“Yes, I wondered about that too,” Mycroft replied. “I assume it is because Zaharoff understands what I myself discovered: that their English is limited, and it is best if you explain to them what they need to know.”
Oddly, though they had been speaking a while, Ai Lin had not turned to face him again but had remained where she was, busying herself with preparations for the tea. When he had first mentioned freeing Bingwen Shi and bringing him home, he thought that perhaps her shoulders had slumped, just a little. But when at last she removed the kettle from the fire, filled the teapot and finally turned towards him, he could read nothing upon her face beyond a grateful smile.
“You are a worker of miracles,” she declared, her voice quavering. “Truly, is that all it takes to ensure his freedom?”
“It is no small matter for a family member to board a steamer so as to arrive in time to plead his case!” Mycroft declared. “Any delay, inclement weather, difficulties on arrival, all could cause such a plan to founder.”
Founder? Mycroft nearly bit off his tongue at this insensitive choice of words. But if Ai Lin noticed, she pretended otherwise.
“I have all confidence that it shall be done,” she declared, placing cups on a tray and bringing it to the table. “Bingwen Shi shall be spared, and I am glad of it.”
“As am I,” Mycroft said, meaning it. For as much as he would have desired a future with Ai Lin, it could not be. And certainly not at the cost of a man’s life.
Ai Lin took a sip of tea. Mycroft did the same, thinking that he had never tasted anything so wonderful—all because she had made it for him, with her very own hands.
“And so this is where my freedom ends!” she exclaimed.
Mycroft looked at her, startled.
“Forgive me, Mr. Holmes,” she said. “A well-brought-up Hakka woman does not speak of such things as love and marriage, and certainly not to a man. And I do not mean to burden you with my double-mindedness. You have done as my father requested, and it is in all ways admirable and extraordinary, which is what I have learned to expect from you…”
“What I hope is that you have kept train tickets,” Mycroft said, embarrassed. “Perhaps a hotel receipt, anything that can prove that he could not at the same time have been in London, arranging an arms purchase.”
“I have both his train ticket and mine, along with the hotel receipt with his signature. Bingwen suggested that I keep them as a memento, but I believe he was concerned that someone in his family might find them in his possession and unearth our terrible misdeed.”
“There is a ship leaving for Shanghai from Liverpool the day after tomorrow,” Mycroft said. “As the voyage will take between twenty to thirty days, your emissary would have to be aboard. If there is no room, I can call upon my resources to secure a first-class passage.”
“Again, I thank you,” Ai Lin said. “But there is no need. The Latitude and the Royal Richard are docked at the Victoria. My father is there now, overseeing the unloading of goods, for he is determined to have it executed tonight. For the very noble cause of rescuing my fiancé from certain death, he shall certainly provide one or the other.”
She took another sip of her tea and then added: “And though I grant you that the cost is quite dear, a steamer burdened by neither cargo nor passengers can increase its storage of coal. Without the constraint of stopping to refuel so frequently, we can hope to arrive sooner.”
“‘We’?” Mycroft repeated, assuming he had misheard.
“I meant myself and the crew.”
“You?” he exclaimed. “Absurd!”
He was on his feet before he could stop himself, looking down at her.
“Why, naturally!” she replied, slightly startled as she gazed up at him. “Who else should go, but I?”
“Miss Lin, truly, this is beyond the pale. Surely Mr. Shi has a male relative who can be persuaded to go to his rescue!”
Ai Lin bit her bottom lip, and then said: “Please sit down, Mr. Holmes, for I so enjoy your company. And your rising puts me in mind that we cannot remain here forever as we are, talking and sipping tea.”
Mycroft did as she asked, though he could hardly breathe.
“As I confided to you and to your Mr. Douglas, what we bring to the Shi are our ships and our connections abroad. For this reason, it was thought a fortuitous match. And because Bingwen already had dealings with that man, Vizily Zaharoff, it stands to reason that Bingwen hoped our ships could profit Mr. Zaharoff by transporting armaments, that they could make a lucrative deal. The moment that I put an end to that incipient partnership, Mr. Zaharoff had no further use for him and so most likely did not protest his abduction—”
Mycroft did not dare to reveal what he knew: that it was Zaharoff himself who had alerted the government of China.
