“Oh Rowly, thank goodness!” The sculptress took his hand.
“Are you all right?” he asked, concerned by the sense of relief in her manner.
“The gentleman Bernadine wanted me to meet was anything but,” she said, pulling a face. “And the most determinedly boring man I’ve ever met.”
Rowland’s eyes flashed. “Did he offend you?”
“No, he was just a buffoon. Stay with me and he won’t return. Lord James’ admiration had no courage in it.”
“Point him out and I’ll—”
“Don’t be silly. Did you meet anyone interesting?”
Rowland told her about Shao Xunmei. He looked around. “I should introduce you and Milt.”
“Is that him?” Edna directed Rowland’s gaze towards the table at which Mickey Hahn sat. Beside her was an elegant man in scholar’s robes. The two were sucking on orange segments as they talked, their eyes fixed on one another.
“Yes.”
“I think it’s best we don’t interrupt.”
Ranjit and Harjeet had gone home, but Wing Zau and Clyde were still awake when they returned from the restaurant in Yangtzepoo. Emily Hahn had not returned with them, but left the party with Shao Xunmei. It was an act of impropriety which had upset their hostess and scandalised other guests. It seemed Bernadine’s rejection of the colour bar only went so far.
“She should be careful,” Wing observed. “The Shaos are no strangers to opium. Xunmei’s father was renowned for it. It comes with vast wealth and a poetic spirit. Perhaps that’s why Miss Hahn was drawn to him.”
Rowland was less comfortable with Mickey’s fascination with opium, her conviction that the drug would open the “real China” to her, than with her choice of companion. He had heard tales of opium addiction in the dens of inner Sydney, seen the vacant, listless eyes of those who’d been enslaved by the habit. He could not understand why the journalist coveted it.
“They seemed quite taken with each other.” Edna curled up in an armchair with a balloon of crème brandy. “And he does cut a tremendously romantic figure.”
“It was quite a bizarre gathering,” Milton admitted. “A collection of the brilliant and the odd.”
“One wonders why we were invited,” Edna mused.
“Well clearly, I’m the former,” Milton replied. “You and Rowly… who knows.”
“Bernadine had an inordinate interest in the details of Alexandra Romanova’s murder,” Rowland offered.
“Why?”
“Mostly for the sake of curiosity and gossip, I expect. She must at least believe I had nothing to do with it, or she would not have invited us.”
“That may not be true,” Wing said. “Mrs. Szold-Fritz is famous for the people who have attended her suppers.”
Clyde laughed. “Are you saying she isn’t fussy?”
Wing shrugged. “About certain things she is fussy.”
Rowland was quiet as he pondered over Bernadine’s theory as to why Alexandra had been murdered. He didn’t want to consider it, but he couldn’t ignore it. It terrified him. He moved a wooden chair next to Edna’s armchair and sat down. He told them of Bernadine’s supposition that Alexandra had been killed by mistake; that Edna had been the intended victim.
Milton and Clyde both sat up. Rowland took Edna’s hand before he continued.
“It may be nonsense,” he said. “But it is possible.” He looked down at Edna’s hand in his. “I think you should all go home.”
“What about you?” Edna asked.
“I’m still under investigation, I can’t leave.”
“Then we can’t either,” Milton replied.
“Milt, what happened to Alexandra—”
“We don’t know what exactly happened to Alexandra; who killed her. There’s a lot wrong with Bernadine’s theory.” Milton stood and paced. “If they killed Alexandra because they thought she was Ed, it still doesn’t explain what she was doing in our suite. If she wasn’t murdered there, but left there, why on earth did they think she was Ed?”
“On top of that, mate,” Clyde spoke up, “you’re trading wool, not a kingdom.”
“You’re not even doing that, Rowly.”
“But they don’t know that.” Rowland shook his head. “I know it sounds absurd. But if there’s the slightest chance that you are in danger—”
“There’s always a chance that we are in danger, Rowly,” Edna said firmly. “Even in Sydney. Even at Woodlands. It’s a dangerous world.”
“More dangerous in my company,” Rowland replied sullenly.
