‘Busy road,’ the driver said, and just as he did, a wagon they had passed several miles back appeared around the bend. He flagged it down to warn the occupants of the danger.
But the rest of the journey was uneventful, and they arrived at Melbourne safely, as did the 752 troy ounces of gold from Rian’s claim carefully packed into the bottom of the picnic basket.
The following morning, Kitty rose early. The night before, they had taken rooms at the Criterion Hotel on Collins Street, and at breakfast shared a table in the dining room. Haunui presented an odd sight, sitting regally with a table napkin tucked into the neck of his shirt beneath his grizzled and heavily tattooed face. Judging by the agitated stares of the waiting staff, Kitty suspected they would have liked to have tossed him out, but were too frightened to do so.
Today he and Daniel were off to inspect the Katipo. It was a very good thing that Rian’s claim had proved to be so profitable: God knows how they would have paid for the well-overdue work on the schooner otherwise. Amber and Bao were to be left in Simon’s care, while she would attempt to find Wong Kai.
Breakfast over, Kitty stepped out onto Collins Street and walked until she came to a cab stand. When the driver dismounted from his seat to open the door for her, she told him she wanted to go to the area of Little Bourke Street that fell between Swanston and Russell Streets.
‘Chinatown? Are you sure?’ he asked, frowning. ‘That’s no place for a lady.’
‘Yes, I am sure,’ Kitty said as he handed her into the cab.
‘No shopping there, you know. Not for the likes of…well, people like us, if you know what I mean.’
‘I’m not interested in shopping. I have business to attend to,’ Kitty said as she sat down and arranged her skirts.
The cab driver shrugged; after all, he’d had much stranger requests. He closed the door and climbed back onto his seat.
The cab moved off and Kitty watched as the wooden and brick buildings of Collins Street went past the window. The streets here were not yet paved, but they were remarkably wide, the main streets at least, and, as it was approaching the height of the Australian summer, they were now also dry and dusty, a marked change from the mud and puddles she and Amber had dashed through in August. The town was no less busy, though. There were people everywhere—on foot, on horseback, and riding in carts and cabs and carriages.
The cab driver turned into Elizabeth Street, then Little Bourke Street, but stopped as he came to Swanston and slid back the covered window behind his head. Through the gap he informed Kitty, ‘I’d rather not take me horse in. Too hard to turn around. Will this do you, Missus?’
Kitty grinned to herself. ‘This will be fine, thank you.’ She let herself out, paid the driver and walked into Chinatown.
For people unaccustomed to the Chinese way of life, she supposed, this particular area of Little Bourke Street might seem a little disconcerting, but she had visited Shanghai and Canton many times and was familiar with the mystery and exoticism. Here, as there, the street was lined with all sorts of merchants, and provisions stores with their wares extending in orderly piles onto the street, and eating houses and Chinese apothecaries and doctors. Upstairs and behind the scenes, Kitty knew, would be the lodging houses and the premises of the tongs—the clan and district benevolent societies. And the opium dens.
The faces she passed were all Chinese, and they were neither friendly nor hostile. Some were curious, no doubt wondering what a white-skinned woman was doing wandering alone in the middle of the Chinese quarter.
Kitty caught the eye of a man who was trying not to let her see he was observing her, and stepped in front of him. ‘Excuse me, could you please tell me how to get to Celestial Avenue?’
The man stared at her, appeared momentarily flustered, said something in what Kitty thought might be Cantonese, then shook his head.
‘I’m sorry, do you not speak English?’
The man shook his head again, the oil dressing his queue gleaming in the sun, then hurried away, clearly embarrassed.
There was not a single woman in sight.
Kitty thought for a moment, then entered a shop. It was packed from floor to ceiling with goods in bales and baskets and boxes, on pallets and in packets and hanging from poles. There were foodstuffs, clothing, tools, fabrics, household goods and all things required for daily living. In short, it was exactly like a European general store, but with a very oriental flavour and the distinct, sharp and spicy smell that came with it.
At the rear stood a man behind a counter, watching Kitty with a gimlet eye as she approached. He was Chinese, but did not wear the usual queue; his hair was cut short, and he was dressed in well-cut grey trousers, a precisely pressed white shirt with a high collar, and a buttoned grey waistcoat. Kitty was fairly confident that he would speak English.
