The Secret Adventures of Charlotte Bronte tsaocb-1

by Laura Joh Rowland

  At last I understood how a Chinaman had gained influence at high levels of society, through contacts obtained by his aristocratic underling. But dizziness and stupor rendered me silent, passive.

  “One night we spied a British scout boat that had become lost in the delta. We killed the crew and stole the vessel. Thus began my career as a pirate. We made our way back to Canton to raise money to finance the plans I’d made. Our target was the opium trade. It seemed fitting.” Irony colored Kuan’s voice. “Opium money was stored in receiving ships moored offshore. We raided and plundered them until the British forces became too aggressive in their pursuit of us. We ventured farther out to sea to prey on opium clippers journeying home with their ill gotten bounty. Our biggest prize was a steamship carrying fifty thousand pounds in silver.”

  Kuan’s face glowed with satisfaction. “Now I had my war treasury. I had a seaworthy ship. We set out for England and arrived in 1842. Here I used my stolen fortune, and Hitchman’s contacts, to build an empire. I induced businessmen to give me war supplies and money, and traders to smuggle weapons to my allies in China. British politicians proved useful in shielding my secret efforts to mount an army that could drive their own nation out of China.”

  I knew how he’d exploited vulnerable men such as Joseph Lock and the prime minister, but I’d never dreamed he had so ambitious a goal as to wage a one-man war on Britain. His grandiosity amazed me; intoxication caused the peculiar sensation that my head was drifting free from my body. Kuan seemed far away, yet his voice infected me all the more deeply.

  “The times favored me.” Kuan seemed to appraise my condition; he smiled. “Many other men were as eager as I to overpower the leaders of Britain and other kingdoms. I forged alliances with revolutionaries both here and abroad. My intention was to foster instability in Britain while building my own power and wealth over the years, then to return to China, where I would drive the barbarians and the opium trade out of my homeland forever. But a certain event disrupted my plans.”

  Emotion darkened Kuan’s face. I could feel his anger and hatred enfolding me like tentacles. The lamplight wavered. Strange echoes wailed in my ears as my head drifted higher.

  “In June of 1842 came news from China,” Kuan said. “The British forces had captured Shanghai. They then headed up the Yangtze River, wreaking terrible carnage. The Chinese army was powerless to stop them. The British reached Nanking in August, and China was forced to surrender.”

  Kuan’s voice tightened with an effort to control the rage that suffused his features. “In Nanking Britain and China signed a treaty that ceded Hong Kong to Britain and ordered China to pay an indemnity of twenty-one million pounds. This loss of territory was a disgraceful humiliation for China. And the opium trade flourished bigger than ever. I realized that I could not afford to delay taking action. Britain might overrun China while I was slowly building my army. Hence, I plotted a more immediate, daring scheme to make Britain pay for the deaths of my wife and children, and at the same time force it to renounce the new treaty and leave China.”

  Fanatical determination smoldered in his eyes. “Innocents shall suffer as recompense for the suffering of innocents. I shall take them hostage to my cause and bring the British Empire to its knees. For six years I have been gaining the influence of the right people and planting my allies in strategic places. The time is almost at hand.”

  This was the closest I had come to learning Kuan’s intentions, and excitement reverberated through me; but still he spoke in only vague terms. In my entranced condition, I couldn’t fathom his meaning. A question surfaced from amidst the whirl of sensations that possessed my mind. “What innocents?” I whispered. “Who are your hostages?”

  “Be patient, Miss Bronte. You will know soon enough,” said Kuan. His secretive smile teased me. “In fact, you will play a role of the utmost importance in my scheme. It is the role I once intended for our mutual friend Isabel White. You will take her place.”

  Across my vision flashed the image of Isabel’s murder in that London alley. I heard the words from her diary as if she spoke inside my head: How could I allow myself to be used as an instrument to shake the foundations of the world? Should I refuse to comply with Kuan, I would share her fate. Should I obey him, I would share her sins. I must free myself of Him, or consign my soul to eternal damnation. A heart-pounding fright stirred in me an urgent desire to run for my life. I tried to stand, but my limbs were as heavily inert as sacks of flour.