Edna laughed. “This may not be all about you, Rowland Sinclair.”
“Ed…”
“Oh, Rowly.” Edna placed her glass on the coffee table so she could clasp his hand in both of hers. “You’re panicking because Bernadine has somehow made you see me in poor Alexandra’s place.”
“Yes, I am. Ed, I can’t risk—”
“We’d do anything in the world for you, Rowly, but you cannot order us to abandon you.”
“I’m not ordering you to—”
“That’s just as well then.” Edna unfurled her legs and stood. “Come on. You and Milt get Clyde up the stairs to bed. We’ll worry about what we’re going to do next, tomorrow.”
Wing jumped up. “Allow me to assist,” he said, offering Clyde his arm.
“I’ll be fine on my own,” Clyde grumbled, but he took Wing’s arm to pull himself up.
Rowland lingered downstairs, helping Edna to collect the various glasses and dishes from the drawing room and take them into the kitchen. She watched him check that the back door was locked and then tossed him a tea towel.
“I’ll wash—you dry. You need to practise.”
She picked up a sponge and began washing the glasses. “Well at least the chauffeur and the butler didn’t kill each other while we were away.”
“There is that.” He told her about his conversation with Ranjit Singh on the subject of Wing Zau.
Edna smiled. “What exactly does he think Mr. Wing is trying to do?”
“I’m not sure.” He frowned. “Perhaps I shouldn’t disregard his suspicions. It wouldn’t be the first time I was wrong about someone.”
“Don’t be silly, Rowly. They just don’t get along, that’s all.”
Rowland didn’t reply. He was, if truth be told, not really thinking about Wing Zau.
“What’s wrong, Rowly?”
“Someone may have tried to kill you?”
“It’s more than that. You seem cross, out of sorts.”
“Do I?”
“Yes.”
Rowland sighed. “I’m sorry. I just feel guilty I guess.”
“Because someone might have been trying to kill me?”
“Yes that.” Rowland hesitated. “And because I’m so appallingly glad they got the wrong woman.”
Edna’s face softened as she realised why he was so troubled. She wiped her hands on her skirt and looked up into his eyes. “Oh, Rowly, you wouldn’t have wished what happened on either one of us.”
“No… but I saw Alexandra’s body, saw what had been done to her, and now I can only be glad that it wasn’t you.” He shook his head in disgust. “It just seems so indecent, Ed. She wasn’t you, but I knew her.”
“Rowly, it’s natural. You’re not glad she’s dead, just that I’m not.” She returned to the sink and washed another glass which she handed him to dry. “What have we been doing since Alexandra’s body was found, Rowly?”
“I’m not sure I understand—”
She answered her own question. “We’ve been trying to find out who killed her, and not just to clear you. We haven’t not cared. You haven’t not cared.” Edna handed him another glass. “You might want to dry the inside of the glass as well,” she suggested gently.
He smiled. “You’re right. Thank you.”
She rinsed the last glass and handed it to him.
He dried the inside. “I’d still feel safer if you went home.”
“I w
ouldn’t. I’ve always felt safer with you nearby.”
23
COMMUNIST PARTY’S FIGHT FOR ABORIGINES
DRAFT PROGRAM OF STRUGGLE AGAINST SLAVERY
FULL ECONOMIC, POLITICAL AND SOCIAL RIGHTS
…The white workers in unions, and in other mass organisations, the intellectuals, scientists, and humanitarians; must all unite with the Communist Party in a common fighting front against murderous, rapacious imperialism, and help win back for the natives of Australia part of their native country and common rights as human beings. The Communist Party, speaking in the name of white and black workers of Australia, demands:—
(1) Full and equal rights of all aborigines—economically, socially, and politically—with white races…
(2) Absolute political freedom for Aborigines and half-castes; right to membership in, and right to organise, political, economic and cultural organisations, “mixed,” or aboriginal. Right, to participate in demonstrations and public affairs. Right to leave Australia as full citizens.
