The Concubine's Daughter

by null

  Indie Da Silva raised a hand, calling loudly as the launch gathered speed and the gap between them widened. “You find what you’re looking for, you let me know. China Sky is so full of holes, I won’t be going anywhere… . And you, Toby What everyournameis, you take good care of Ben’s girl, or I’ll come looking for you.”

  The taxi had hardly stopped outside the Happy Butterfly before Ruby was at the door. She was pale with terror, her words so wild that Sing had to hold her close before she was calm enough to be understood. “The taipan’s bodyguard, the one who came to Nine Dragons, he came in search of you.” The front door of the bar was locked, the windows boarded up. They entered from the back to find nothing but wreckage—mirrors smashed, chairs and tables overturned, broken bottles and glasses littering the floor.

  “He brought sai-lo, the younger brothers, with him; they did this. The Forceful One beat Lily. He choked her … but she told him nothing. I hid among the other girls. They have gone now; the bar is closed. I think the Shanghai doctor is trying to help Miss Lily.”

  Firecracker Lily lay on the bed in her private room upstairs, which looked even worse than the bar below. Shanghai Smith was mixing a potion, his medical bag open on the bed. Her face was swollen, an eye half closed, the bruises fresh upon her neck.

  Lily tried to speak, her words difficult to hear as Toby leaned close. Filled with anger and fear, she pointed at Sing as though she were a ghost. “The Forceful One came looking for this girl. He said her sung-tip belonged to the big boss Ching, and anyone who tried to hide her would pay for it. If he returns and finds her here—”

  Trembling, Firecracker Lily tried to sit up, but cried out in pain and agitation as Shanghai Smith pushed a needle into her fleshy arm. “Please, take this one and her chi-chi girl away. She brings very bad joss to the Happy Butterfly.”

  CHAPTER 30

  The Valley

  The old walled village of Lok-Choy-Lam was set in a valley at Fanling, on the border between Hong Kong’s New Territories of the Kowloon Peninsula and mainland China. Duck farms and fishponds were scattered among terraces of rice and market gardens as far as the eye could see. An air of tranquility settled over the valley, as though Kowloon and Hong Kong were worlds away instead of an hour by car. Rows of black-clad Hakka women bent over curving furrows, wielding hoes and carrying wooden buckets of water on springy bamboo poles, their wide-brimmed hats fringed with a valance of black gauze to shield them from the sun. Images from a separate world, unchanged by the passing of time, the women plodded serenely behind straining buffalo and wooden plows, chattering like sparrows.

  Sing felt a comforting sense of homecoming as the army vehicle bumped along tracks of yellow clay churned by ox carts and working buffalo, with geese scattering from under the lurch of their wheels and dogs barking at the grinding of gears. She was seated in the back with Ruby, while Toby sat beside the smartly turned-out Rajput driver steering skillfully through ruts of yellow mud. The driver’s wide mustache was neatly brushed and clipped, its pointed ends twirled with wax. At every opportunity, Sing noted, his deep-set dark eyes reflected in the rearview mirror seemed to seek those of Ruby, who sat quietly watching the passing countryside.

  Hardly anyone had spoken since they had left Kowloon behind. Finally, Sing felt forced to speak. “I am sorry to have caused such great trouble to your friend Lily.”

  Toby turned in his seat with a grin. “Firecracker Lily is no stranger to the ways of the triad enforcer,” he reassured her. “She has protection of her own, and I have taken steps to see there is no further trouble. The Yellow Dragon may terrorize the Chinese, but they avoid any confrontation with British authority that could lead to an investigation.” He paused warily. “This Ah-Keung, however, seems to have a mind and purpose of his own. For a man like that to be chosen as Ching’s personal bodyguard means that he is respected by his kind—and suggests he is also highly dangerous.”

  The vehicle pulled to a slithering halt beside a narrow bridge stretched across an irrigation ditch. “This is the farm of Po-Lok and his family, who supply the garrison with fresh produce. These Hakka people have cut themselves off from all but the Tolo Market a few miles farther on. I would trust Po-Lok with my life. You will be safe here for as long as necessary.”

