The Concubine's Daughter

by null

  During the days Li-Xia continued her studies with Ben, becoming ever more confident in the ways of a comprador. But there were also days when they put aside their duties. Golden Sky visited the ancient city of Hangchow, as famous for its temples and magnificent gardens as for its exquisite porcelain, and they explored its antiquities together, making private purchases to adorn the rooms of the Villa Formosa.

  Ben showed her the suite of rooms high above the Shanghai Bund, in the great House of Sassoon, which had once been occupied by his father. He was in the process of restoring them as offices for the company. He explained his intentions of soon discontinuing the shipbuilding operation in Macao, to concentrate on the Causeway Bay trading business in Hong Kong and Shanghai. It was in these two cities, the British colony of Hong Kong and the treaty port of Shanghai, he said, that future fortunes were to be made.

  Golden Sky sailed down the Yangtze River—to the fortress capital of Chungking, through the majestic gorges of the Yangtze Valley. Ben launched the dinghy, and they sailed its narrow tributaries to hidden villages poised upon fertile slopes. He showed her Yung-Po, the city of ghosts, with its old pagodas rising like minarets from the mountain mists; and the great Voice of Buddha Temple with its monolithic bell, heard as far away as the great lake of Tung-Ting. They walked among tea gardens and citrus orchards, visiting the Ming city of Datang, where nothing had changed for a thousand years, and they bartered for priceless watercolor paintings, masterful calligraphy, and the finest wild ginseng.

  At night, in the great four-poster bed, they discovered pathways to ecstasy beyond all expectation. By the time Golden Sky prepared for the return journey to Hong Kong, Li was astonished by the depth of their intimacy and the dizzying heights of her fulfillment. It made her wish that they could sail forever, with nothing but the sea and sky to follow them. But she knew that life could never be so perfect, and that she was now the mistress of a taipan’s house.

  The Devereaux estate on Repulse Bay covered a hundred acres of clifftop land, half of which had been turned into traditional Chinese gardens and the other half planted with the trees and flowers of a grand English manor. In its center, the rambling Villa Formosa was a masterpiece of East–West architecture, remarkable even by the standards of those few wealthy merchants and taipans who could afford to reside in the hills overlooking the famous bay.

  Towering wrought-iron gates, set in high walls and guarded by two armed and magnificently uniformed Sikhs, opened to a wide carriageway, leading to the villa’s imposing entrance, the celestial dragon of China and the legendary dragon of St. George facing each other across wide marble steps.

  During the eight years since Ben had first secured the land, only the finest craftsmen and artisans had worked on building the villa. The holds of Double Dragon vessels had carried back exquisite antiques, furniture, and works of art.

  Ah-Kin had shared his magic between Sky House and the Villa Formosa, building the most beautiful tapestry of gardens in the colony. It was, he would say with contentment, also his last. Ben had given him a corner plot of land where he and his family could be buried.

  Ben had not yet fetched Ah-Ho and the servants from Sky House, wishing to give Li-Xia time to adjust to the newness and opulence of her surroundings without interference. Li was grateful for this, sharing his pleasure in showing her around the large and airy rooms, their lofty ceilings illuminated by chandeliers of Belgian crystal, their walls hung with tapestries from Tibet and Mongolia and paintings by the greatest of Europe’s marine artists. The dining room sat twenty around a mammoth table of bird’s-eye maple with twenty green leather chairs. Paneled walls opened onto the breathtaking sweep of the ocean terrace.

  Ben’s study had been reconstructed identically to that of Sky House, the vast fir desk in position, every picture, every item and memento in its proper place. Even the magnificent fireplace had been rebuilt in smallest detail.

  “This room and its contents are a monument to my life. Everything of importance to me begins and ends at this desk and among these things.” He laughed lightheartedly, holding out his hand to her. “I sometimes thought I had the perfect life, believed my glass to be filled to the brim.” He pressed his lips to the palm of her hand and drew her close. “I know now, it has always been half empty.” As he led her onto the terrace, its luminous expanse skimmed by salt airs off the bay, Li had never seen him quite so carefree.

