Harjeet came to the door now. “There’s a gentleman to see you, Mr. Sinclair—shall I tell him you are not receiving visitors?”
Rowland groaned. Another member of the Japan-Australia Friendship Society no doubt.
“Rowly’s very ill.” Edna didn’t look up from her book. “Why, with the sniffles and everything, it’s amazing he’s survived this long.”
“You’re an unfeeling harpy, Edna Higgins,” Milton declared.
Harjeet clicked her tongue. “I will ask the gentleman to come back tomorrow.”
Rowland thanked her. Tomorrow was early enough to deal with untangling the mess Carmel had left in his wake.
But the reprieve was short-lived.
“Don’t be ridiculous, woman, there’s nothing whatsoever wrong with the boy!” Alastair Blanshard barged past Harjeet and strode into the room. “Good Lord, man, have you got some dreadful disease after all?”
Rowland sighed. “No, I’m just malingering. Good morning, Blanshard. What can I do for you?”
“You can tell me why that turbaned fool who drives for you is following me around?”
Rowland glanced at Wing. “Mr. Singh is following you?”
“Yes, he’s been traipsing after me all morning. About as subtle as a bloody brick in the back of the head! Suppose you tell me why.”
“I have no idea. Did you ask him?”
“He said it was a coincidental encounter.”
“Perhaps it was.”
“Nonsense. Now you tell me what he’s doing or I’m going assume he’s an assassin and shoot him!”
Wing’s head snapped up. “Allow me to apologise, Mr. Blanshard. Mr. Singh is not an assassin… he was simply—”
“Doing his job,” Milton finished.
“What part of his job involves following me about?”
Milton shrugged. “I retained the gentlemen of Wing and Singh to find out what you were doing in Shanghai.”
Blanshard was outraged. “You were spying on me?”
“Ironic, isn’t it?” Milton was unrepentant.
“It’s my fault, Mr. Blanshard.” Edna smiled sweetly as she confessed. “You see, Milt and I wondered what you were doing here, and since Mr. Wing and Mr. Singh were establishing an investigation agency, I suggested they look into it… as practice.”
“And what did they report?” Blanshard demanded indignantly.
“Oh we didn’t report to Miss Higgins!” Wing declared. “We couldn’t tell a lady where you’d been!”
Milton started to laugh. Edna nodded. “As you can imagine, Mr. Blanshard, it was quite vexing.”
Rowland smiled. “Good Lord, Blanshard, what on earth have you been doing?”
Blanshard glared at Wing. “I was making enquiries on behalf of His Majesty’s government.”
“In sing-song houses?” Milton was clearly less concerned about protecting Edna than Wing had been. “Lots of sing-song houses. Too many for a single, lonely man.” The poet winked. “Have the princes been up to no good again, then?”
For a moment Blanshard said nothing, his hand flexing at his side. Milton stepped out of reach as a precaution. “My enquiries do not concern the king’s sons,” he said finally.
Milton’s horror was contrived. “The king? Who would have thought—”
Blanshard eyed them all coldly. “Mrs. Simpson,” he corrected. “It appears she spent some time in the Far East.”
Rowland’s brow rose. They had come across rumours when they were in England about the king’s eldest son and the American divorcee. Clearly the liaison was now causing enough concern to send secret service to China to investigate her past.
“Speak of this again and I will arrange to have each and every one of you shot.”
Accustomed to Blanshard’s regular threats to shoot people, they did not react particularly. They did drop the subject, but only because they were not especially interested in the reputation of Prince Edward’s latest paramour. Blanshard spent some minutes railing about the temerity, the impudence and incompetence of Wing and Singh’s attempted investigation.
Milton made some sort of amends by pouring the disgruntled spy a drink.
Rowland used the lull in Blanshard’s fury to thank him for his help. “Lord knows how long we would have been held if you’d not had a word with Randolph.”
Clyde nodded. “I still don’t know how you managed to convince the chief inspector to despatch his men out to the sanatorium in the middle of the night.”