(3) Removal of all color restrictions on aborigines or half-castes, in professions, sports, etc. Aboriginal intellectuals, school teachers, etc., not to be prevented from practising because of the “color line.”…
(4) Cancellation of all licenses to employ aborigines without pay…
(5) Prohibition of slave and forced labor…
(6) Unconditional release from gaol of all aborigines or half-castes, and no further arrests until aboriginal juries can hear and decide cases.
(7) Abolition of Aborigines Protection Boards—Capitalism’s slave recruiting agencies and terror organisations against aborigines and halfcastes…
(8) Absolute prohibition of the kidnapping of aboriginal children by the A.P.B., whether to hire them out as slaves, place them in “missions,” gaols or “correction” homes…
(9) Full and unrestricted right of aboriginal and half-caste parents to their children…
(10) Aboriginal children to be permitted to attend public and high schools and to sit for all examinations,
(11) Liquidation of all missions and so-called homes for aborigines…
(12) Full right of the aborigines to develop native culture…
(13) Unemployed aborigines to be paid sums not less than other workers as unemployment allowance…
…Workers, Intellectuals, humanitarians, scientists, anti-imperialists, fight for these demands for the aboriginal race. Prevent Capitalism exterminating this race through barefaced murder or slavery. Struggle with the aborigines against Australian Imperialism! Workers and oppressed peoples of all lands, unite! Smash Imperialism!
Workers’ Weekly, 25 September 1931
Kuznetsov arrived at the Kiangse Road house in his employer’s Cadillac. It seemed the generous American woman was happy to contribute the use of her motorcar in aid of her chauffeur’s romantic ambitions. Assuming that Kuznetsov had once again been too eager to see Edna to wait for a more sensible hour, Rowland was not especially alarmed. He had, to be honest, forgotten that the Russian count had invited Edna to the pictures, an invitation into which he had insinuated himself. He suggested Kuznetsov take breakfast with them.
“I’m afraid we cannot linger, Rowly.”
Rowland glanced at his watch. “What time does the film begin?”
“Oh we’re not going to the film… I have a much better outing planned.” Kuznetsov smiled apologetically. “I’m sorry, Rowly. You were looking forward to seeing Charlie Chan in Shanghai—perhaps you do not wish to come now?”
Rowland groaned inwardly. Kuznetsov was obviously trying to rid himself of a chaperone. Clumsy as the attempt was, it did make it a little awkward to insist on accompanying the couple.
“Where are we going?” Edna came down the stairs in a sleeveless claret dress and a white cloche and kid gloves. “Should I change?”
Kuznetsov put his hand on his heart. “No, you are a vision. We visit Fengjing, a canal town. Ancient and very beautiful. People say it is the most romantic place in all of China.”
Wing intervened. “Fengjing! Why Mr. Sinclair, that was the town of which I spoke to you yesterday. How lucky that you are visiting it today!”
Rowland cringed. This was getting worse. He decided that honesty was the only vaguely dignified response. “Look, Nicky, it may be overprotective but until Miss Romanova’s murderer is found—”
Kuznetsov bowed his head graciously. “I understand. Edna is a sister to you. I, too, would be protective.”
Edna rolled her eyes. “Why don’t you come along too, Mr. Wing? We might need a translator in the country. A girl can’t have too many brothers!”
Fengjing was on the very outskirts of Shanghai, about forty miles to the south-east. The urban congestion of sikumen gave way to sparsely populated country. Rowland sat forward as a tower came into view with what seemed to be a small city of tents at its base. The red, white and black of the Nazi flags were distinct on the landscape. Kuznetsov noticed his gaze.
“It’s the German boys’ club, camping and outdoor activities. Singing too. It’s very popular with the Germans here.”
“How long has there been a Hitler Youth in Shanghai?” Rowland could see the boys lined up in military formation. There were scores of them.
“A year, maybe two. It is a very popular organisation. My little cousin wishes he were German so he too might sleep in a tent and play war games.”
“War games?”
“Yes, I’m told they teach the boys to shoot and skirmish. But what boy does not play soldier?”
Rowland said nothing. He remembered playing war as a child, until his brother Aubrey had fallen in France. He’d stopped then.