  The driver left his place behind the wheel, and with a stiff salute opened the rear door, his dark eyes fixed ahead. “We must walk to the house,” said Toby. “As I’m sure you know, the Hakka rely on the buffalo and the ox cart for transport.”

  They had left Hankow Road so hurriedly that there was little to carry; Toby had promised to collect their belongings from the hotel and keep them safely. He had not asked why Sing wore the beaded sling so securely buckled.

  He led them across the bridge and onto a well-trodden pathway, among endless rows of cabbage, white radish, and sweet potato. Nearer to the farm house and its outbuildings was a field of ripening barley, the lower slopes terraced with flooded rice paddies glittering in bright sunshine.

  “Welcome,” Toby said, “to the Residence of Eternal Peace.” The first to greet them were the dogs, quickly silenced by Toby calling them by name. Po-Lok’s youngest wife, Kam-Yang, a robust woman of indeterminable age, hurried from the main house and bowed to Toby, who delighted her by bowing even lower as he introduced his companions.

  In the large, cool room kept for special occasions, they were received as honored guests. There were no telephones in the little valley and no other way of announcing their arrival but barking dogs, yet Po-Lok quickly presented himself, dressed in his best shirt and jacket of a Western style long forgotten. Tea and mooncakes were fetched for Sing and her companion, with bottles of cold Tsingtao beer for Toby. The host offered his deepest apologies for such miserable fare in such unworthy surroundings. The siu-jeh, his “younger sister,” and her worthy companion were welcome for as long as they cared to suffer the inferior hospitality of Po-Lok.

  There was a mill house, half hidden in a grove of citrus trees, well apart from the main buildings. Used as a store for winter rice, it could soon be cleared out and made comfortable. If the siu-jeh could suffer such humble accommodations, she and Ruby would be assured of their privacy. In return, Sing protested their unworthiness of such generosity in this place clearly blessed by heaven itself. With everyone’s honor satisfied and all face intact, Toby thanked Po-Lok and Kam-Yang and took his leave.

  “I wish I could stay longer,” he told Sing quietly, “but there is too much work to be done in these uncertain times. I think you will find it pleasant here. Meanwhile, I will follow up on our inquiries with my contacts in Shanghai and see if the teacher Da Silva mentioned is registered with the Ministry of Education. I will be back as often as I can.”

  As Toby started back along the pathway to the road, Sing had to stop herself from running after him.

  The small, two-story mill house was very old and a little tumbledown, but had a sound roof and thick walls. Downstairs, an old table and four stools had been hurriedly placed under a window looking out to the millpond. The room above held two small wooden beds and clean bedding, cooking pots, and candles, delivered by Kam-Yang and her giggling granddaughters.

  In contrast to the island of blue water hyacinth that bloomed in the pond, the walls and roof were overgrown with a tangle of wild honeysuckle. Tiny, heavily scented flowers framed the windows and door with a creamy, luster, drawing hosts of pale yellow butterflies. The tangy perfume of citrus blossom seemed trapped in the stillness of this quiet corner of the valley. So exquisite was this secret haven that it brought tears to Ruby’s eyes.

  Sing and Ruby were each given field hats and the short, wide-legged pants and jacket of waterproofed cotton worn by the Hakka. Invited to join the family for meals or to make their own in the makeshift kitchen of the mill, they preferred solitude to endless exchanges with their attentive hosts. There was little Sing could talk or think about but Toby and the discovery of her father’s fate.

  In her quietly contented manner, Rub
y turned the little stone house into a home, sweeping the flagstone floors and shining the windows. She picked sprigs of orange blossom, placing them in jars on the window-sills. She made sure there was always a pot of tea at hand.

  As she went about her tasks, Ruby sang songs from the land she was born in, soft and melodic, in her own language. In the evenings, by the light of an oil lamp, she worked with scraps of cloth in many colors and designs collected from the kindly Kam-Yang, stitching them with great skill and patience to make a mien-toi, a patchwork quilt for Sing’s bed.

  Nights in the Residence of Eternal Peace passed in the deep sleep that comes with the finding of sanctuary. Hard work, plain and plentiful food, and the absence of malice had brought a kind of comfort Sing had almost forgotten. If she and Ruby both knew this could only be temporary, they did not speak of it.