Blanshard smiled. “I told him Rowland Sinclair had kidnapped Miss Higgins. He was so keen to rearrest you that he called out every available man. Of course I set him straight once the scene was secured.”
“Wasn’t he angry?” Edna asked.
Blanshard’s smile broadened. “Oh yes.”
“I’m in your debt, Mr. Blanshard,” Rowland said quite sincerely.
Blanshard studied his whisky for a moment. “I have always felt bad about leaving you in Munich—that terrible business with the Brownshirts. I’m glad I was able to assist this time. But,” he looked up and met Rowland’s eye, “you may not always have a king’s man conveniently on hand. It may pay you in the future not to be so bloody-minded when it comes to the Nazis. As much as I detest everything they stand for, it does look like they’re here for a while. You may need to learn to deal with them.”
Rowland lay back with his hands behind his head. “Not for all the tea in China.”
Epilogue
OUTED BY BMA EX-CONVICT IS NOW QUACK
SAYS SOUND MAN HAS T.B.
DIAGNOSES TUBERCULOSIS OF THROAT FROM DROP OF BLOOD TAKEN FROM EAR-LOBE
ABRAMS’ APOSTLE—HANDS OUT DISEASES
SUPERVISION of the public health, which, in the last analysis, is the greatest asset of any community, is evidently very fox in Sydney town. A case in point is that of George Frederick Hewer, ex-gaol-bird, ex-B.M.A. member, who is raking in a fat living at ‘Adyar House,’ in Bligh-street, with the aid of an American electric system, which, after having been investigated by high medical authorities from all parts of the world during the last ten years, has finally been pronounced 99 per cent quackery. ‘Dr.’ Hewer diagnoses at great expense to his clients all sorts of complaints, and that some of them don’t exist within the patient’s body is evidenced by the fact that two of ‘Truth’s’ investigators, during the past fortnight, have been along to the doctor’s sanctuary at ‘Adyar House,’ and have been diagnosed as suffering from physical ills which existed only in his imagination…
After his release from prison—early in 1924—the doctor was struck off the list of members of the British Medical Association, and, faced with this serious handicap, evidently he decided to do what nearly all discredited members of any profession have done since the world first knew professions.
He resorted to quackery, and in that way he is getting his living today at the expense of trusting fools who are unacquainted with the fact that the medical system with which he has thrown in his lot has become long since a hissing and a byword among reputable citizens. He became an apostle of the Abrams system, and established the clinic of electronic medicine at ‘Adyar House.’
Truth, 29 April 1928
Dr. Henri Le Fevre turned out to be George Frederick Hewer, who had been struck off the list of members of the British Medical Association. He was not French though he spoke the language quite well. When captured he confessed to being the man whose voice was on the recording left by Alexandra Romanova, though he denied any part in her murder. With no evidence that he had done anything other than misdiagnose Rowland Sinclair, and attempt to deprive him of his liberty, he was eventually released without charge.
After it was revealed that he had been retained by Gilbert Carmel to ensure Rowland Sinclair’s stay at Ward Road Gaol was particularly unbearable, John Whitely was investigated for corruption, but in the end no action was taken.
The junior lawyer “Murray” who had been assigned the defence of Rowland Sinclair in Carmel’s absence
was shown not to exist. Carmel and Smith was a firm made up of Gilbert Carmel and his faithful secretary.
Gilbert Carmel was charged with, and eventually convicted of, the murder of Alexandra Romanova and Bertram Middleton, and the attempted murder of Rowland Sinclair as well as a litany of lesser offences. All charges against Rowland Sinclair were dropped.
With his sister’s killer caught, Sergei Romanov came out of hiding and began to bathe regularly once again. He allowed Rowland Sinclair to replace his violin, and returned to teaching the instrument to the children of wealthy Shanghailanders. Occasionally he worked for Wing and Singh Private Investigations.
Alexandra Romanova’s son, Mikhail, was sent to school in the United States as his mother had wished. The expenses of his education were met by Rowland Sinclair.