“—so you see,” Ai Lin concluded, “it may well be my fault that he was condemned to death.”
“It is in no manner your fault!” Mycroft exclaimed. “But, even if what you say is true, I still do not understand why you, of all people, should make the trek to Zhouzhuang!”
“You have met the Shi, Mr. Holmes. I believe you understand that they are not accustomed to hostile environments—”
“Oh, and you are!” he replied with such a tone of righteous indignation that she laughed.
“Mr. Holmes! Truly—” she began, but he found the temerity to interrupt.
“Your father’s ships, efficient as they might be to move cargo, have not even the most basic facilities for passengers!”
“The Lin family did not always enjoy such means as we have at present,” she reminded him gently. “I am, after all, no more than the daughter of a seaman, and quite accustomed to travel by ship, my father’s in particular. And, as it so happens, I am well acquainted with several dialects of the Jiangsu Province. Not all, by any stretch, or even most; but enough that I should get by. Whereas the Shi family speak only Mandarin and their own dialect.”
“But they would never agree to place you in that sort of danger!” Mycroft protested.
“Under normal circumstances. But they are so ashamed of their son’s plight that if they hear of a way to prevent this tragedy, they will do it. They will do whatever I ask. They will contribute the two bodyguards outside, along with another dozen, should I need them. Who else can assure Bingwen’s release better than I, his abandoned fiancée?”
Though her tone was leavened with humor, her eyes brimmed with tears.
“But there you are!” Mycroft said, for he was not willing to cede the argument. “You are merely a fiancée, not a wife, and as such you are not the ‘relative’ that they seek.”
“Yes,” she said, nodding somberly. “But even prisoners condemned to death may marry. Before making my formal plea, I shall therefore request that he and I do so at once.”
Mycroft swallowed so loudly that he was certain that it could be heard all through Jennings Rents.
“Please believe me when I tell you,” he said, his voice raw, “that if I’d had so much as an inkling that you would take it upon yourself, I never would have darkened your doorstep, never would have said a word… and let the devil take the hindmost.”
“Mr. Holmes. You are my dearest friend,” she said, her own voice breaking. “I shall not pretend, with you, that it is not miserably hard—”
They heard the front door open.
“The bodyguards, come to take me to Stafford Terrace,” she announced, rising abruptly. “I must go, for I cannot give the Shi any reason to doubt my sense of duty, or my fitness to accomplish this task.”
Mycroft rose to his feet again. As he did so, she leaned towards him and brushed her lips against his.
“There,” she said, pulling away and blushing slightly. “My first kiss is one that I stole from you. Let it be our very own secret, my dear Mr. Holmes, for it cannot be otherwise. But you and I will know it, and for me, at least, it must suffice for a lifetime.”
37
A DAZED AND BEWILDERED MYCROFT WATCHED AI
LIN being escorted away by her fiancé’s bodyguards. As their carriage disappeared, he removed his handkerchief, thanking Providence that it was clean, and lightly dabbed it across his lips. Then he folded it carefully and returned it to his pocket. Absurd, he realized. But it could very well be the only unadulterated memory of Ai Lin that he would ever possess.
Within moments he found himself back inside his borrowed carriage, on his way to Regent Tobaccos. Whatever transpired from here on out, he had to speak to Douglas, though he had little notion what he would say.
The woman I love is in love with me. She kissed me…
No. He would not break her confidence.
He lost himself once more to his thoughts, so that when he happened to glance out of the window again, the carriage had already made the turn onto Regent Street. He quickly rapped his knuckles upon the trap.
“Here we are!” he called to the driver, in a sing-song tone so false that it shamed him.
The carriage halted. Waiting neither for stairs nor umbrella, Mycroft leapt out of the vestibule and hastened to the front door of Douglas’s tobacco shop, where he rang the bell repeatedly, like a madman.
