by Jade Lee
His hands slowed their attack, and she smiled.
When he seemed as if he would stop, she pressed her hands against his, urging him to move in a circular pattern such as she was used to. But he didn't do it. Instead, his hands grew more lax until he finally stood up.
Only then did she open her eyes. "Max?"
"What happened to you in the brothel, Lydia?" His face was dark and strained.
She frowned, straightened slightly on the settee. "What?"
"You said nothing happened. That you managed to escape. But you know they chain girls. You know they sell them."
Lydia didn't speak. She couldn't, because her yin, which had been flowing so hotly a moment before, was slowing, growing sluggish and cold.
"How do you know these things, Max?" she countered, trying to avoid his question.
He sat back with a huff. "Because I'm a man, that's how," he snapped. "But you're a gently reared girl. Your father would never have told you these things. Nor anyone else."
She bit her lip, wondering what to say that would make him understand.
"What happened, Lydia? Tell me the truth." He straightened. "If I am to be your husband, I deserve the truth."
She nodded, knowing he was right. So she sighed and sat fully upright on the settee, folding her hands before her. In truth, it would be good to talk to someone about this. It would be good to start her marriage without a lie thickening the air between them.
"I arrived in Shanghai nearly a month ago," she said, and he groaned, dropping his head into his hands. "But I'm still a virgin, Max. I swear it! You can bring in a doctor if you like. I wasn't... In that place, no one..." She straightened her shoulders. "I know what happens between a man and a woman. My father was a doctor. And no one did that to me."
He lifted his head, confusion warring with disbelief on his features. Finally he spoke, his voice heavy with emotion. "Tell me exactly what happened, Lydia. All of it."
She nodded. "I don't remember a lot of the brothel." She winced as she said the word. Gently reared females were not supposed to even know what one was. "I was looking for you, but the captain brought me to that place. Gave me tea."
"Drugged?" His voice was heavy with despair.
"I suppose so. I woke up later in a back room. I was chained to the bed. My head was pounding and I felt so sick, but I fought them, Maxwell. Truly I did." She didn't know why it was important that he understand that, but it was. She looked into his face, hoping to see some understanding there. But all she saw was horror, and so she looked away, her words slipping out despite the turmoil of her emotions. "They brought men in. To buy me. To..." She shook her head. "I don't know. I don't really remember. I was just so afraid..."
Her voice trailed away, and she longed to be touched again. To be held as Ru Shan had held her: his arms and chest supporting her back. But she knew Max would not do that. Not now. And so she had little choice but to continue.
"A man bought me. A Chinese man, and the next thing I knew I was in a sparse flat."
"He took you to his home." It wasn't a question, merely the voice of dread. Still, she had to correct him.
"It wasn't his home. Just a place for his practice." She sighed. "His religion, I suppose."
Maxwell snorted, clearly thinking what she and Ru Shan had done was depraved.
"It wasn't like that!" she exclaimed. But of course, she didn't know what normal relations between a man and a woman were like. Not really. So how would she know unusual appetites? She sighed. "We made a deal of sorts. If I cooperated—gave him my yin—then he would not take my virginity, and he would not send me back to the brothel."
"Is that what the Chinese call it? Yin?" Maxwell pushed to his feet to pace in tight circles beside their dinner table.
She shook her head. "Yin is the female essence. Yang is the male." She said the words, but she could tell Maxwell wasn't listening. "I did nothing wrong! No one knew I was here. There was a guard at the door. I had to cooperate or risk going back to that... other place." She looked at his closed features, seeing the way his pacing kept taking him farther and farther from her. "I escaped as soon as I could."
Finally he stopped, rubbing a hand over his face. He turned to stare at her hands where she held them tightly in her lap. "So you've been here a month now. Learning deviant Chinese sex." He shuddered as he spoke.
"What horrifies you, Max? That I was captured, sold into slavery and escaped? Or that I learned something no good Englishwoman is ever taught?"
