Tempted Tigress

by Jade Lee

  Again Wife Number Two spoke. “What was it that you sold?”

  “I convinced my husband to bring me along when he traveled south. I told him I could make him happy. We could make another son.”

  First Wife knew the next step. They all did. “Your father pursued you. Everyone would know where you were going. A mission from the Dowager Empress would be known by all. Silly girl, it would be easy to follow you.”

  Anna nodded. “I gave my father all the jewelry I had. It was worth far more than what I stole, but he was not satisfied.”

  “Men do not get satisfied,” murmured Fifth Wife. “They always return for more.”

  Anna focused on the young girl and nodded quietly. How many times had she suffered at the hands of her husband? “Yes,” Anna confirmed. “He demanded more. And when I had nothing, he hit me.” She showed the bruises on her ‘ arms, the ones given to her by the villagers and the slaver.

  Wife Number Four finished the tale then. “He tried to steal you back. He grabbed you and ran but the mandarin pursued. He found you—”

  “And he killed your pretend father,” said Number Five. “The evil Ssssamuel.”

  “And then you ended up here?” scoffed Number Two. “I do not believe you. Why would your husband not take you back home then? Why not to your boat to shower gifts upon you?”

  “Because it only just happened!” retorted First Wife. “Did you not see the blood on his jacket when he arrived here? Was she not wearing peasant clothing that hung on her like a sack? It was because of the blood, because he only just killed the evil father.”

  Anna let them squabble, noting who sided with her, who did not. It was Wife Number Two who was most suspicious, most disbelieving of a happy future. And given her crippled form, the woman had cause to be skeptical. So Anna directed her tears to that woman, showing her agony to the one woman who could not believe.

  “No, no,” she whispered. “That is not at all what happened.”

  It took a moment for them all to quiet enough to hear her. But when they did, she once again had a rapt audience. She told them, as quickly as she could, of being caught by the villagers, of the slaver who had come to sell her into an unspeakable life, and of her “husband’s” dramatic rescue. It wasn’t easy, and yet it wasn’t hard either. She dwelled on his warmth, on the security she’d felt in his arms and how if he hadn’t arrived when he did…

  And as she spoke, she felt a Tightness in her words. The mandarin had saved her. He had been very kind to her. The question was why? But that was not something to be answered now. Instead, she turned her tragic gaze back to Wife Number Two.

  “He does not know,” she whispered. “He does not know my father still pursues us. He does not know that if we return to the boat, my father will be waiting nearby for the next time I am alone.” Her voice trembled and she clutched at her skirt, crushing the delicate silk.

  “Tell him!” Wife Number Three said. “Tell him and he will protect you.”

  Anna bit her lip. Chinese wives had a long tradition of keeping secrets from their husbands. They understood the companionship of sisters, the silent hiding of sins from one’s husband. And so she closed her eyes and allowed tears to fall.

  “He will hate me then. He thinks… I never told him the truth of my childhood. I let him believe I was a rich white girl lost in China.” She bit her lip. “He has a terrible temper. I fear he will kill me if he learns the truth.”

  She peeked upward, studying the women’s faces. They understood the fear of being killed by one’s husband. Then she raised her head, noticing something for the first time. There was a gap in ages between Wives Three and Four. The youngest two might not even be twenty yet, whereas Wife Number Three was mid-thirties at least. That often happened when a man could not afford a new wife. Or…

  “You know,” she whispered. “You know of men who kill their wives, don’t you? The governor had other wives, didn’t he?”

  All five women looked away. In the end it was left to First Wife to answer the question. “There were two others. We do not speak of them. The two here—FuXi and LiBo—should be Wives Number Six and Seven, but we do not speak of the others.”

  Wife Number Two kept her face averted the longest. She spoke in the softest of whispers, her face turned to the wall. “We do not speak of the others,” she repeated.

  “So you understand,” Anna responded. “You know I cannot tell him. I have to appease my father.” She swallowed. It was time to finish this. It was time to get what she needed and disappear, as fast as possible. They would give it to her now. The First Wife was definitely on her side, along with the youngest two. Even if Wife Number Two suspected the lies, she would be silenced by the others. Besides, they all needed to believe in the dream she had created. They all needed a part in making it come true. When she got to England, she would buy them something wonderful—English lace for their clothing and mechanical toys for their children. Something special to make up for what she took from them now. She would do that as soon as she could. But for now…

  “What does your father demand?” First Wife asked.

  Anna raised her eyes, pretending to an innocence she had lost within a week of leaving the mission. “I couldn’t ask it of you. You have been too kind.”

  “Our husband is very rich,” put in Wife Number Three. “We have more than enough of everything. Surely we could share. What do you need?”

  They were committed now. Whatever she asked for, Number Three had just committed them to supplying it. Anna mentally upgraded what she could ask for. Meanwhile, she blinked back more tears. “You have been so kind… “

  “Enough!” snapped the First Wife. “We will not sit by and watch you killed. What do you need?”

  Anna opened her mouth to answer. The word was simple and eloquent on her tongue, but she never got the chance to voice it. Someone else said the word. Someone who had been listening silently for some time. Someone who might very well kill her for what she had just done.