He heard footsteps. The front door opened, and a moment later he was staring down upon the startled visage of Mr. Pennywhistle, who seemed to have grown even shorter and stouter in the weeks since he had seen him last.
“Mr. Holmes! How very nice!” Mr. P. said, squinting up at him, for his eyes were weak. “The missus and I were about to close shop, but come in do, for I can have a lovely fire going in the shake of a lamb’s tail. May I take your coat?”
“No, Mr. P., I am on the hunt for Douglas. Is he here?”
“Cyrus? No, I fear he is not. Has not been around for days! Have you gone by Nickolus House?”
“Not yet, but I shall do so now…”
“You are certain you would not care to imbibe a little something first, along with a hearty smoke? The newest Punch have just come in, quite fresh, and such a pleasant aroma, good for what ails you—”
“No, no, thank you, Mr. P.,” Mycroft said as he scribbled a note upon a calling card and then turned and waved for the carriage to come back round to fetch him.
“Well. Next time, perhaps,” Mr. P. said, taking the card. “And Mr. Holmes? Should you see Cyrus first, tell him a telegram arrived for him! Better yet, might you deliver it to Nickolus House? For it is marked ‘personal and urgent!’ Now, where did I put it…?”
Before Mycroft could protest, Mr. Pennywhistle had already disappeared inside to fetch it. Mycroft waited impatiently and listened to him rummage about… until he heard his own voice in his head saying to Douglas:
“You might begin by sending telegrams to your contacts at various ports of call with instructions to immediately send back such information as they are willing to share about Zaharoff or Shi.”
A telegram marked ‘personal and urgent’ could be precisely what he had been waiting for. Instead, here he was, in a muddle, his thought processes clouded, his mind on something else entirely.
Was he becoming ill again? What in the world could be wrong with him?
Nothing but Ai Lin, he thought.
“Here it be!” Mr. P. announced brightly, waving the missive like a fan as he trotted back to the door.
Mycroft recognized the sender’s name, a man with whom Douglas had often conducted business, whose line of spirits was shipped internationally, and which made him an invaluable font of information. Port cities tended to be the canary in the coal mine; the first subtle stirrings of trouble were nearly always felt there, passing from ship to ship and from deckhand to deckhand, before moving inland.
He pocketed it with thanks and was already halfway down the front steps when Mr. P. added: “Do let Cyrus know that it’s been so long since we have lain eyes upon him that we are even imagining his voice at the door!”
“Whatever do you mean?” Mycroft asked.
“I mean I… I thought I heard him calling to me, and the missus heard too, from the kitchen, but when I come to the door, no one’s there.”
“When?”
“When?” Mr. Pennywhistle looked puzzled. “Why, when I thought I heard him, and so came I to the door—”
“No, I meant, was it today?”
“Ah yes, today! Indeed!”
“At what hour?” Mycroft asked, trying to keep the irritation from his voice.
“Ah! Earlier, I should say! Several hours, in fact, though to be frank I did not consult my timepiece, for on dark days like this, I cannot make out the hands.”
Mycroft felt a flutter in his chest, followed by a sudden tightening. He said his goodbyes to Mr. P. But by the time he had ducked inside of the carriage and was seated, he was reevaluating both his nerves and his haste.
The anxiety you feel is about her, not him! He is a grown man! Surely he can be allowed leeway to do as he pleases!
Besides, Douglas was a savvy sort; except under circumstances of the greatest provocation, he would not be traipsing about unaccompanied, and certainly not in a rainstorm at night. To say nothing of the fact that he had acted the child, stomping off simply because they had disagreed on a matter of protocol, or if not that precisely, then little more!
Thus assured, Mycroft decided upon a compromise. He opened the trap and instructed Carlton to take him, but with leisure, to the Red Lion at Crown Passage, and from there to Nickolus House on Old Pye—for Douglas was at one or the other and would be easily located.
The moment that the carriage was underway, he reached into his pocket for the telegram, and then carefully unpeeled the envelope. On the slim chance that it was of a personal nature, and meant for Douglas’s eyes alone, it could be resealed, none the wiser.