  Li was already overwhelmed by the magnificence that surrounded her when Ben pretended a second’s remorse. “There did not seem to be room enough for your ancestors,” he said in a vaguely businesslike manner. “It seemed to me that only farmers and those of little means would share their earthly domain with those who dwell in the afterlife.” His grin broke through. “So I have given them a house of their own, which I hope will have your approval and the blessings of the Fish.” He led her across the terrace to a wall of aged stone, almost hidden by a living screen of sacred black bamboo. Through its arched entrance stood a Buddhist shrine, its doors covered in shining gold leaf. The light green tiles of its circular roof matched those of the villa itself, sweeping upward like waves on a windy sea, their crest surmounted by a large ball of crystal held in the claws of twin dragons.

  “It was designed by a master of feng shui for the earth’s energies to gather here.” Ben spoke with deep respect. “He said it is a pinnacle of light in the spirit world, and awaits the occupation of your honorable ancestors.”

  It took Li a moment to absorb what stood before her. “I shall call it the Temple of Pai-Ling,” she breathed. “May she find eternal rest here and watch over us forever.”

  He gave her a silver key, closing her fingers around it. “Hide the key where only you will find it. Not even I need know its secret place. When you have spoken with those you love, I have a guest I would like you to meet. He awaits us in the study.”

  The key turned easily in the lock, the door opening smoothly at her touch. A single shard of light lanced through the crystal dome to throw a pool of radiance upon the figure of Kuan-Yin, the goddess of mercy.

  The guest Ben had mentioned came in the quiet, portly person of Sir George Chinnery, the celebrated painter of portraits. There were few dignitaries in the colony, from the governor and his wife to those wealthy enough to afford the artist’s outrageous fees, who had not sat for Sir George. Almost every day for a month, Ben and Li posed for several hours on the ocean terrace, she in her favorite cheongsam of crocus yellow, and Ben in the uniform of a master mariner. The completed life-size portrait was magnificently framed and hung in the study behind Ben’s desk.

  For many weeks, Li and Ben were attended only by the Fish and Ah-Kin and his family; the gardener’s son was hardworking and trustworthy and his wife a simple but excellent cook. A stone cottage in its own small compound had been built to house the Kin family, with quarters for other servants in a rear wing of the compound. The Fish had a separate room positioned close to the master suites in the eastern wing, adjacent to Li’s private rooms and guest quarters that would soon, it was hoped, be occupied by Winifred Bramble.

  The Fish pleaded with Li not to let Ah-Ho return. She had learned that Ah-Ho had been using the network of the sau-hai sisterhood to probe into Li’s past, all too eager to blacken the name of the girl from Ten Willows and to revive the tale of the fox fairy.

  “They say that only madness could have caused Di-Fo-Lo to drag you from the riverbed,” the Fish whispered. “Fools among them claim that what he fetched from the mud was a monster veiled by comeliness, a ghost to whom he has sold his soul.” She clasped her hands together in concern. “Ah-Geet, the driver, has said you went to him at his place of work and took his essence to feed your own. That he was defenseless against your fiendish charms.”

  The Fish begged Li to inform the master before it was too late. “You are mistress of this great house. This commands absolute respect. Do not show fear or uncertainty in this, or you will be defeated.”

  The old woman raised a warning finge
r. “You are protected here; the master has made sure of it. But you will never be safe while she is under your roof. You must tell him that Ah-Ho and her people must be paid a big lai-see to be placed with another household. He has many friends who will welcome the head amah of Sky House.”

  Li reached for her hand reassuringly. “If Ah-Ho is sent away, she will know it is my doing, and hate me even more. There is no escaping the sau-hai.” Not wanting to exacerbate the Fish’s growing fears, Li had decided not to tell her about the warning of the yellow talisman.

  “As you say, there is little she can do within these walls. It is better to face a viper in the open than in the bush. I will see that she is given all face, her money increased and her position unquestioned. In time, I will gain her trust and perhaps her respect. It is the best way; I am sure of it.”