He didn't answer. Instead he just stared at her, his shoulders dropping more and more with every breath. He looked like a man defeated, and her heart went out to him. She was on the verge of going to him when he abruptly rejoined her on the settee.
"Lydia," he began, but he didn't finish. Instead, he stood back up and grabbed his glass. He poured himself the last of their bottle, swallowing it in one gulp. Then he grimaced. "Damn frogs. Can't even make a good wine."
Lydia remained silent. She knew he wasn't truly cursing the French wine. He hated something else entirely. She just prayed that it wasn't her.
Then Max was finished drinking and he returned to his seat beside her. He reached out, grabbing her hands, holding them like he had when he'd proposed so many months ago. Only then, he'd been looking into her eyes. Right now, he seemed to be looking everywhere but at her.
"Listen, Lyds. I know you won't believe this, but I've been meaning to write you. I just couldn't do it after your father died. And then, well, you showed up. The thing is..." He lifted his chin, but still did not meet her gaze. "It isn't time for me to take a wife yet. I didn't want you to come to Shanghai because I knew I couldn't marry you yet." He bit his lip, then stood, his hands slipping from hers to push deep into his pockets. "I can't marry you at all."
She gaped at him, her mind reeling. He couldn't possibly be serious. "But a few moments ago, you said... You told me that you deserved the truth. As my husband, you said. As my husband, you deserved the truth."
He spun around, anger and guilt flashing in his eyes. "I had to know, Lydia. You wouldn't have told me otherwise. This way, I could tell if you need... you know, a doctor or something."
She wanted to push to her feet. She wanted to confront him eye to eye, but her legs wouldn't support her. Instead, she simply sat like a stone, her insides collapsing in on themselves as she imagined she shrank into almost nothing. "I know," she whispered. "I know if I need a doctor or not."
Abruptly, he dropped to his knees before her, looking so loverlike that she had to close her eyes. "But you couldn't, Lydia. It's just like you said. Good English girls aren't taught these things."
"And the men are?"
He shrugged, and she understood. Suddenly she saw it with a clarity that made nausea roil in her stomach. "You've been there, Max. Haven't you? To the brothels. Maybe not the one that bought me, but to ones like it. You've done it, haven't you? You've had sex with a chained woman whether she wanted to or not."
She saw him swallow, his dull flush becoming bright red as he shoved away from her. This time he didn't pace, merely turned his back on her, his shoulders hunched defensively, his words sounding childish and stubborn. "Every man wants to try a virgin. It's what men do, Lydia."
"You hypocrite," she spat, bile burning in her throat. "You bloody hypocrite!"
"See here now!" he returned, shifting to face the wall just to her right. "There's no reason to start calling names. It's unfortunate what happened, Lydia, but I wasn't going to marry you anyway."
"Marry you!" she screeched, at last finding the strength to stand. "I wouldn't marry you if you got down on your knees and begged." Except she would. She knew she would. Because what else could she do? If she didn't marry Max, she would be destitute. No money. No connections. No respectability at all. The very idea froze her blood.
"Look, I'm sorry it turned out this way," he said, frustration putting an edge to his words. "But we never really loved each other. Our mums wanted our marriage, and we went along.
You know that's true."
She did. But she didn't want to admit it. Not when the horror of being ruined still clamored in her brain. She knew what happened to ruined women. Women without the protection of a man, women who for one reason or another found themselves unwed and alone.
They ended up in brothels. Sold to the highest bidder.
She couldn't risk that again. She couldn't! Which meant she had to marry Max. By whatever means necessary. She would do anything rather than risk that other, hideous fate.
Max seemed oblivious to her thoughts. Instead, he pushed his hands in his pockets, hunching his shoulders as he spoke. "I'm an honorable man. I'll pay your passage home." Then he shifted nervously on his feet, his tone softening as he tried to persuade her. "You'll prefer it there anyway, with your family all around you. Shanghai's no place for a woman."
