Death in Kew Gardens

by Jennifer Ashley

  “Come in, please.” I led the way to the kitchen table, clearing off my notebook and dishes. I had brought down the box of tea Mr. Li had given me, and now I warmed the pot and brewed up. I fetched some seedcake I’d held back from supper, and carried it along with cups to the table.

  Mr. Li seated himself with some reticence as though he feared someone would find him there and eject him. I could not blame him, but he seemed to find Daniel’s presence and the quiet of the kitchen reassuring.

  Both men waited as I poured out the fragrant tea. Mr. Li lifted his cup in both hands and drank deeply.

  “This tea is most excellent,” I told him. “A matchless gift. I fear I don’t have much to offer you in return but seedcake.”

  “Which I highly recommend,” Daniel said, laying a large slice on his plate. “Mrs. Holloway is the finest cook in England.”

  “Mr. McAdam is a flatterer,” I said. “As you’ve no doubt guessed. Now, Mr. Li, I do want to know all about you.”

  “That is her other talent,” Daniel confided to Mr. Li. “She will have your life story out of you before you know it. But fear not. She is discreet, fair-minded, and kindhearted.”

  “And Daniel has a silver tongue,” I said, trying not to be pleased by his words. “Please, Mr. Li, will you tell me why you were in Mayfair the day I ran you down?”

  Mr. Li took another sip of his tea, the few lines on his face smoothing as he relaxed. He set down the cup, let out a little sigh, and then raised his dark eyes to me.

  “I will tell you the truth, Mrs. Holloway. I was seeking Sir Jacob Harkness, because I had been thwarted from speaking to him before. I wanted to confront him and demand he return what he stole from my father. From my family.”

  My mouth popped open, but truth to tell, I was not terribly surprised at the accusation. According to Mrs. Redfern, Sir Jacob had run through China helping himself to all and sundry.

  “I imagine Sir Jacob took a good many things,” I said. “He returned from China a very wealthy man. What he stole from your family must be quite valuable if you’ve come all the way from China to find it.”

  “He is not the only one who took from us,” Mr. Li said, lines of bitterness about his mouth. “They steal, they cheat, and they hire Chinese with no honor to be go-betweens, to help them. I was born in the mountains you call Wuyi. My family sacrificed much so I could read many books, study under great masters, and sit the exams. You see, in my country—”

  “You take tests based on ancient writings and are given certain posts depending upon the results,” I interrupted. “Mr. Thanos told me all about it.”

  Mr. Li looked surprised but rearranged his expression and continued. “I was lucky and blessed. I had wise teachers, and I was a determined student. I did very well on the exams and was asked to work for the emperor himself.” He smiled, his eyes filling with true amusement. “It would be dull to tell you about my duties. At court, I spend much time hunched over a desk. As some of my work concerns British dealings with China, I found a tutor of English and learned your language. I wanted to trust my own understanding of documents and agreements and not those of a translator or interpreter, who can be paid to write what a British merchant wants them to. I began to read many books in your language—poetry, drama, and novels—and to enjoy the activity for its own sake. You were amazed at my command of English, Mrs. Holloway, when I first spoke to you.”

  “I was, rather,” I admitted, my face heating. “We are raised to be convinced that no foreigner can master our tongue, not really.”

  “The world is changing,” Mr. Li said. “Not all of us like the change, but it will be so whether we accept it or not. My countrymen have been forced in the last forty or so years to bow to the wishes of Britain. I saw benefit in learning your language.”

  “You make me feel quite ignorant, Mr. Li. I am proud of myself for learning to read simple books and speak my own language correctly. I gave over most of my effort to learning cookery and little else.”

  Mr. Li sent me a smile. “We do what we must to fit into our worlds.”

  A good way of putting it. “Well, we have you happily ensconced in Peking, working away learning languages and doing much reading,” I said. “What happened to tear you from all that?”

  “A letter from my father.” Mr. Li took another sip of tea and set it down, the bitterness in his expression deepening. “He is an elderly man now, but very astute and alert. He informed me that a party of Englishmen came to our village. The monks of the mountains gave them shelter, but my father, as the oldest and most prominent man in the area, offered his hospitality. Not only to be cordial but to keep an eye on them.”

  “Very shrewd of him,” I said.

  “The Englishmen were quite courteous, and they did not go to any areas we asked them to leave alone. Not until they were gone, however, did my father discover the theft. It was far too late to catch them by then, but he wrote of it to me, in case I could help.”

  “But you could not, I presume,” I said.

  Mr. Li shook his head. “I went to my superiors and explained what had happened, but they told me there was nothing to be done. I knew they were right. Once the British men reached the trade cities, they were safe from us. If an Englishman in China commits a blatant crime—whether against another Englishman or a Chinese—he is tried by a British court, not a Chinese one. If found guilty, he is sent home, out of our reach.”

  Daniel absently poked at the seedcake with his fork. “One of the men on that expedition to Wuyi was Sir Jacob Harkness?”

