“A pity,” Mycroft said, “as there is much one can glean from the graphs that a human hand forms.”
He turned back to Ai Lin. “And you have a keen interest in herbs,” he said.
“It is an interest by default,” she replied as the lads resumed their discussion on the fighting arts. “What truly fascinates me is systematic investigation into medicine; its frontiers, you might say. The work of Louis Pasteur, for example. Do you know of him?”
Mycroft nodded. “Some years ago, Pasteur suggested that microorganisms might be the cause of disease in animals and humans,” he said, “and more and more evidence points us in that strange but fascinating direction.”
“Ah, so you do know!” she exclaimed, her eyes shining. “I thought you might.”
“But if the frontiers of medicine call to you,” Mycroft asked, “then can you not pursue them even as a sort of pastime?”
Ai Lin laughed. “Mr. Holmes, that is no sort of ‘pastime’ for a Han woman!”
“But you are of the Hakka subset, are you not?” he argued. “Which values education even for women. I have a friend, Dr. Joseph Bell, whom I greatly admire, and who is quite open-minded. I am certain he would be only too happy to—”
“Oh, Mr. Holmes, no!” Ai Lin exclaimed as if he had just offered to apprentice her in the nearest brothel. “I could never become a real physician. Ever. It would shame my family. No, the Hakka value a woman’s ability at music and languages. And even if that were not the case, our family is still bound to our more encompassing Han tradition. An exemplary Han woman is put on earth to give her husband good advice, to be heroic, and to sacrifice herself for her family. Not to play about with creatures that cannot be seen with the naked eye.”
“But surely times are changing even in China,” Mycroft persisted, sounding, even to himself, slightly pitiable. Was he truly expecting to change the course of tradition with one paltry meal? Would she see the light and leap into his waiting arms? And what of the sinister William Angel? Would he join their happy family as butler, coachman, and procurer of young boys as human pincushions for drug addicts?
“Perhaps for my grandchildren,” Ai Lin was saying. “But not for me. Our stories are filled with cautionary tales about ambitious, manipulative women who create only chaos and destruction. We are taught to study the seven virtues appropriate to women.” She counted them on her lovely fingers: “Humility, resignation, subservience, self-abasement, obedience, cleanliness, and industry. ‘Medicine’ is not among them.”
Mycroft smiled sadly. “And how are you faring with those virtues?”
“I lack several, as you may have guessed,” she replied. “That said, do not be fooled, for I am modern only in words, and then only when my father is not present.”
Indeed, when her father entered the room moments later, the atmosphere took a definite turn. Deshi Hai Lin was some fifty years of age, and about Mycroft’s height. He wore a tángzhuāng of silk, plain but very well made. There was no doubt he was the gentleman that Mycroft had spotted little more than a week before with Cainborn—although this night he seemed tired to the point of debility.
Deshi Hai Lin apologized for his lateness. From the moment he sat down, his children’s eyes were on him. Dai en-Lai was deferential, Ai Lin solicitous. And Mycroft realized immediately that neither was doing so out of fear or even familial reverence. These children loved their father.
Sherlock, for his part, seemed to have lost interest in the proceedings. No longer basking in Dai en-Lai’s undivided attention, he fidgeted in his seat, left his pudding untouched, and took to squinting into his dessert wine as if it were a crystal ball.
As Mycroft dug into his apple charlotte, he tried to engage the elder Lin in conversation, casually asking about his background.
“I am from Canton, Mr. Holmes,” was all Deshi Hai Lin offered, smiling slightly but staring off into the middle distance. “My children were young when I left, and I… younger than I am now.”
“What year was that?” Mycroft asked.
“1859,” he replied.
“Ah,” Mycroft said. “A difficult year for Canton.”
“Very difficult, yes,” Deshi Hai Lin said, glancing down at his dessert.
“Papa is invested in the coolie trade in reverse,” Ai Lin said. “He aims to eradicate it in his lifetime.”
Deshi Hai Lin cut off a portion of apple charlotte, his fork hovering in midair. “I am afraid my daughter thinks too highly of me,” he said with a sigh. “She will not boast about herself but will boast about me to whoever will listen.”