"You asked me to marry you," she said, more to herself than to him. "I was going to be your wife." Mrs. Maxwell Slade. She'd even bought stationery, not that she had it anymore. That had disappeared with all the rest of her belongings.
"I won't say a word about this, Lyds. You have my word on that."
She almost laughed. He'd already said too much. The tale was surely already winging its way back to England. Her reputation was destroyed. On two continents.
He reached into his coat pocket, pulling out a ticket and dropping it on the table. She looked out of reflex, not intention, but what she saw there crushed the last of her hopes, her pretend dreams that she was still in her bed in England and that none of this had ever happened.
"Esme said it'll take a few days until your dresses are finished. You can stay here until then. I've booked you on a ship that leaves next week."
She didn't answer. She was too dried up to say anything. She didn't even have the strength to shift her gaze away from the damned ticket—the one that he'd purchased before dinner. Before she'd told him the true story of what had happened. Before everything.
"What about my shop?" she whispered. She didn't even know where the words came from, but she didn't stop them once they started. Instead, she lifted her chin and glared directly into his eyes. "I want to become a dressmaker, Maxwell. I want to buy Ru Shan Cheng's shop and sell expensive dresses to whorish Englishwomen like Esmerelda."
He shook his head. "You can't do it without me, Lydia. You haven't the head for business."
She shifted, her eyes narrowing. Hatred joined the fear in her brain. Together, they gave her an icy determination the likes of which she'd never felt. "Don't I, Max? Well, let me think. How's this for business? What do you think your employers would think of a man who proposed to a woman then abandoned her in her hour of need? Who brought that young, innocent girl to Shanghai, then dumped her without a farthing to her name? And that was after spreading ridiculous lies about how she was abducted into a brothel, hmm?"
He straightened, his eyes widening in shock. "I did no such thing!"
She felt her spine straighten, as if abruptly reinforced by steel. "Of course you did, Max. Who would ever believe that a good English girl could get stolen and sold—sold!—into slavery? No one wants to believe it possible, Max. They'll much prefer to think of you as a scoundrel. The worst kind of cad: one who would tarnish a good woman's name rather than be a man and end the engagement honorably. I think it would be enough to get you sacked."
"You can't do that! Image is crucial in Shanghai. It's the only thing that separates us from the heathens. Lies like that would hurt me badly."
"Really?" Coldness seeped into her, filling the empty space where her heart had been. "Try me. After all, half a dozen of your friends and fellows saw me yesterday. I even lined up a priest. But where were you? Hiding, Max. And spreading your own lies."
"But they weren't lies!" he gasped.
She smiled, though the expression felt distorted. "All I have to do is make a scene in the front lobby of your firm. I'll have tears streaming down my face, mud stains on my gown as I beg for help. 'Please, please,' I'll sob. 'Help me!'" She grinned. "There's nothing an Englishman likes more than rescuing a damsel in distress. Especially when it's easy to help her." She snatched up the ticket from the table. "You see, I won't need money or a passage home. I'll just need to hurt you in your employer's eyes. How long do you think it'll take before you're sacked? A day? An hour? Shall we make a wager on it?"
She was bluffing. She doubted he would be fired. As far as she could tell, he did his job well, and good English employees were hard to find in Shanghai. But it was the only card she had, and with Max, it was a good one.
He cared about his image, about appearances. He always had. But it was only now, when faced with the stark reality of a man who didn't love her, that she realized the truth. Appearances were exactly why they had become engaged. Because everyone said they were a good match. Because their mothers wanted the alliance. And she had been stupid enough to believe it was love.
Well, then, appearances were going to be what kept her at his side. If not as his wife, then as his partner. Because even if they weren't married, she would not be penniless and alone. She would not risk ending up in a brothel again.
Watching his tortured expression, Lydia turned the screws one more time. "I know you won't believe this," she said in a rude imitation of his earlier words, "but I had no intention of harming you until you acted like such an idiot. But take heart. You'll be happier back in England anyway, with your friends and family around you."
He swallowed. Twice. "I can't go home like this," he whispered. "Penniless. Dishonored."