Emily “Mickey” Hahn continued her unconventional relationship with Shao Xunmei, supporting herself by writing for the North China Daily News and The New Yorker. By 1936 she had achieved her ambition of becoming an opium addict. After the fall of Shanghai in the 1937, Hahn signed a document declaring herself Xunmei’s second wife under Chinese Law and, in doing so, saved his printing press from confiscation. She eventually left Shanghai in 1939, but her experiences in China became the foundation of a long and brilliant career which saw her author more than fifty books of fiction, history, memoir and reportages as well as innumerable articles.
When he’d recovered enough to do so, Rowland accepted Shao Xunmei’s invitation to dine with the Celestial Hound Society, a group of Chinese artist and art-lovers who favoured the Parisian school. Thereafter the Australians encountered Xunmei often in Mickey Hahn’s flat on Kiangse Road, where they would discuss poetry and politics, art and gossip. It was probably a sign of Milton’s esteem for the Chinese poet that he did not attempt to steal his verse.
Du Yuesheng (Big-eared Du) continued to wield power both official and illicit in Shanghai until the Japanese invasion of 1937. He offered to fight the Japanese by scuttling his fleet of ships in the Yangtze River to prevent their advance, but eventually fled to exile in Hong Kong. He returned to Shanghai after the war but his influence had waned with its citizens who felt he had abandoned the city.
Intermittently during the remainder of their time in China, one or the other of them would see Chao Kung, fleetingly, though he did not approach them again. Born Ignácz Trebitsch to an Orthodox Jewish Family in Hungary, Kung had operated as a double agent in the Great War. He worked his way into the extreme right-wing militarist fringe groups in Germany and Europe before betraying them by selling their information to the secret services of various governments. In China he worked for a number of war lords before, yet again, transferring his loyalties in 1937 to the Empire of Japan.
Despite his loyalty to the Nazis, John Rabe became a hero during the 1937 Japanese occupation of Nanking during which he worked tirelessly to establish the Nanking Safety Zone. He sheltered approximately 200,000 Chinese citizens from slaughter during the massacre.
Sir Victor Sassoon, the 3rd Baronet of Bombay, lived in Shanghai until 1941, when the war forced him to leave. After the Chinese Communist Revolution in 1949 he divested his assets in China and retired to Nassau in the Bahamas.
Danny Dong’s cousins eventually called at the Cathay to collect their grandmother. It was with significant relief that Clyde handed over the chest he had watched over. Even so, the Australians accompanied the remains back to the village outside Nanking where Mrs. Dong had been born and in which she would be finally interred amongst her ancestors. There they enjoyed the humble hospitality of her grateful grandchildren, toasted Danny Dong with hot rice wine and saw a little of what Mickey Hahn called “the real China”.
The Sinclair stockpile was sold to a British consortium of wool buyers. The rumours of international trade sanctions against the Japanese for the illegal invasion of Manchuria never eventuated. The member countries of the League of Nations had important trading links with Japan and were consequently unable to agree on the precise nature of sanctions. Australia actively pursued a policy of appeasement, and while it did enter into a trade war with Japan in 1936, the restrictions had nothing to do with Japanese activities in China.
Wilfred Sinclair never sent his brother to trade wool again.
Alexandra Romanova’s body was eventually released and laid to rest in Shanghai. Her funeral was attended by only handful of mourners including her brother, her son and four Australians. Whoever she once was, she died a taxi girl, far from the land and the past she loved. But there were tears for her in China.
ACKNOWLEDGEMENTS
All the Tears in China, Book 9 of the Rowland Sinclair Mysteries, was no less raised by a village than Book 1. To the following people I am immensely grateful.