  “Why have you chosen me?” I whispered.

  Kuan rose, moved behind my chair, and leaned close to me. “You, Miss Bronte, are a woman of intelligence, honor, and righteousness.” His warm breath hissed the words into my ear. “Together we will triumph over evil.”

  His strange magic combined with the effects of the wine, subduing my urge to resist. It blurred my ability to distinguish between justice for Isabel White and Kuan’s other victims, and justice for Kuan’s family and China. Now Kuan caressed my cheek. To my horror, I felt my skin tingle alive under his fingers, and the heat of desire spread through me.

  I thrilled to the touch that I’d longed for, said Isabel’s voice in my memory.

  “Your face is as beautiful as your spirit,” Kuan whispered. “You enchant me.”

  His words fed a lifetime’s hunger for such praise, even if it was false. How much I had yearned to hear it from Mr. Slade, who had never expressed such admiration for me. Kuan raised me to my feet, easing me so slowly and smoothly away from the chair that it seemed to vanish. He held me with my back pressed to him. The room faded from my perception; we were afloat in some alien place where lights flickered and eerie noises sounded through black shadows. Kuan’s lips grazed my neck; his hands moved over my breasts. No man had ever touched me thus. Intoxicated and dizzy, I moaned as pleasure overwhelmed me.

  I wanted to flee in terror, but… I could only submit.

  Mr. Slade had instilled in me this desire, but had not fulfilled it. Now I responded against my will to Kuan, craving from him what I couldn’t have from Mr. Slade. The animal in me was a blind, lusty creature, unable to distinguish one man from another. I hardly knew what I felt for Mr. Slade and what for Kuan.

  But how could I commit such a sin as enjoying a man outside the bonds of holy matrimony? Should feminine virtue have not restrained me? Alas, I cared nothing for God nor propriety, nor anything except Him.

  My mind pictured Mr. Slade holding and caressing me, as real as life. I sighed with rapture. His very presence reduced me to a state of hot, quivering need… The image of Mr. Slade and myself dissolved into a shocking, obscene picture of Kuan with Isabel White, naked and entwined. But at that moment I didn’t care that Kuan had been Isabel’s lover. I didn’t care that he wasn’t Mr. Slade. I forgot he was a murderer. All I was aware of was his power to satisfy my desire.

  “Will you do my bidding, Miss Bronte?” Kuan murmured. I heard Mr. Slade’s voice echo his. “Will you help me achieve justice?”

  When He said, “What would you do for me?” I answered with all my heart: “Whatever you wish.” He was my master, the source of all the meaning in my life. I was His devoted slave.

  “Yes,” I whispered, not knowing whether it was Mr. Slade or Kuan to whom I was pledging my loyalty.

  32

  I awakened to find myself lying on my bed, fully dressed, my spectacles askew on my face. Pale daylight shone through the white curtains; gulls screeched outside. My head ached, my stomach was queasy, and there was a sour taste in my mouth. My wits stirred sluggishly to life. I sat up with a cry of dismay as I recalled how Kuan had begun to seduce me. Yet I couldn’t recall anything else, for the wine must have rendered me unconscious. Panic clutched my heart. What, in my inebriated condition, had I allowed that madman to do?

  I made a hasty inspection of my clothes and person, and found no evidence that Kuan had maltreated me. It seemed that he’d conveyed me to my bed and left me to sleep. I was vastly relieved, but also shamed and horrified that last nigh
t I had succumbed to Kuan. Was it only poisoned wine that had undermined my will? With its effects worn off, could I still resist him? Or was I his creature, over whom he would always exert control? I moaned at the thought that here was another day to face. How many more must I pass in Kuan’s company before I could learn who were his intended hostages and what were his plans for them?

  When fortune gives us no alternative but to go on, we somehow manage. I rose, washed, and tidied myself. This took a bit of time, as my stomach kept heaving, and dizziness spun the room around me; I frequently had to stop and lie down. Finally I tottered downstairs.