‘Good morning,’ she said. ‘I am looking for an address on Celestial Avenue. I wonder if you could tell me how to get there?’
The man appeared to consider the request. Then he spoke. ‘Who is it that you are looking for, may I ask?’ His English was very good.
‘I have business with a man named Wong Kai.’ The man’s face remained impassive, but an unguarded spark of interest—and unease?—flared in his eyes. ‘Do you know him?’ Kitty asked.
‘I know of him.’
Kitty suspected he was obfuscating. ‘I have been told that he resides on Celestial Avenue, although I have not been given the exact location of his residence.’ She withdrew Wong Fu’s letter from her reticule. ‘I have a letter of introduction from his brother. Perhaps this may help you to decide whether you wish to assist me?’
The storekeeper seemed to be engaged in some sort of internal debate. Finally, he said, ‘This is not my business, Mrs, er…’
‘Mrs Farrell.’
‘…Mrs Farrell, and I do not know what your business is with Wong Kai, but I do know him. I know him well and I warn you that he is not a man with whom you should involve yourself. He is a powerful man and—’
‘Yes,’ Kitty interrupted, ‘but I am here on family business, among other things, and I’m sure he will want to see me.’
‘He is a family man, I agree, but I fear you may not be as welcome as you seem to believe you will be.’
Kitty was getting sick of this. ‘Look, Mr…Shopkeeper,’ she said, moving closer to the counter and making the most of the fact that she was taller than he was.
‘I am Wu Chun-Kit,’ he said tartly.
‘Mr Wu, I have Wong Kai’s niece with me and I need to deliver her to him. She is not well. I appreciate your concern for my welfare, but I would like your help to find him. Can you oblige me or will I have to go somewhere else?’
Mr Wu took a moment to adjust his shirt cuffs, and Kitty could see that he had been somewhat startled by her outburst. ‘Mrs Farrell, I will be blunt. I have to say that I admire you, and for that reason I will help you. Your character and fortitude seem to be fashioned from some material that is not common to most European women. But it is not your welfare about which I am concerned: it is mine. Wong Kai is a business associate, but he is also…what is the appropriate English word? The overlord of the Chinese quarter. I will not endanger my business, or indeed my own health,’ he added with unexpected dryness, ‘just to fulfil your request.’ He wrote something on a scrap of paper and handed it to her. ‘So please do not say where you came by this information. Celestial Avenue is the second lane on your left.’
Kitty read the address on the paper, memorised it and gave it back. ‘Thank you, Mr Wu. I am most grateful.’
Mr Wu bowed. ‘Good luck, Mrs Farrell,’ he said, and allowed her a small smile, but behind it Kitty saw a ghost of real fear.
Chapter Thirteen
Haunui and Daniel picked their way across the cracked, barren flats bordering the Yarra, trying not to turn their ankles on the treacherous clods the sun had made of the winter’s mud. Down here it stank almost more than it did in the town—the shit, animal carcasses and unnameable sc
um collecting along the river’s edge testifying to the reason. There were perhaps a hundred vessels at anchorage, and Haunui and Daniel made a game of guessing their ports of origin as they tottered along, swearing energetically, until they came to the wharf at which the Katipo II was moored, a short distance below the falls. She was off her hull now, and standing proud against a backdrop of dozens of other masts and furled sails. Their boots on solid boards, they clomped out over the evil-smelling water and boarded the schooner, Daniel calling out as they did so.
Charlie Dunlop appeared from below a minute later, sucking on a pipe and drinking something the colour of crude oil from a mug.
Haunui sniffed the air suspiciously, but it didn’t smell like rum.
Charlie Dunlop’s empty left sleeve was neatly pinned just below the shoulder. A seaman himself, he had lost his arm to a shark off Fiji, and it had broken his heart not to be able to return to the life he loved. Hanging around ships in port was the next best thing.
‘Coffee?’ he offered, raising his mug.
Daniel declined, and introduced Haunui.
‘Aye, I met fellows like you in New Zealand. And in Hawaii and the Marquesas. You related?’
‘In the past.’
‘How’s the prospectin’ going? Made your fortune yet?’ Charlie asked Daniel.
‘We’re doing all right.’