“But what she said is true, Papa!” Dai en-Lai countered.
“And my son takes after my daughter,” Deshi Hai Lin quipped before adding, “I confess that I inquired of Ai Lin just whom we were permitting into our home in such haste. And I discovered that you are special consul to the Secretary of State for War. So you must be aware what a scourge the so-named coolie trade is.”
“I am, yes,” Mycroft said.
Sherlock suppressed a yawn.“What are we talking about?” he asked in a tone so laconic it was a wonder he did not lay his head upon the table and drift off.
The Vin Mariani had lost its hold, and Sherlock was clearly experiencing the reverse: a nettled sort of dispiritedness. Mycroft could only thank Providence that this downturn in humor and stamina had deigned to wait until the final course.
“Foreign vessels arrive in Canton and Whampoa,” he explained to Sherlock, “where they feign to employ emigrant laborers when instead they are in cahoots with Chinese crimps—kidnappers—who collect thirty U.S. dollars for every human delivery they put on board. Then in Havana, this chattel is resold for four hundred a head, never to be heard from again. Thanks to Britain’s efforts and the United States’, the trade has abated, but it is far from eradicated.”
Deshi Hai Lin nodded. “Even with proof of the crime,” he volunteered bitterly, “nothing is done: their lives matter to no one. But they matter to me, Mr. Holmes. And I will go a long way to prevent it from happening. A very long way indeed!”
“Papa purchased individual workers in Cuba and sent them to work aboard his ships as free men,” Ai Lin explained.
“Why, that is commendable!” Mycroft said.
“Yes. Over the past few years several have risen through the ranks to positions of authority aboard the ships. One is now in charge of the welfare of all the others…”
Deshi Hai Lin suddenly grasped the edges of the table as if he were in danger of falling. “A bargain with the devil! A dozen devils!” he amended. “But I will teach them! I will let my ships rot in the docks before I—”
“Papa!” Ai Lin exclaimed.
“Papa, that is enough!” Dai en-Lai joined in. “You are upsetting yourself!”
Deshi Hai Lin drew a deep breath. “I am afraid my son is correct, Mr. Holmes,” he murmured after a moment. “William?” he said to the butler. “Perhaps it is time to retire to the library.”
Angel bowed slightly. “Of course, sir. Our latest procurement is a very fine single-malt Scotch, Smith’s Glenlivet, if you and your guests would care to indulge…”
Mycroft glanced at Ai Lin, whose nerves seemed on edge. “It sounds delightful, but I would be sorry to leave such fine company…” Mycroft began.
“No fear, Mr. Holmes,” she replied. “We break with tradition in that my father allows me access to the men’s after-dinner conversation, as well as their libations…”
But Deshi Hai Lin sprang abruptly to his feet. “I am not feeling … quite myself,” he stammered. “If you will please excuse me.”
“By all means!” Mycroft said, rising as well, while silently urging Sherlock to do the same.
Ai Lin rose too, placing her napkin on the table. “Father,” she said calmly, “may I accompany you to your chamber?” Without waiting for a reply, she smiled wanly at her guests and added, “Mr. Holmes, Master Sherlock, please do not begrudge us this infelicitous evening. I shall importune you with another in
vitation at a more auspicious time. William? Dai en-Lai? Kindly see to the comfort of our guests.”
With that, she took her father’s arm, and together they made their way out of the dining room.
As Dai en-Lai looked sheepishly from one Holmes to the other, Mycroft came to the rescue. “I admire your taste in spirits, Mr. Angel,” he said. “Would you consider a quick tour of your wine cellar?”
“It would be my privilege, Mr. Holmes,” Angel said with a bow.
“Master Dai en-Lai, might you entertain Sherlock another few minutes?” Mycroft added.
Dai en-Lai looked relieved, while Sherlock pursed his lips to intimate that he was more than done with the entire affair.