She folded her arms, pleased that he had at last seen the light.
"What do you want?" he whispered, though his gaze was filled with loathing.
"Ru Shan Cheng's shop." And with that, she opened his door and pointed out into the hallway. "Buy it for me. Now."
From the letters of Mei Lan Chang
22 April, 1876
Dearest Li Hua—
Mr. Lost Cat is gone and I am despondent. I cannot believe that I would miss a barbarian, but I do. I miss him terribly. No one else notices the difference. No one, except perhaps Ru Shan. He has been extra good lately, studying very hard not for himself, but because he knows it makes me happy.
Dearest Li Hua, what am I to do? I cannot even bring myself to end my studies in English. In fact, I am applying myself even harder than before. Ru Shan, too. We are studying English like fiends, all because of one whiskered barbarian.
I should take opium. Let it kill me as it has begun to kill my mother-in-law. Do not ever touch that evil substance, Li Hua. It will kill you, and you will not even realize what it is doing. My mother-in-law is never happy unless the pipe is in her hand. And yet, bit by bit, she is dying. It is ugly and brutal, but only to those who watch. She is in bliss, she says. And, corrupt woman that I am, I enjoy the peace the opium brings. At least the children know now not to touch it. Even my daughter sees its devastation and has stopped asking for it.
Aii, Li Hua, I am so lonely. I wish you could come for a visit.
—Mei Lan
The Master said: To bless means to help. Heaven helps the man who is devoted; men help the man who is true. He who walks in truth and is devoted in his thinking, and furthermore reveres the worthy, is blessed by Heaven. He has good fortune.
—Ta Chuan
~
Chapter 12
Ru Shan spent an entire day learning what he could about Lydia's fiancé, so the next morning he was not at all surprised to see Maxwell Slade walk into his shop. The Tao often worked that way.
The Englishman tried to be subtle, casting a disdainful eye here and there. Ru Shan was not fooled. He had much more experience in prevarication than the ghost people. After all, not only did he study the dragon/tigress way, but he lived in occupied China. Though the Mongolians had been ruling poorly for hundreds of years now, his family and all true Chinese remembered their heritage. No, the ghost people did not have even the first understanding of subtlety.
And that, apparently,
included Lydia's fiancé.
The man looked about the shop, his lip curling in distaste. At what, Ru Shan didn't know, but he allowed the man to sneer.
Bowing politely, Ru Shan smiled. "How may I serve you, honorable gentleman?"
"Your shop is dirty, its stock poor."
"Yes, your honor, it is. But it is all we have, and so I count it a castle."
The man nodded, clearly annoyed. Then he abruptly smiled, as if he had just thought of an amazing idea. "Perhaps you would be better suited for another line of work. Have you considered anything else you might enjoy doing? A restaurant, perhaps. In the Chinese section."
Again Ru Shan bowed. Not because courtesy required he do so, but because it annoyed this ape. "You make a worthy suggestion," he lied. "But alas, my family has owned this shop for generation upon generation. We know nothing else. Every dirty shelf, every lost grain of rice has its story rooted deep in my family history. Surely, as a man of breeding, you understand." Lydia had once told him that the ghost people put great stock in their heritage. It was one thing their two peoples had in common.
"Well," the man drawled, taking another too-dainty stroll around the shop. "I may just have an idea of how to help you, old chum."
Ru Shan did not know this English word, chum, but he did not like the sound of it. It was too familiar, in that apelike way of the ghost people. As if merely smiling at a man could make him your friend. But Ru Shan had a plan, so he bowed again to annoy the ghost man and smiled as if in great relief.
"Assistance from so worthy a gentleman is always welcome."
The man's lip curled. "I'm sure it is," he said. "Look here, I've got a friend looking for a shop. He's most particular, you understand, but he fancies this general area. Now, there's a place down the street he might prefer, and the man there's willing to sell. But seeing as how you've touched my heart, how about we talk about a price for this shop, hmm?"