  I was surprised to find Kuan, Hitchman, and T’ing-nan in the dining room: This was the first time I would have their company at a meal. Kuan and Hitchman bade me a polite good morning, to which I replied with as much composure as I could. T’ing-nan only glared at me: He was still angry that I had given him up to his father last night. I perceived the echo of a conversation that my arrival had interrupted.

  “Please join us, Miss Bronte,” said Kuan.

  I sat at the end of the table, opposite him. Ruth served me tea, bread, and eggs. Hitchman was eating the same meal as I, but Kuan and T’ing-nan had bowls of what appeared to be gruel with fish and strange herbs. T’ing-nan held his bowl up to his mouth and shoveled in the food with chopsticks, never once taking his hostile gaze off me.

  “Did you sleep well last night?” Kuan asked me in a tone that hinted at the drama we had enacted together.

  “Yes, thank you,” I said, although my face burned.

  Hitchman regarded us with suspicious curiosity. I lowered my gaze to my plate, but the food turned my stomach. I sipped the strong, bitter coffee, which somewhat restored my health and courage.

  “I beg permission to go into town,” I said. I must tell Mr. Slade what Kuan revealed to me last night, and here I presented my excuse: “I wish to go to church. I’ve not been since I left home.”

  “You can wait awhile longer,” Hitchman said.

  “No,” Kuan overruled him. “Miss Bronte must be allowed to observe her religious rites.”

  “Very well,” Hitchman said, though clearly disgruntled.

  I wondered whether Kuan thought the spell he’d worked upon me last night had secured me in his power and he’d come to trust me enough to let me go, or whether he wished to assert his superiority over Hitchman. Whatever the reason, I was glad to climb into the carriage. To escape Kuan’s frightening presence, if only temporarily, was a boon. As Nick drove me towards town, a storm commenced. Rain battered the carriage; lightning seared the deluged coastline and sea. Between cracks of thunder I heard hoofbeats following us. I looked out the window and saw what appeared to be a farmer riding a horse. He tipped his hat at me, and I recognized Mr. Slade, who must have been secretly watching Kuan’s house in case I should come out. Relief swam over me.

  In Penzance, Nick drove up wet cobblestone streets where townspeople walked sheltered under umbrellas and brick town-houses abounded. He stopped the carriage outside St. Mary’s Church. Its stone walls promised age-old sanctuary to souls in need. I climbed out of the carriage, trying not to look about for Mr. Slade. The rain drenched Nick and me as we hurried past a churchyard filled with tombs and lush with tropical vegetation. Inside the church, Nick stationed himself by the door while I walked up the aisle between the pews. Among these were scattered some dozen worshippers. Lightning illuminated them in flashes. Their soft spoken prayers and the rumbling thunder echoed in the chill, dank space. I anxiously scanned the church from beneath my bonnet. Would Mr. Slade come? How might we talk without Nick’s noticing us?

  I heard a soft hiss, glanced to my right, and saw Mr. Slade crouching on the floor inside a pew. He must have watched me stop at the church, where he hurried to enter by some other door and lie hidden in wait for me. My steps faltered, and he gestured for me to sit by him. Conscious of Nick’s gaze on me, I did.

  “Act as if I’m not here,” Mr. Slade whispered. “Pretend you’re praying.”

  I bowed my head over my clasped hands. My mind teemed with memories of the previous night, while my heart beat fast with emotions I had no time to sort out. “Kuan has told me some part of his plan for revenge,” I whispered. “He means to take hostages and force the British out of China.” I regretted that my news was so vague. “But I don’t know who the hostages are or how Kuan means to take them.”

  There was a brief silence from Mr. Slade, during which I sensed his shock. He said, “I do know. Yesterday I received a letter from the prime minister. He says he was accosted by one of Kuan’s henchmen in London. The man ordered him to use his authority to persuade the Queen that her children need a new governess, and to recommend Charlotte Bronte for the post.”

  Amazement and horror overwhelmed me as Mr. Slade’s news and mine combined like pieces of a puzzle fitting together to complete a terrifying picture. “The royal children are the hostages Kuan intends to take! I am to help him kidnap them!” I fought to lower my voice and maintain the pretext of prayer.