  On their third night, after a long walk exploring the slopes, they washed naked in the millpond, and enjoyed a supper of chicken dumpling soup. It was still early as they lay in their separate beds. Pleasantly tired but unable to sleep, Sing watched the rising moon through the open window; an owl hooted in the orchard and the far-off yap of a fox was lost in the distance. Sensing that Ruby too was awake, Sing said at last, “I am sorry that I have placed you in danger. Ah-Keung has hated me since I was two years old, even in my crib. I believe it is written somewhere that we are destined to face each other … I do not know when.”

  Ruby answered without hesitation. “I have spent my life in danger. But I am no longer afraid to see myself in the mirror, or ashamed to smile—and you have given me freedom. For that I will always love you.”

  Sing was thankful for her words, yet unable to shed the creeping burden of guilt. “So much has happened so suddenly, there has not been time for us to talk as we once did… . Is there room for me beside you?”

  A pause made her wonder if Ruby had fallen asleep, or had not heard the quiet words in the dark. This time when she answered it was not without an edge of sadness. “We shared a bed because that was the way to survive … it was expected of us. If we discovered pleasure and kept loneliness away, it was because we had no one else to turn to and nowhere else to go.”

  Before Sing could reply, Ruby spoke again, the sadness gone. “Things are different now. I think you have no need of me nor I of you. The young lord looks at you with tenderness; there is love in his eyes and a place for you in his heart. He longs for you to lie beside him. I think you long for this too.” She sighed playfully. “He will teach you more of love than I ever could.”

  Sing could not argue with Ruby’s words, but felt their loneliness. “The driver looked at you in such a way,” she said with a touch of laughter. “Did you not feel it?”

  “I have had my chance at such a wonderful thing, but it was taken from me. It will never come again.” There was a long moment of silence as the owl’s shadow crossed the window. “I think of love as the rarest, most beautiful bird … wonderful to see and sweet to listen to, but always out of reach. From the time we are born, if we are allowed to live, our only value is our virtue. It is traded and bargained for like a yard of silk or a jar of wine. While we are untouched, they will not leave us alone until a man old and unpleasant but rich enough to pay takes us painfully and without thought, to give him strength … and then we are forgotten.”

  She turned over in her bed, then spoke with no trace of bitterness. “Lie with the young lord, Siu-Sing; he is clean and kind, and I believe he truly loves you.” She yawned. “Soon you will find your father. I am content to see your happiness.”

  On her fifth day in the valley, the barking dogs caused Sing to look out the window. The whine of the army vehicle’s engine carried across the fields as it drew away, leaving Toby to follow the path through the barley field.

  It was a day of celebration, the Festival of Hungry Ghosts. Po-Lok and his family had left early for the fishing village of Tai-Po, a two-mile journey by ox cart laden with market produce and excited grandchildren in their festive finery. Ruby had gone with them, as if she had known that this was the day Toby would come.

  Sing found herself running to meet him. He walked with a long, easy stride, a large brown paper parcel under one arm, a short leather swagger cane swinging from the other.

  His voice reached out to her. “Is it me that you are so pleased to see … or the news I may bring?”

  “Both, of course,” she answered breathlessly.

  He paused for a moment beside the millpond, observing a family of water hens dipping among the hyacinth. “Can there be anywhere more idyllic than this peaceful valley?” he asked, ducking his head to follow her into the house. Tossing the package on the table by the window, he dragged a wooden chair across the flagstones, looking around the little space with its bright window, well-swept floors, and pots of freshly gathered orange blossom.

  “By the color in your cheeks and the light in your eyes, this little place agrees with you.”

  “We call it the Honeysuckle House,” she said, bringing a stone jug of fresh, cool orange juice to the table by the window. “Ruby squeezed this straight from the tree before she left this morning.”

  He sprawled comfortably in the chair, tossing the cane onto the table beside the parcel. “I have news of our inquiries… . Some of it you will be pleased to hear.”