  “Opium,” he said from the doorway. “She wants opium.”

  Anna turned and saw the mandarin standing there, his expression as hard as stone. Anger poured out of him, staining the room like spilled ink.

  “My husband!” she cried, hoping to distract him. It didn’t work.

  His expression remained trained on her, but his words were for the rest of the room. “I am here on a mission from the Dowager Empress. I am to find those that poison China with the white dung powder.” He took a step further into the room. “My job—my sworn duty—is to kill any I find possessing opium.” His gaze left Anna’s face. He slowly inspected each woman, one after the other. Each shrunk from him in terror, bowing and sidling backward if they could.

  Anna swallowed, recognizing the speech for what it was. The Enforcer always said such a thing to the wives and the children. He told them who he was, then he threatened to kill them if any were caught with opium. His next words were delivered with a kind of softness, even.

  “None of you have such an evil thing, do you?” he asked.

  “No, your honor,” the women answered, as they always did.

  “Of course not, your honor.”

  “Never.”

  He released a sigh. A slow one, which held real regret.

  “Good,” he said in a much softer tone. “Because your husband did deal in such poison. He is dead now by my hand.”

  Anna pressed a hand to her mouth to repress a cry of shock. Even knowing the end of the Enforcer’s speech, she had not expected such a thing at this moment, at this time. He had killed the governor? Moments ago?

  The other women were also frozen in shock. They said nothing, only stared.

  “My servant will help you deal with matters,” he said to the wives. Then he crossed to stand beside Anna. “Now, if you will please excuse me, it is time I spoke with my wife.”

  January 3, 1882

  To Mr. and Mrs. Kent of Oxford, England:

  My name is Mother Francis, and I am the
Mother Superior of a mission hospital in China. I write to you today with a troubled heart. I believe you are the parents of an Elizabeth Kent who married Frank Thompson, a sailor by trade. I understand that he and your daughter subsequently left England to make their fortune in Shanghai, China.

  Did Mr. Thompson write you of your daughter’s death some years ago? It is my fervent hope that he did. However, if he neglected this important and Christian act, I must sadly inform you that your daughter and her infant died shortly after the new year 1876. They were victims of a childbed fever.

  However their eldest child—Anna—still survives. She came to us when her father was at sea. He provided for her in the way of all careless men and has apparently met his fate of drink or women or worse, I cannot say.

  But the child Anna remains. Surely you wish to know your last surviving grandchild? She is of an age that she could travel home to you should arrangements be made. I pray that you will desire to reunite with your granddaughter in all Christian charity, as she has lately fallen into the company of one of her father’s associates, Mr. Samuel Fitzpatrick. I do not like this man or his reputation. Though I keep strict control of the men who visit my charges, Anna can be a willful child and she sees in Mr. Fitzpatrick a substitute father. It would be best for your granddaughter if she were removed from the disturbing atmosphere of China as soon as possible and remanded into your care.

  Surely you wish such a thing? Surely you want to know your granddaughter.

  However, if my prayers are in vain, perhaps you know of Mr. Thompson’s family. Would not his parents be interested in their beautiful granddaughter?

  In God’s good grace I pray,

  Mother Francis

  St. Agatha Mission

  Shanghai, China

  By the late 1830s, there was no doubt that opium was leading to the destruction of China. By 1836, opium shipments were more than 30,000 chests, enough to supply 12.5 million smokers. The Chinese imperial army lost a battle against local rebels because the army was addicted to opium. The financial drain on China was disrupting the entire economy.

  —Robert Trout, The Chinese Opium Wars

  Chapter Nine

  Zhi-Gang waited until the governor’s wives left the room. The wailing started soon afterwards, about five steps into the hallway. Long enough for the First Wife to remember that she was supposed to grieve for her husband’s death, not feel complete and total relief.

  That’s what he’d seen in the seconds after he’d delivered the news: blatant relief. The youngest wife had even flashed a shaky smile. Even if Zhi-Gang hadn’t understood the governor’s character before, the wives’ expressions—complete with ugly bruises—told him that China was better off without Governor Bai.

  Unfortunately, false grief was usually much, much louder than real grief. He closed his eyes as the sobs crested to a head-splitting shriek before beginning again. Tradition demanded forty-nine days of wailing for a husband. He intended to be gone in the morning. As for now, he had an errant wife to interrogate.

  She was dressed beautifully in black silk that hugged her lush breasts but remained too loose around her waist. In Peking he would hire the best seamstress and shower her in gowns that accented her full curves. Except, of course, they were not going to Peking. As the Enforcer, he had full authority in the wilds of China. If he wanted a white woman, no one would dare question him. But in Peking, politics muddied everything. No one could predict how the Empress Dowager or the white ambassadors would react to such a thing. Zhi-Gang might be thought of as progressive, or more likely assassinated as an example to all.

  He sighed and settled into the nearest chair. Anna remained seated across from him, her body completely stiff, her eyes wide with anxiety. Though he hated to see the panic in her expression, he could do nothing to alleviate it. He had to know the truth. And for that to happen, she had to fear him.