‘Thought about giving it a go meself, but, well…’ Charlie waggled his stump, then emptied the dregs of his coffee over the side of the schooner. ‘You’ll be wanting to have a look around. Thinking of going back to sea, are you? I’d give my right arm to go with you.’ He laughed uproariously at his own joke, although it was obviously one he’d told many times. Glancing at the splint on Daniel’s forearm, he added, ‘What a pair of cripples, eh? What did you do? Get caught up in the stoush at Eureka?’
‘Fell down a mine shaft,’ Daniel confessed sheepishly.
‘Well, at least you’ll get yours back. Come below and have a look at what they’ve done with the cabin. Nothing flash, mind, but it’s exactly what Captain Farrell asked for, all nice and new. And that Frenchie fellow that does the cooking, he’ll be pleased with his new galley.’
‘Cajun,’ Haunui corrected.
‘Eh?’
‘He’s Cajun, not French.’
They had a good look around, and the ship’s fitters had indeed done a fine job. Back on deck, Daniel inspected the repair work and the new masts, and the coils of bristly, fresh rope.
‘Sails shouldn’t be far away,’ Charlie said. ‘Sailmaker said he could salvage a few, but that they were all mostly on their last legs. Said it’s a wonder you actually got to Melbourne.’
Daniel nodded. ‘When does he think they’ll be ready?’
‘Another month? A few navy ships are in and wanting work, and they pay better, of course. And he says he don’t do ensigns, so you’ll have to get your own.’
‘Can you send us a message when they’ve been fitted?’
‘I can,’ Charlie said agreeably.
Daniel thanked him, gave him the money Rian had sent, and he and Haunui trudged back to town, Daniel holding his splinted arm against his belly to ease the ache.
‘Rian’ll be pleased,’ he remarked.
Haunui decided that now was as good a time as any. Without turning his head, he said, ‘He won’t be if you keep on saying silly things to his wife.’
Daniel’s pace faltered, but he kept walking. He didn’t say anything for almost a minute; then, ‘Who told you? Kitty?’
‘No, Simon.’ Haunui glanced at Daniel out of the corner of his eye to gauge his reaction, but saw only a resigned acceptance. ‘He wasn’t telling tales. He’s worried, eh? For Kitty and for Rian. And for you.’
‘I was drunk, I didn’t mean to say it.’
‘Ae, I know you didn’t mean to say it, but you did. And Rian could have heard you. He would have had your balls for ear pendants. And, boy? How do you think it made Kitty feel, eh?’
Daniel blew out his cheeks, lifted his hat and swept his hair back off his face. ‘I know, I’ve been thinking about it and I feel like a shit. I’ve never said anything like that before. I’ve always, well, I’ve never said anything at all.’
‘Ae, I know. Simon said.’ They’d come to a public house, and Haunui stopped and gestured at the door. Daniel nodded and they went inside, waiting for a moment while their eyes adjusted to the gloom.
They each bought a pint of ale and sat down. ‘It’s been ten years, boy,’ Haunui said, as though there hadn’t been a break in the conversation. ‘There’s nothing you can do about it. Nothing is ever going to come between those two. Certainly not you.’ He knew he was being blunt, and that Daniel wouldn’t appreciate hearing it, but it was probably better for the lad coming from someone he didn’t know particularly well.
‘Look, I know that,’ Daniel said, his mood fraying slightly now, although Haunui sensed that the anger was only masking a bone-deep hopelessness. ‘And, well, there’s nothing else to be said, is there?’
‘Not really.’
‘No.’
Haunui took a long draught of his ale, then stifled a burp. ‘Good, ’cause you can’t have her, boy, and that’s that.’
Daniel stared stonily into his drink; Haunui knew exactly how he felt.
Kitty rapped on the door and waited. After more than a minute, a small slot opened and a pair of dark, suspicious eyes peered out at her.
‘Good morning, I’m looking for Wong Kai,’ she said. ‘Is he here, please?’
The eyes stared for a second, then the slot snapped shut.
Damn, Kitty thought. But she waited.
The slot opened again and the eyes reappeared. ‘Who is speaking?’
‘My name is Mrs Kitty Farrell. I am here on business relating to Mr Wong’s family. I have a letter from his brother, Wong Fu.’
The slot closed again.