  Sing filled the cups with juice. “What ever it is, I thank you for it, as I thank you for all you have done. I have burned joss sticks to the earth gods for your safety and good health.”

  He pretended to bow while seated. There was a moment of hesitation, as though he looked for a place to begin.

  “Unfortunately, our Shanghai contacts confirm everything we learned from your father’s partner.” Toby reached across the table to take Sing’s hand in his. “I regret to say it seems that … Captain Devereaux was lost with his ship.”

  Sing sat straight, but turned her face to the window. “There is, I am pleased to say, one promising discovery. Da Silva was right—your mother was tutored by an Englishwoman, Miss Winifred Barbara Bramble, a highly distinguished lady long retired but still living in Hong Kong. She is elderly but still very active socially and prominent in affairs of community welfare.”

  He waited as she turned to look at him, smiling at her look of anticipation. “The lady was astonished but delighted when I explained the reason for my call. She is eager to meet you, and we are invited to tea this weekend at her home on Stonecutters Island, a minute or two from Kowloon. She told me it was she who ‘snapped’ the photograph you carry. She was matron of honor at your parents’ wedding.”

  He pushed the package across the table. “It appears that Miss Bramble is a lady of considerable style and taste. I have brought you something to wear.”

  In the parcel, carefully wrapped in layers of paper, was a pink and white dress of the finest cotton. She dared not lift it from the bed of tissue, running her fingertips over the softness of the material. “It’s a summer frock, the kind an English girl would wear to a garden party or a fete. Colonel Pelham’s wife, Margaret, was kind enough to choose it. She insists pure cotton is cooler than silk… . I hope it fits; she had to guess, but has a daughter about your age.

  “She said you would need other things, so you will find them in the package too—gloves, shoes, a hat …”

  “I have never seen anything so beautiful,” Sing whispered.

  He stood up. “You can try it on later. What is it the Chinese say—‘pleasure before business’? It’s a beautiful day. Perhaps we should go for a walk.”

  She agreed eagerly. “Let me show you what I have found … a special place that will be our secret.”

  They walked the pathways through the fields, over the bridge across the paddies, and up the slopes to the thick jungle of head-high tiger grass that crowned the hilltops. The well-worn track wound past patches recently cut, leaving swaths of short yellow stubble. “We have been taught to cut and tie the tiger grass … it feeds the cattle and burns well when bound with ox dung. It re
minds me of the reed-cutters I knew as a child.”

  Halfway up the hill, almost hidden by sheltering trees, stood a ruined temple, its roof collapsing with age. “It is the Temple of Tien-Hau, shrine to the Last Tiger. Po-Lok says it has been here for many centuries.” She led the way through its overgrown courtyard and into the dark inner chamber. A group of wooden images, once brightly painted, stood in faded glory, surrounding the central figure raised on an open lotus flower.

  “She is the goddess Tien-Hau, protector of fishermen and farmers, sister to the earth gods.” On the wall above an altar was the skin of a tiger. “It is the last tiger to be found on this side of the border. Now its spirit stands behind the goddess, guarding the valley and those who live here.”

  Sing reached into a darkened corner. “Kam-Yang has given me fresh joss sticks. We will light three sticks and each say a silent prayer. If Tien-Hau hears us, she will grant any wish.”

  It was mid afternoon when they returned to the mill. The sun had lost much of its heat, throwing lengthening shadows among the orange trees. They were alone in the Residence of Eternal Peace, and she knew that there might never be another moment such as this. Even the beautiful things he had brought her must wait. Forbidden thoughts whirled in her head: the white skin of the Tanka girl in the marsh; the rose-petal hands and butterfly kisses of Ruby; the clean scent and honey-colored skin of Toby, the golden hairs on the back of his hands… . Her heart beat faster as she kicked off her sandals at the door and held out her hand. “You have not seen the room upstairs … let me show you where I sleep.”

  She led him up the narrow stairs—to find the little room filled with flowers. The beds had been pulled together, Ruby’s padded quilt smoothly spread and strewn with petals. There was little need of words as she began to loosen the ties that fastened her jacket, letting it slide from her shoulders.

  Toby stood for a moment, unable to speak, then whispered gently, “Are you sure?”