be putting herself in very great danger of infection!” Le Fevre threw his hands in the air. “Comment suis-je censé aider ces idiots?”

  Edna smiled. Clearly the physician did not realise she spoke French. “You just help Rowly, Dr. Le Fevre. And allow us to do the same.”

  Chapter Thirty-Five

  TUBERCULOSIS

  Sanatorium Treatment Best

  Health Department’s Advice

  The medical officer of the Tuberculosis Division of the Health Department (Dr. John Hughes) in a recent address emphasised the absolute necessity of rest in treating tuberculosis, pointing out that the only place where such rest can be obtained under suitable conditions is in a sanatorium.

  Outside a sanatorium a person is living in a community where his friends and relatives are living irregular hours, leading a life of pleasure, and the example set makes him envious, and he throws caution to the wind.

  —Armidale Express and New England General Advertiser, 1 August 1938

  * * *

  The Denville Sanatorium seemed more like a grand villa than a hospital. It was on the very outskirts of Shanghai, in what seemed to be the countryside, where the fresh air would help Rowland’s lungs and the quiet would allow him to rest. The grounds were gated. The room to which Rowland was taken was on the third floor. It was large and furnished in Chinese style with a bathroom attached; the walls hung with long banners bearing paintings of village scenes and dragons. He was stretchered up to the room for fear the stairs would prove too strenuous in his current state. Le Fevre had given him a strong sedative in any case, to make the move easier.

  “The hospital only admits two or three patients at a time,” Le Fevre explained. “It allows each patient to be given the utmost round-the-clock care, and it means it can accommodate Mademoiselle Higgins in one of the spare rooms.”

  “A big place for two or three patients,” Clyde commented.

  “It is very expensive,” Le Fevre replied. “But it is the only facility which would allow Mademoiselle Higgins to remain.”

  “I’ll bet,” Clyde murmured. He suspected that Le Fevre was not above taking advantage of the situation to turn a healthy profit. But perhaps that was unfair. In any case, money was the least of their worries right now, or any time really.

  For a few hours, the three of them and Gilbert Carmel sat in the room while Rowland slept fitfully under the effects of the sedative. The large windows were left open in deference to Le Fevre’s dire warnings. A Chinese orderly came in with a tray of tea and pound cake, and nurses and Le Fevre himself came in to check on Rowland, but otherwise the hospital was as quiet and restful as promised.

  To distract them all from worry, Carmel told them tales of old Shanghai, the rise of men like Sassoon, the intrigues and scandals of the city.

  “How long have you lived here, Mr. Carmel?” Edna asked, her eyes still on Rowland.

  “Since just after the war,” Carmel replied. “I can tell you it was not easy at first to do business with those I’d fought in the trenches against.” He followed Edna’s gaze to Rowland. “I understand Rowland’s suspicion of the Germans—I shared it once, but I realised years ago that it was time to move on, to let the wounds of war heal. It’s one of the great advantages of Shanghai… It’s a place where the old empires come together to build a new world indifferent to national prejudices.”

  “Rowly’s suspicion of the Germans is nothing to do with the Great War.” Milton took issue with the lawyer’s romantic vision. “And Shanghai is hardly indifferent to national prejudices. The servants are Chinese, the taxi girls Russian… I’ve not seen a white man pulling a rickshaw, only riding while some half-starved, barefoot native pulls him along the road!”

  Carmel nodded. “We are not perfect, Mr. Isaacs, but I find that in business all things are equal. Old enemies shake hands and make fortunes together.”

  “Yes, of course, fortunes.”

  “The free market is blind to race and class, Mr. Isaacs.”

  “The free market is blind to many things, but not race or class, Mr. Carmel.”

  Carmel sighed. “Perhaps you are right.” He stood to leave. “As much as I would love to spend the afternoon defending Shanghai, my dear young friends, I must prepare Rowland’s defence and ensure that that bloated chief inspector is not successful in having his bail revoked.” He took Edna’s hand and enclosed it in both of his. “You keep an eye on our boy, my dear, and I shall return this evening.”

  “Thank you so much for everything you’ve done, Mr. Carmel.”

  “I only hope it is enough,” the lawyer replied before he left them to it.

  “We should probably go too,” Clyde said eventually. He was not happy about leaving Rowland and Edna, but the hospital seemed secure.

  “Now?” Edna asked. “Why?”

  “We can’t leave Rowly’s fate to Carmel and the courts of Shanghai,” Milton replied. “And now we’ve got to work out who killed Bertram Middleton as well as Alexandra Romanova.”

  “What are you going to do?”

  “I wish I knew, Ed.” Clyde shook his head. “But we’ve got to do something. Rowly won’t survive Ward Road Gaol again.”

  “Surely Wilfred—”

  �
��We haven’t heard from him,” Milton replied, frowning. “It’s odd…but who knows what’s going on back home. Wilfred could well be busy overthrowing the soddin’ government again.”

  Clyde laughed. “The Lyons government are his lot, Milt. Wilfred doesn’t need to overthrow them.” He sobered. “Maybe there’s just nothing he can do this time.”

  “Mr. Kung, the Buddhist priest, was in the foyer of the Cathay when Rowly was arrested,” Edna said, remembering. “In fact I’m sure I’ve seen him there before.”

  “Perhaps he’s staying there.” Clyde bit his lip thoughtfully. “We can try asking Van Hagen—see if it leads anywhere.”

  “We picked up Sergei Romanov’s scent just before Rowly got arrested and everything went to hell.” Milton took his hat from the post on the end of Rowland’s bed, where he’d hung it. “One of the restaurateurs in Little Russia thought he saw Sergei panhandling in some place called Blood Alley. We might start there.”

  “Blood Alley?”

  “Yes, these places never seem be to be named High Street.”

  “Be careful, please.”

  They embraced the sculptress. “We’ll be fine. You just make sure Rowly follows the doctor’s orders.”

  “And don’t you get upset about anything he says,” Clyde added. Le Fevre had obviously told Clyde and Milton about Rowland’s accusations. “When my cousin Clarice contracted measles, she ran through Batlow naked, screaming that the water was poisoned.”

  Milton agreed. “Tell him not to worry. We’re not going to let him go back to gaol—whatever it takes.”

  * * *

  Ranjit Singh drove Clyde and Milton to the Cathay, where they claimed to have an appointment with Chao Kung. Milton described the abbot for good measure. Van Hagen informed them curtly that there was no guest of that name or indeed that description currently registered at the hotel. Milton slapped his forehead, lamenting that they had missed him and asked if Kung had left a forwarding address. Van Hagen checked his register and reported testily that there had not been a guest of that name at the Cathay that year.