  “So this is how he means to strike at the British Empire.” Revelation inflected Mr. Slade’s voice. “Not by military force, but by ransoming its most precious treasure-the royal bloodline. If he succeeds, he will usher in a new, horrific era of warfare. No longer will enemies need huge armies to cripple us-just the wherewithal to kidnap, extort, and terrify. It could begin the downfall of not just Britain, but the civilized world.”

  We sat speechless in awe and dread of such a future, until I voiced the question that Kuan had evaded answering: “Why has Kuan chosen me, of all people?”

  “I can only speculate that you have the traits he needs in an accomplice. He surely knows other people who are capable of kidnapping the children but none responsible enough-as you are-to ensure their well-being until he’s done with them.” Slade added, “Yours must be the role for which he intended Isabel White. No wonder she balked and ran away from him. The kidnapping must have been the last straw for her.”

  “It’s the last for me as well!” I exclaimed, distraught and frantic. “I cannot do it any more than Isabel could!”

  Now I understood why Kuan had questioned me about my feelings towards children: He had wanted to ascertain that I was capable of harming them if need be-and he had misinterpreted my lack of enthusiam to mean that indeed I was. Though I bore them not much affection, I could never conspire to make the six royal children “the innocents who shall suffer as recompense for the suffering of innocents.”

  “I know you don’t want to,” Mr. Slade said, “but forestalling it won’t be that simple.”

  My terror increased a hundredfold. “Kuan will kill me if I resist. What am I going to do?”

  Mr. Slade pondered while our time together swiftly fled. I saw, with a sinking heart, that there was no safe way to end my ordeal. Now I heard Nick’s footsteps coming towards me. Fearful and desperate, I beseeched Mr. Slade again, “What shall I do?”

  “Prepare to resume your old occupation as a governess.”

  Nick drove me back to the house. There I spent the day alone, for T’ing-nan refused to come out of his room for lessons, and I didn’t see Kuan or Hitchman. The house seemed deserted, except for Ruth, who served my meals. That night after dinner I became so drowsy that I must have been drugged again. I slept so soundly that I was aware of nothing until morning, when I again awakened feeling groggy and ill. I rose and dressed, then heard a knock at my door. I opened it to find Hitchman outside. He was wearing his coat, carrying his hat.

  “Pack your bags, Miss Bronte,” he said. “We’re leaving.”

  I was alarmed by the realization that Kuan’s plans were being set so abruptly in motion. “Where are we going?”

  “To London,” Hitchman said.

  “Why?” I said. But I already knew. Fear and anxiety rushed upon me.

  “I’ll explain on the way,” Hitchman said.

  “What about Mr. Kuan?” I said, trying to stall the inevitable. “Are he and T’ing-nan comi
ng with us?”

  “They’ve already gone.” Hitchman’s cruel smile mocked my dismay. “They left last night.”

  I comprehended that I had indeed been drugged last night, so that I wouldn’t hear their departure. I felt an awful despair. Kuan had vanished again, probably through the house’s cellars and the smugglers’ caves, then by boat out to sea. While I was still under the power of his henchman, I faced the threat of death unless I cooperated with his scheme.

  “Make haste, Miss Bronte,” said Hitchman. “The train leaves in an hour.”

  33

  Hitchman accompanied me to London on the train. He told me nothing of our plans, other than that I would receive further instructions when we arrived. While riding in the carriage, he sat beside me; at stations along the way, he rarely let me out of his sight.

  “If you have any thoughts of absconding, you had best forget them,” he warned me. “Kuan has men besides myself watching over you.”

  I didn’t see Mr. Slade during the trip, and I feared that we had become separated. The mundane business of eating box lunches and changing trains took on a nightmarish quality. The combination of terror and monotony was almost unbearable.

  We arrived at Euston Station on 4 September. Hitchman helped me out of the train onto the platform. Exhausted and disoriented, I wondered what misadventure lay in store for me. Then I saw, loitering amidst the crowds, a familiar figure. It was Lord John Russell, the prime minister. His hat shielded his face, as though he wished to obscure his identity. Hitchman called his name; Lord Russell turned. His startled, wary look of recognition encompassed Hitchman as well as me.