Kitty crossed her arms and looked around. Celestial Avenue, which came off Little Bourke Street, was a very narrow lane not even wide enough for a cart to enter. It sliced between wooden buildings that stood two and three storeys high and barely allowed the sun to reach the ground. Where it did, several skinny dogs sunned themselves in the dust. The doors that opened off it were featureless, and the windows, some glazed and some shuttered, unwelcoming. The distinctly pungent smell of dried fish lingered in the air.
The door opened to reveal a man in tunic and trousers, and an embroidered skullcap. ‘He says he will see you for five minutes.’ He stepped aside, which Kitty took as a signal to enter.
Immediately in front of the door was a steep set of stairs. The man went up first, his slippers making a whispering sound on the bare wooden treads. Behind them, the door swung shut, closing out most of the light. At the top a dimly lit hall stretched ahead of them, its closed doors leaking muffled sounds as they passed. But one room was open, revealing two large tables occupied by Chinese men intent on, at one, the counters and bowl of fan tan and, at the other, the character-covered paper tickets of pakapoo. Several glanced up as she passed, perhaps startled to see a European woman in their midst, but most were too preoccupied with their gambling to notice her.
The man led Kitty to the end of the hall to another closed door; the air was laced now with a musty, sweet smell, and Kitty thought she knew what would be behind it. When the door opened, he took Kitty’s elbow and escorted her inside.
She had never been in an opium den before. Rian had, in Shanghai, and she suspected that some of the crew had as well, and not just on business, but Rian had never allowed her to visit one. She imagined he would be rather cross if he knew she was here now. Perhaps she just wouldn’t tell him.
There was one small window, draped with a fall of red cloth, in the comparatively large room, and two lamps on the wall, but no other light. Six wide divans lined the space, each occupied by two people. They lay propped on large cushions, a tray of opium-smoking paraphernalia between them. Some slept; some chatted in quiet, relaxed tones. The
only reaction to her presence seemed to be mildly curious glances. The room was clean, the carpet of good quality, and the linens on the divans appeared fresh. The air was thick with smoke and Kitty fancied she felt it going straight to her head. If Mr Wong was on one of the divans, she didn’t think they would be having much of a conversation.
‘This way,’ her escort urged, and led her through yet another door concealed behind a wall-hanging.
In this next room, the air was much less redolent of opium. Wong Kai—and it surely must be him, as the resemblance to Wong Fu was very strong—sat in a velvet-upholstered, high-backed chair, buffing his fingernails. His long robe was of deep blue silk, and his hair hung unbraided down his back. He was clean-shaven and Kitty thought he looked remarkably benign for a man with such a fearsome reputation. To one side was a desk piled high with what appeared to be invoices and receipts and various ledger books, and an abacus.
Wong Kai gave his thumbnail a final, careful pass with the buffer and looked up. ‘Ah, thank you, So-Yee. You may go now. Mrs Kitty Farrell, I presume?’
‘Yes. I am pleased to meet you, Mr Wong,’ Kitty replied, hoping it was indeed him. ‘You are not an easy man to locate.’ Wong Kai smiled, and she had the distinct impression that he knew full well she had been looking for him.
‘And I am pleased to meet you.’ He set his nail buffer aside and indicated a chair with an ornately carved dragon climbing up its back. ‘Welcome to the Chinese quarter. Please, do sit down.’
Kitty did so, and instantly regretted it because the seat was very close to the ground and now she had to look up at him.
‘May I offer you tea?’
‘Yes, thank you,’ Kitty replied with genuine gratitude. She was parched.
When So-Yee had been summoned and the tea served, she said, ‘Mr Wong, I am here about your niece Bao.’ Wong Kai’s face stilled and his brows lowered a fraction; Kitty noticed, but she went on. ‘Your brother Wong Fu is a friend of both me and my husband, Captain Rian Farrell. A good friend. Bao is also a companion of our daughter, Amber. Bao has not been well of late, and Wong Fu believes she needs time away from Ballarat, so he has asked me to escort her here to stay with you and your wife.’ Kitty paused to allow Wong Kai to make some general sort of comment about Mrs Wong, but there was none. ‘That I have done. She’s presently at my hotel with my daughter—I did not wish her to accompany me this morning in the event that I couldn’t locate you. I’m not convinced that this is an altogether safe town.’
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