  Seeing that the Fish was not convinced, Li felt less confident than she sounded. The old one did even not seem to hear her. “The immortal,” she croaked huskily, “he too saw danger in the sticks. He spoke of betrayal, an assassin who shadows your door. You must tell the truth of Ah-Geet to Master Ben, or the driver will destroy you.”

  Determined not to let the anxieties of the Fish or the musings of an ancient fortune-teller find a place in her mind, Li set about the business of becoming mistress of the Villa Formosa. Ah-Ho and the Sky House servants were brought from Macao to take up their duties, but the Fish alone cared for Li’s suite of rooms, adjacent to Ben’s in the east wing of the house.

  Although instinct told Li that this great adventure could not last, she resolved, for Ben’s sake and for her own, to savor every moment that she could. She did request that Ben find another position for the chauffeur, Ah-Geet, saying only that she did not feel comfortable in his presence. To her relief, Ben did not ask for details of Ah-Geet’s behavior, paying him off handsomely and finding him a position with an associate.

  It was easy to set aside her cares when she stepped onto the ocean terrace to look upon the sheltered bay, with its scattered islands and far horizons of the South China Sea, or walked the grounds that seemed to roam forever. Like the grounds of Sky House, the Ti-Yuan gardens were separated by a series of moon gates placed in such a way that each framed a different vision of perfection—so that one might move from one haven of serenity into another, interlaced by running streams and small cascades, with tinkling fountains feeding ornamental ponds. The trees were rare—shore juniper, dawn redwood, cherry plum, red silk cotton trees, and miniature mountain pine, along with shrubs that were known to attract a gallery of splendid butterflies. An orchard of persimmon, kumquat, and prince of orange served as a haven for a variety of birds, and the heavenly scent of gardenias lay over all. A five-bar gate separated the celestial gardens from a copse of silver birch and spruce trees more than ten feet tall. Daffodils and crocuses grew among them, their shaded spaces thick with bluebell and the elusive scent of Ben’s favorite Cornish violets.

  Leaving the gates in the early morning, the Sikhs saluting sharply, was a bracing adventure for Li. Ben had taught her to drive before they left Macao; now the rush of the sea wind snatched her breath away and tangled her hair, whipping tears of excitement from her eyes as she steered the Lagonda along the coast road to Causeway Bay. As in Macao, she had an office of her own above the godowns, where she spent hours immersed in the fascinating business of the comprador.

  In the early evening, with a brassy sun hanging like a temple gong over the water, Li and Ben would visit the gardens together. They shared this domain with no one, the servants keeping to their own enclosed courtyards and the Fish content to wait until she was called upon. Ah-Kin respected their privacy but welcomed them to take tea in the stone cottage, and discuss flowers and their seasons.

  Still, the peace and joy Li had found aboard Golden Sky, with nothing more than Wang’s flute and the song of a thrush to intrude upon their happiness, was lost. She could not shake the feeling that at least some part of her, perhaps the part that she had left among the mulberry groves, did not belong among such abundance. Enchanting as these riches were, she would have gladly traded them to be alone with Ben and the sea and sky, where nothing was hidden and the changing winds swept all things clean.

  The Fish was the first to know that Li was pregnant. Ben’s joy on learning of her condition was so great that it buried her hidden anxieties. An annex of Li-Xia’s bedroom was turned into a nursery room, only steps from her bed and left for her to decorate. She prepared for either a boy or girl, with a picture of a boy astride a lion on one wall, facing a girl clinging to the back of a crane in flight on the other.

  Ben was more considerate than ever, agreeing reluctantly that she could continue to accompany him to the Causeway Bay office whenever she wished, provided she followed the advice of her doctor. Ben had asked if she preferred a Chinese physician or a Western one, and she had left this choice to him. He enlisted the services of Dr. Hamish McCallum, a dour Scotsman known as “Mac” to his many associates, who had been a close friend and fellow director of the yacht club for more years than they chose to count.

  Seeing how much of Li’s time was spent outside, Ben resolved to build a ting—a garden pavilion or tea house where she could go to be alone, and even he must be invited as her guest. It would stand on the highest point of the estate, beneath an ancient Bodhi tree, as was chosen by Buddha himself. Li selected the name: the Pavilion of Joyful Moments.