45
WILLIAM ANGEL LED MYCROFT DOWN A SET OF STONE STEPS to the cellar. It was narrow and cool, its contents sorted in a hundred open boxes stacked one atop the other, with a pyramid of bottles on the inside of each, marked by a rectangular tin tag held in place by wire. On the tag, the contents were written in chalk: Chambertin, Clos de Bèze, Île-de-France, and so forth. They were dusty wares of adequate but unexceptional vintage, along with port and dessert fare: a further indication that Deshi Hai Lin had no passion for spirits, and that the three cases of Smith’s Glenlivet were bought to be noticed and not as a matter of course.
As Angel lit a lamp, Mycroft edged up to a box, slipped a bottle out and sequestered it behind his back. In his present physical state, should Angel strike, he feared he would not be able to defend himself without a weapon at the ready.
“It was you at the reins when your employer met with Professor Cainborn outside the National Standard Theatre,” Mycroft began. “You and Mr. Lin who followed us to Nickolus House; you who nearly put us under the wheels outside Madame de Matalin’s abode; you who left the Australian sovereigns at Regent Tobaccos—”
“Yes, Mr. Holmes,” Angel replied quietly, turning to him. “From the moment I realized who you were, I knew I had to try and gain your notice. But as you can plainly see, I could not leave my name, nor meet with you in person without arousing suspicion.”
“And why should you wish to gain my notice?”
“Because of your brilliance,” Angel said. “Your coachman Huan speaks of you fondly. He recounted your Trinidadian exploits to perhaps one or two people, but our Chinese community is miniscule, and word travels like wildfire.”
He stepped closer to Mycroft, who tightened his grip around the neck of the bottle.
“What do you know of Professor John Cainborn?” Mycroft asked.
“Mr. Holmes,” Angel replied softly. “May I remind you that I am the butler of this household, and not peer or confidante? I do not wish to disappoint you, but I know nothing of my employer’s meetings, other than I am called upon to drive occasionally.”
“Did you hear their conversation?”
“No, nor would I have, if given the chance to do so,” Angel said with a tremulous look at the half-open door at the top of the cellar stairs. “All I can tell you,” he added in an urgent half-whisper, “is that something untoward is destroying the peace of this household!”
“Mr. Angel,” Mycroft said somewhat impatiently. “Whether or not I will help you, I cannot do so unless you tell me plainly what the matter is.”
William Angel drew a breath. “One of the men my employer rescued has now stolen the reins of power—”
“Stop there. Rescued from what, specifically? Are we talking still of men he purchased in Cuba to work aboard ship?”
“In 1859 in Canton, two brothers were falsely accused of kidnapping native-born men and selling them into slavery. They were thrown into prison to stand trial, but a raging mob dragged them out and was about to behead them when my Mr. Lin rescued them! One now shows his gratitude by turning his best men against him… forcing my employer’s hand with the export of a new and very powerful drug…”
“The export, you say? Not the import?”
Angel shook his head. “It is manufactured here in England and then sold abroad, mostly in China.”
“For gold?”
“Yes. Users in other countries make their first purchase on the recommendation of wealthy users here.”
“Such as Madame de Matalin,” Mycroft said softly.
At that, Angel’s eyes filled with tears. “Yes,” he stammered.
“And how did you find the boys who were used to test this powerful new drug?” Mycroft demanded.
“I? No. I had nothing to do with procuring them!”
“Then who did?”
“I wish I knew, Mr. Holmes!” Angel whispered, shaking his head. “My task was merely to introduce them to the Madame, for she trusted me. When told to, I went for them at The Water Monkey, a local opium den.”
“And how did you come to be part of this?”
“Madame de Matalin and I were both addicted to papaver somniferum,” Angel explained. “When her butler began to procure for her, he came to me, for we were in the same profession, and he knew my habit to be as voracious as hers. She wished to meet me and took an instant liking to me… typical of drug users with the same habit, I must say. I became the only person she truly trusted when it came to… our habit, and so I had to be brought into the mix, regardless of anyone’s feelings about it, including mine.”
“And what is this ‘new drug’?”
Angel sighed deeply. “Again, Mr. Holmes, I cannot tell you. I have borne a terrible secret for a very long time, and it has led me down many dark paths. My Mr. Lin is convinced that the sleep-inducing poppy ruined Chinese society. Had he known of my use, he would have fired me long ago, and that would have been the end of me. A year ago, Ai Lin discovered my secret and began to treat me with kratom and other herbs. She saved my life and my career. I have not had any altering substances in more than six months.”