  He sighed. “That was a wonderful story you created. You are a gifted liar.”

  She swallowed, and he watched her grip her hands together. Probably to stop them from shaking. But when she spoke, her voice was steady and strong enough to be heard over the wives’ wailing.

  “They needed the fantasy. Women need to believe in love.”

  He frowned, thrown by her response. “Why?”

  “Because there is so little of it in this world.”

  “So, you do not really believe in it, do you?”

  “So, you are not really going to let me leave China alive, are you?”

  He blinked, startled. He had not expected her to challenge him. And yet, he found himself smiling at her spirit. “I stand by my word to help you escape China. It makes little difference to me if you get onto a boat or are dead and buried, so long as you disappear.”

  “Then let me go. I want nothing more than to escape your horrid country.”

  He shook his head. “But we are desperately in love according to your story. How would it look if you left now?”

  She had no answer, so she dropped her gaze to her hands. Odd, how perfectly she appeared a demure Chinese wife. And yet underneath…

  “You are not really a nun,” he said. “And the opium that Jing-Li used was yours.”

  Her eyes leaped to his at the word opium, but then the blood drained from her face.

  “Yes,” he confirmed. “Jing-Li smoked it with the boat captain and his family. I think I destroyed the rest, but I cannot be sure.” He shook his head. “I dare not sail again until any remaining drug is gone. An opium-dazed captain is very likely to sail us straight into the rocks.”

  He fell silent, watching her closely. He saw her struggle to control her expression, fighting to hide the desperation and longing he had seen too many times.

  He sighed, feeling the painful truth deep in his bones. “You are an addict.”

  She flinched, but did not deny it.

  “Now where,” he mused, “would a white woman get so much opium?” He looked across the room at his beautiful wife—the liar and cheat. “You are a runner. You pretend to be a missionary, carry the opium into the interior of China, sell it, then travel back to Shanghai for more.”

  She looked impossibly pale, but once again she surprised him with a steady voice, steady stare. “If that were true, then why would I be running south with the opium?”

  He had wondered the same thing, spent most of the walk to Huai’an asking the same question. It was only moments ago as he had listened to her story of love and longing that he realized the truth. The secret that underlay her story was there for any who chose to listen.

  She longed for something, craved it desperately, and when she held it in her hands could not bear to give it up no matter what the cost. She’d labeled it love in her story, but he knew the truth: she wanted opium, craved opium, would die for her opium.

  He heard himself laugh, the sound unpleasant. “You are an addict caught in the same snare you set for my people. You ran because you could not bear to sell the drug you crave so desperately.” He shook his head, surprised as always by such stupidity. “You must know you will be killed. If not by the buyer who has no opium now, then by the man who supplies you. And what did you intend to do when the poison ran out?” He shook his head. “Stupid, stupid, stupid.”

  “And how like a woman,” she drawled, her voice matching his for dark humor. “To not think beyond the current moment. A smart man would skim little bits off the top. It’s probably even expected as the normal price of doing business. Steal a little for myself, sell the rest. That way my supply would remain, I would still have the opium, and no one would be trying to kill me. But because I am a woman, you assume I cannot think that clearly.”

  Exactly so. But her tone indicated otherwise, so he leaned forward, ashamed of the hope that sparked in his breast. Could she be honest? Impossible, and yet he so wanted to believe in her. “Then tell me the truth. Who are you? Why are you carrying opium?”

  She shook her head, confirming exactly what he believed even as she spoke in a comple
tely different way. “Your friend,” she said. “Jing-Li. Is he addicted?”

  Yes. “We are not speaking of my companions.”

  Ignoring him completely, she pushed on. “And does he not do stupid things when he smokes? Says too much or too little? Shares things he does not have or own?”

  Yes. And yes. And also no. They were alive now because two eunuchs thought Jing-Li was too insensate from opium to understand that the Empress plotted against her own son. But he’d woken from his sleep too late to help the Emperor, and barely soon enough to save Zhi-Gang.

  “Why?” he challenged. “Why do you ask?”

  “What would you do,” she answered, “if you were raised to… to run opium? If that was all you knew?”

  “Whites have many choices. We did not ask you to come to China. We do not want you here.”

  She nodded. “And I do not want to be here. But Chinese or English—women have few choices.” She abruptly pushed to her feet, anger fueling her movements. Anger, and a raw desperation that set her entire body to quivering. “I. Hate. This. Country. I hate the opium I carried. I hate the men who bought the damned drug, who poisoned the villagers who then destroyed their own lives with craving the evil thing. I saw them, you know. I saw the farmers and the children, the merchants and the leaders—all of them, one by one—after years of smoking, they came to the mission hospital. I saw them wasted and dying, still craving that last breath of dirty smoke. I saw them,” she hissed.

  “And you became one of them?”

  “Yes!” Tears filled her eyes and she spun away.

  Oddly enough, he never found her more beautiful than now, when fear and desperation left her with only raw honesty. But that did not change who she was. “So you stole the drug you carried. Why? To smoke it yourself?”