They arrived in Fengjing just before eleven. As Kuznetsov seemed to know little about the area but that it was “old” and a “water town”, Wing took over as guide. Canals—cut through and around Fengjing—formed streets of water. Ancient whitewashed buildings, which seemed to float on the water’s edge, were mirrored in the canal’s surface with a perfection that was only occasionally disturbed by languid ripples. Locals sitting outside in the spring sunshine playing cards regarded the visitors without excessive curiosity. Wing led them through the town, pointing out the dynastic features in the architecture. Edna delighted in the wooden bridges that made the network of waterways navigable, running across and back like a child. Rowland stopped to sketch the reflected village, the children at play near the water, the boatmen on the canal with their wide-brimmed hats. At midday, Wing took them to a restaurant that served the local delicacy of fried frogs’ legs along with many dishes which only he could identify. They ate outdoors, overlooking the water, trying unknown foods and speaking through Wing with locals.
Rowland took out his notebook again to sketch the old men walking their songbirds by the water. Long lines: robes, beards, wiry limbs holding ornate cages. Edna and Kuznetsov played cards and drank tea while they watched a gentler, slower China.
Rowland asked Kuznetsov how he came to be working for Du Yuesheng.
Kuznetsov shrugged. “The Chinese are masters of hand-to-hand combat, but Russians know how to shoot.” He formed his fingers into a gun and fired an imaginary bullet. “The Green Gang has many enemies, both Chinese and foreign. So Zongshi takes care.”
His bravado was possibly for Edna’s benefit. He did not know how much the sculptress loathed guns.
“And what exactly is it you do for him, Nicky?” she asked.
“Anything he wants.”
Edna frowned. “Would you have killed Mr. Wing if Mr. Du had asked you to?”
Rowland kept drawing. He was accustomed to Edna’s directness but Kuznetsov was clearly caught off guard. Wing seemed both intrigued and uncomfortable.
Kuznetsov squirmed. “I did not know Mr. Wing was your friend, then.”
“So that would have made a difference?” Edna persisted.
“Well, no.” He paused. “Master Du does not ask me to do anything. He tells me.”
“So if he told you to ki
ll someone?”
“I am a soldier, Edna.” Kuznetsov fingered his collar uneasily.
“A dog cannot choose not to be a dog,” Wing said coldly, “but he does choose his master.”
“The wisdom of your honourable ancestors?” Kuznetsov’s annoyance was unmistakable.
“No.” Wing shrugged. “Merely an observation.”
Rowland looked up from his notebook. “Mr. Du said he did not know Alexandra Romanova, that she did not owe him money,” he said. “Would he lie?”
“Oh yes. But about this, I don’t think he did.” Kuznetsov grabbed the opportunity to change the focus of the conversation from his own actions. “He is a ruthless man, but not brutal. If Alexandra Romanova owed him money, he would have allowed her to pay off the debt in one of his sing-song houses. He would not have killed her.”
“You told me that you knew she wasn’t the tsar’s daughter,” Rowland said thoughtfully. “Was that common knowledge?”
“What do you mean?”
“Did anybody still believe she was the Grand Duchess Anastasia?”
“No one has believed that for a long time.”
“So the Communists would not believe her a threat?”
“The Communists are stupid, traitorous peasants! Who knows what they think?”
“It was not the Communists who were taken in by a girl pretending to be a princess!” Wing snapped.
“What are you saying, podonok?”
“Steady on, fellows.” Rowland stepped in before the exchange could escalate. Edna met Rowland’s eye and stood, holding out her hand to the count. “Come on, Nicky. I want to have a closer look at the water before we head back.”
Sullenly, Kuznetsov took her hand and walked with her down to the water’s edge.
Rowland stopped Wing before he could follow, though his eyes remained on Edna as she bent to look more closely at something in the river. Kuznetsov placed his arm around her waist in case she should fall.
Wing cleared his throat. “The Communists do not care, Mr. Sinclair.”
Rowland glanced back. “I beg your pardon?”
“Chinese Communists do not care about the Russian royal family.”
All the Tears in China Page 19