My husband, Michael, who is the wall upon which I bounce ideas, notions, and screwed-up pages of manuscript;
My sons, Edmund and Atticus, who have, most of their lives, shared their mother’s attention with imaginary people. I am sorry boys—it’s probably quite a strange way to grow up, but it will make your memoirs more interesting;
My old friend, Leith Henry, whose word and instincts I trust absolutely;
My dear friend and colleague, Angela Savage, who gave me the benefit of her experience and insight for this manuscript;
My dad, who spent his holiday in Shanghai doing my research. My sister, Devini, who gave me refuge when I needed to get away to write, meet informants and just be in the city;
My brilliant editor, Deonie Fiford, whose sharp literary eye has watched over most of the Rowland Sinclair books;
Lucy Bell who line edits and proofs my manuscripts into shape, and Graeme Jones who lays out the result;
Sofya Karmazina, the gifted artist who designs my covers, whose pictures are worth much more than a mere thousand words;
All my warm, witty, irreverent and downright dangerous cohorts among the Sisters in Crime;
Fellow novelist Robert Gott, whose wit and honesty is a wonderful and occasionally necessary tonic;
My stablemate and colleague Lynette Noni, who inspires me with her dedication to and unflagging passion for the work we do;
Alastair Blanshard, whose name, along with the character bearing it, has finally made a triumphant return to the Rowland Sinclair Mysteries;
Sarah Kynaston who listens me complain about the pressure of deadlines and commitments, and then suggests we pause to make street art. Lesley Bocquet who often gets caught up in the consequent street art festival, and does so without complaint;
My extraordinary agent and dear friend, Jo Butler—who makes sure I don’t exchange my manuscripts for a bag of magic beans—and her colleagues at the Cameron Creswell Agency;
The unbelievably brilliant and dynamic team at Pantera Press, who turn the strange workings of my mind into books; who make sure I get to where I’m meant to be and have somewhere to sleep while I’m there, who are true collaborators in the production of the Rowland Sinclair Mysteries. Thank you;
The greater community of reviewers, bloggers and readers whose support of my work is a constant reminder of why I have chosen this crazy life. Thank you all for your time, your attention and your enthusiasm.
Sulari Gentill
Award-winning author Sulari Gentill set out to study astrophysics, ended up graduating in law, and later abandoned her legal career to write books instead of contracts. When the mood takes her, she paints, although she maintains that she does so only well enough to know that she should write. She lives on a truffle farm in the foothills of the Snowy Mountains of NSW, which she shares with her family and several animals.
Sulari is the author of the award-winning Rowland Sinclair Mysteries, a series of historical crime novels set in the 1930s about Rowland Sinclair, the gentleman artist-cum-amateur-detective.
The first in the series, A Few Right Thinking Men, was shortlisted for the Commonwealth Writers’ Prize for Best First Book. A Decline in Prophets, the second in the series, won the Davitt Award for Best Adult Crime
Fiction. Miles Off Course was released in early 2012. Paving the New Road was released later that year and shortlisted for the Davitt Award for Best Crime Fiction 2013. Gentlemen Formerly Dressed was published in November 2013. The sixth book in the series, A Murder Unmentioned, was Highly Commended for the Davitt Award for Best Adult Crime Fiction 2015 and was shortlisted for the ABIA Small Publisher Adult Book of the Year 2015, and the Ned Kelly Award 2015. A Murder Unmentioned also received the 2015 APPA Platinum Award for Excellence. Give the Devil His Due, the seventh book in the series, was shortlisted for the ABIA Small Publisher Adult Book of the Year 2016, as well as the Davitt Award for Best Adult Crime Fiction by a woman. In November 2016, Sulari released The Prodigal Son, a free prequel to the series written as a gift for her Rowland Sinclair fans. A Dangerous Language, the eighth book in the Rowland Sinclair Mysteries, was published in 2017. In 2018, Sulari won the Ned Kelly Award for Best Crime Novel for her standalone metafiction, Crossing the Lines, which was also shortlisted for the Davitt Award.
Under the name S.D. Gentill, Sulari writes fantasy adventure, including the Hero Trilogy. All three books in the trilogy, Chasing Odysseus, Trying War and The Blood of Wolves, are out now, and available in paperback, in a trilogy pack, and eBook.
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