  One month later, the ting was finished. Great pillars of redwood were placed precisely at the four cardinal points of the compass, each denoting a season of the year. Between these four sentinels were screens of sandalwood carved in designs of peach and plum blossom, enclosing two sides for privacy and leaving open views of the bay and the sea beyond. The floor was of white marble; at its center, the open petals of a lotus flower were set in pale pink jadeite, inlaid with stamens of amber, coral, and blue lazurite. Creepers of wisteria climbed around its entrance, dwarf gardenias lining a pathway intricately patterned with river pebbles.

  Inside, divans of rosewood scattered with embroidered cushions surrounded the marble table and four porcelain stools brought from the garden in Macao. Li entered its portals for the first time in the middle of the night. Unable to sleep, and careful not to disturb Ben, she found herself drawn to the pavilion at three in the morning. At its zenith, a full moon of honey yellow bathed the sea with its brightness, the stars competing for space and brilliance. She sat until dawn and called for PaiLing, but received no answer. Here, in the one place in all the world where she should have felt safe … she did not.

  When Dr. McCallum advised her not to go to the office any longer, Li found peace in the company of Ah-Kin, in quiet contemplation of the restful arts of gardening, or in selecting a book from her own small study. In the Pavilion of Joyful Moments she read of brave deeds, of brave men and even braver women. But each new day began and ended with offerings of fresh fruit and flowers in the Temple of Pai-Ling, where she spoke to her family in private and prayed for advice.

  Concerned that she might feel lonely, Ben presented her with a pair of chow puppies, balls of soft, flour-white fur with bright black eyes, round as shoe buttons, and with tongues the color of crushed blueberries. Li named them Yin and Yang, and they quickly became a much-loved part of her life, dashing among the trees after partridges, trotting on red leather leashes along the pathways, sleeping soundly on the cushions of the pavilion or upon her bed.

  To the Fish the dogs were a mystery. Her peasant birth had taught her that such creatures were best served up with bamboo shoots and hoisin sauce, with perhaps a dash of chili. But the happiness they gave Li was enough for her to tolerate them.

  The bond between Li and the Fish grew in heart and spirit as the old amah dedicated herself to her master’s wife and the birth of their son. The Fish twisted a jade bracelet on her thin wrist as she spoke of her childhood as a mooi-jai, sold at the age of seven to a family of Parsees. Her cousin was given away to the Voice of Buddha monastery.

&nbs
p; Now a seasoned midwife, she was taking every precaution dictated by the Chinese calendar and adding a few of her own to ensure Li’s child would be a boy. Li hated to admit it, even to herself, but although there was no question that life would be easier in every way for a son and heir, her heart yearned secretly for a girl. How wonderful her daughter’s childhood would be, how different from her own, how blessed by the support of a loving mother. But the Fish’s energies were so renewed by the prospect of Ben’s son, and her preparations to ensure the child’s safe arrival so tireless, that Li willingly complied with even her strangest edicts.

  Li had the traditional Chinese respect for her unborn child, believing that its “before sky,” or prenatal existence, was as vital as its “after sky,” or postnatal future. She accepted the old lady’s folk wisdom: Li was permitted no soy sauce, dark soups, or gravies to ensure that the boy would not have a dark complexion, to be looked upon as a peasant who was destined to slave in the fields. She must eat only clear broths and whipped egg whites to guarantee that his skin was smooth and fair. She must not lift her arms above her head or do anything more strenuous than stroll gently through the gardens. Most of the time the Fish urged her to rest in the Pavilion of Joyful Moments and sip an endless procession of herbal brews to boost her energy and strength.

  The Fish never even considered the possibility that the child might not be a boy. Every joss stick, every paper prayer, every burnt offering was aimed at the certainty of a son. Even the two scallions or hardboiled eggs left in the chamber pot for use in Li’s bedroom were omens tried and true to encourage the forming of testicles. Obediently, Li drank a strong tea of peach leaves to prevent morning sickness. Petals of dried peach blossom were scattered over her bed and a slip of peach wood hidden under her pillow to guard against the hungry ghosts.