“So the new drug was first exported in summer…” Mycroft murmured.
“I believe so, yes,” Angel said.
“In dolls?”
Angel shook his head helplessly. “Again, I…”
The front doorbell rang upstairs, and Angel cast a worried glance up at the cellar door.
“What of the gold?” Mycroft persisted. “Why bring it to me?”
“I know only that there is something unique about it and that it causes my employer much heartache. I was charged with disposing of it—spending it—for goods that would not draw undue attention.”
“These two men, the ones who were nearly beheaded, the ones Mr. Lin saved. Have you ever met them?”
“No. But as I said, our community is miniscule, and scars such as theirs are difficult to hide. I believe them to be Kang Chen and his brother, Ju-long Chen. Kang works the ships. Ju-long is the proprietor of the opium den near Shadwell Docks that I spoke of, The Water Monkey.”
They heard the soft padding of feet at the top of the stairs, and then Ai Lin’s strained voice: “Mr. Holmes? I have been called away; it is rather an emergency, I am afraid. William? Might you drive me?”
“Of course, miss!” he replied. “The carriage shall be ready forthwith!”
Her footsteps retreated, William Angel turned to put out the light, and Mycroft returned the wine bottle to its slot.
“Please. Find out what you can of my employer’s business dealings. And come to his aid, I beg you,” Angel said as he snuffed out the flame.
* * *
At the front door, Dai en-Lai Lin let Sherlock go only after several assurances that they would not lose touch. That settled, he and Mycroft were just stepping out when Ai Lin, in a traveling cloak, rushed up to them and pressed something into Mycroft’s hand, looking up at him with those tourmaline-colored eyes.
“Thank you,” she said before hurrying off.
It was only when she was out of his sight that Mycroft realized what he was holding: a small square tin, along with a note.
As the front door shut behind them, and Sherlock waved impatiently for the carriage, Mycroft opened the tin to find two small sacks of herbs. He licked a fi
nger and tasted both. The first was green tea. The second was a mixture of hawthorn, St. John’s Wort, and garlic.
Ai Lin’s beautifully written note said only:
One teaspoon in the tea twice per day.
For your heart.
A.L.
Mycroft recalled Georgiana’s anguished face, her words moments before she died: Dearest, she had cried out. Guard your heart!
Another woman, he thought, with the same advice!
“What is that?” Sherlock asked with a sidelong glance and a distinct lack of interest.
“For headaches,” Mycroft replied, refolding the note.
“Since when are you plagued with headaches? You are not mimicking Mother, I hope! Oh, and by the by, I know her doll’s name.”
“Mother’s?” Mycroft inquired absently.
“Mother’s doll? Have you gone completely daft? Ai Lin’s doll!”
“You noticed Ai Lin’s doll?” Mycroft asked, eyeing him open-mouthed.
“Well naturally I noticed it! That abomination nearly made me jump out of my skin! I asked Dai en-Lai if the thing had a name, and he told me ‘Jacinthe.’ Their father gave it to her a year or so ago. Quite the coincidence, would you not agree? What with the symbols being names of flowers?”
“Flowers and herbs,” Mycroft corrected, his voice raw.
Is it possible, he asked himself, that Ai Lin is somehow complicit?
“Flowers and herbs?” Sherlock repeated, but he ceased speaking when the front door behind them opened and William Angel stepped out, the color drained from his face.
“Our carriage departs in a few moments,” he said, looking directly at Mycroft. “You will recognize it. I would be obliged if you would follow.”
With that, Angel turned and was about to enter again when Mycroft called to him.
“Mr. Angel! Will your bodyguards be accompanying you?”
“Yes, Mr. Holmes, they must. They are charged to follow the mistress wherever she goes.”
“What of your employer? Can no one remain with him? He may be in danger. He is having troubles with his employees, that we know. There is a struggle for power. Perhaps Ai Lin was called away on a ruse, to rid the house of her, of you, and of the bodyguards.”
Mycroft and Sherlock Page 24