Telegrams were, by necessity, blunt, for they cost by the word. But this one proved also cryptic. The sender seemed troubled by what he had discovered. Thankfully, having toiled in the War Office, Mycroft was well versed in cryptic.
POST MERGER BS NEW OWNER =
DHL SHIPS TO CARRY VZ GOODS
Since Douglas had specifically requested information on Zaharoff or Bingwen Shi, the acronyms were simple: ‘VZ’ was Vizily Zaharoff, and ‘BS’ Bingwen Shi, which meant that ‘DHL’ had to be Deshi Hai Lin, Ai Lin’s father. And so the ‘merger’ most likely referred to the marriage between Bingwen Shi and Ai Lin… after which—or post-marriage—something of note was to transpire.
From there, the missive took on peculiar shadings. For why would marriage necessarily indicate new ownership of the vessels? The patriarch, Deshi Hai Lin, had never intimated that he was in the market to sell, nor had Ai Lin. And, even if something untoward were to occur, the ownership would pass to Ai Lin’s brother, Dai en-Lai Lin, and not to a son-in-law!
Only according to English law, Mycroft reminded himself. For Douglas had, over the years, schooled him on Confucian wisdom, which dictated that ownership could indeed pass to a son-in-law, if the two married in China. In that case, Bingwen could own a third, and rule his wife’s third, for women had no say. Her brother Dai en-Lai would hold the remaining third—a minority vote in any decision, and he still young in years and with scant knowledge of how the business worked.
Mycroft recalled Deshi Hai Lin’s words: “I thought that he could be like a son to me; for, unlike my boy now at university, he was keen to learn my business.”
Exceedingly keen, Mycroft thought bitterly.
In spite of Bingwen Shi’s promises not to engage with Zaharoff, what if the opposite transpired? What if he were plotting to do some permanent damage to his father-in-law so as to take possession of the business? And, if that was his plan, once they had married, what could Ai Lin possibly do with such a monstrous fait accompli? Especially if her father’s death was made to look like an accident? The weight of family, and of society, would be against her. It was entirely feasible that the best thing that ever happened to Deshi Hai Lin, to his family and to his daughter, was the kidnapping and eventual execution of his future son-in-law.
&n
bsp; I must go and find Ai Lin, Mycroft thought in a panic. I must show her the telegram. I must beg her not to leave! Beg her not to risk her life to save this man!
“Carlton?” he called out. “We must go to Stafford Terrace!”
“After Nickolus House, sir?” Carlton replied through the trap.
“No, now. And quickly!”
38
THOUGH THE ROAD WAS STILL SLICK WITH RAIN, THE sky had ceased its onslaught and the carriage made good time. There were few people still on the streets, for it was growing late, which meant that they had clear passage to park directly in front of Ai Lin’s lodgings, a part of the terrace built on Kensington’s Phillimore Estates. Mycroft hastened up the steps and politely but firmly knocked upon the door.
After a moment, the door opened a crack.
“Yes?” she said. She was the chaperone who oversaw the ladies therein; a gray old thing with yellow horse teeth and stringy black hair who peered out at him with unvarnished suspicion.
“I am enquiring about Miss Ai Lin,” Mycroft announced as he removed his hat.
“Are you indeed?” she declared, pursing her lips so that they resembled a rotten fig. “As you are neither her relative nor her betrothed, you have no business here, and so cannot be asking impertinent questions as to where a young lady may or may not be at this hour of night!”
“Madam, if I might have but a moment of your time…”
Mycroft pushed open the door wide enough that she could have a better look at him, and at the Queen’s costly carriage parked directly behind. And indeed, as she glanced from one to the other, her expression softened a bit.
“A gentleman like you could do better,” she murmured.
“I am… a friend of her father’s,” Mycroft replied.
“Ah. In the ship business, are you? Queer indeed, for you do not look the sort. Regardless, I must say that I am most vexed. For though the girl paid me through month’s end, and double, it is no excuse for hurrying off without a word of adieu!”
“She is gone, then?” Mycroft asked. “Would you know what time she departed?”
The Empty Birdcage Page 23