  “Indeed.” Mr. Li nodded. “My father told me the names of all the visitors. Three of the men returned to Hong Kong, and as far as I know, remain there. They do not have the item—I wrote to an emissary in Hong Kong who inquired for me. Sir Jacob Harkness and his friend Mr. Pasfield went to Shanghai from Wuyi and almost immediately left for London. Then I received a letter from a Chinese man in London telling me that Sir Jacob had purchased a large house and lived like a king, and so I concluded he must have brought the treasure with him. I decided to come and see for myself.”

  My eyes widened. “Just like that? You left your job to rush halfway around the world to look up Sir Jacob? Why couldn’t this Chinese friend in London do that?”

  Mr. Li leaned across the table, as though he feared someone listening in the shadows. “Because I dared not tell him too much. As I grow older, I trust only myself. I had to find out for certain.”

  “How did you arrange the journey?” Daniel asked. “What I mean is, in spite of the flood of immigrants pouring into the British Isles and America, it is no easy thing to leave China, especially for a scholar who works for the emperor.”

  Mr. Li bowed. “It is true. I obtained permission.”

  He folded his lips closed. I wondered at the significance of his statement, but I could see he had no intention of giving us further information about his travels.

  “Will you tell us what this treasure is?” I asked. “I might be able to help you find it. There is quite a jumble in Sir Jacob’s house, but I’m certain Mrs. Redfern can direct the servants to look for it—without letting on how valuable it is, I assure you. Is it porcelain? I have seen a number of beautiful pieces.”

  Mr. Li studied us for a long time, as though wondering whether he dared tell us. His eyes held the loneliness of a man who had given his entire life to a pursuit, forgoing earthly pleasures to obtain it.

  As he assessed me, I had the feeling he could see straight into my true self, uncovering all my worries, hopes, and petty faults, as well as my fears and my love.

  At last Mr. Li bent his head in a nod, as though giving himself permission to speak. He lifted his cup, and the corners of his eyes crinkled as he looked over it at me.

  “It is tea, my dear lady.”

  I gasped and stared into my empty cup, at the bottom of which lay the long, curled leaves of damp and frag
rant tea. Daniel, likewise, peered into his mug and then quickly set it down.

  “Not this tea,” Mr. Li said, shaking with silent laughter. “This is some of what I brought with me on my travels, as I feared I’d not find any palatable here. I have discovered that I can buy fine tea in London—as it came from China itself—but it is very expensive.”

  “It is indeed,” I said faintly. “Are you saying, Mr. Li, that Sir Jacob stole tea? Do you mean bushels of it?”

  “No, no,” Mr. Li said. “The original bushes themselves, or at least cuttings and seeds from them.”

  Daniel gave his cup a reverent glance. “The British wrested the secret of Chinese tea from your country thirty-odd years ago. Why are you so interested in this crop?”

  “Because it grows nowhere in the world but in our village,” Mr. Li answered. “When Chinese tea was wrested away, as you say, to be cultivated by the British in India, it dropped the price of tea in China disastrously, beggaring many in my country. Much of what you drink in England is a result of that theft.”

  “Oh.” I glanced guiltily at the dresser on which rested a tin of tea I’d recently purchased. “I never knew that.”

  “This tea, however, eluded capture,” Mr. Li went on. “Our valley is hidden and difficult to reach, and the tea is delicate. If any was taken in that earlier theft, it must not have survived the journey, because none of it can be found in the West.”

  “I see,” I ventured. “And if Sir Jacob managed it . . .”

  “It would be the end of my village, my family, possibly the tea growers in the entire region. Our tea is some of the most valuable in the world, and if it is taken, replicated, and grown far from China, the price of it will fall dramatically. There will be more hunger and more poverty, while men like Sir Jacob will grow richer. More of my countrymen will flee their native land in search of a better life, and end up in the slums of cities around the world, shunned and scorned.”

  He fell silent, his sorrow weighing heavily.

  Daniel and I exchanged a look. I saw mirrored in Daniel’s eyes what I felt—pity for this man and fascination at his story.

  “I must ask, Mr. Li,” I ventured, “why are you revealing this to us? If the tea is that costly, Daniel and I might knock you on the head and rush next door to tear up the house and garden until we find it. You are trusting us much.”

  Mr. Li gazed at me unwaveringly. “Because I am wise enough to understand when I need help. I managed, as I told you, to set an appointment with Sir Jacob. But as I say, when I arrived that night with Mr. Sutherland, Sir Jacob was not there, only Mr. Chancellor. I do not know why. And now I am suspected of murdering the man. I was not certain at first if I should confide in you, as you are only servants, but then Mr. McAdam freed me from the clutches of the police, aided by you, Mrs. Holloway. And I remember how you spoke to me with such kindness and courage the day I met you. I looked into your eyes and saw that you had a good soul.” He gave me a smile. “I hope I have not offended you.”

  “By dismissing me as a servant?” I asked, amused. “I am one, though domestic is the term I prefer. I am a cook, a rather different thing from a housemaid.”

  “Servants in China are not the same as here,” Mr. Li said. “For one thing, you are much more . . .” He trailed off as though fearing to offend me further.

  “Impertinent?” I supplied. “Rude? Brash?”

  “All of those.” His teeth flashed in a smile. “I beg your pardon for my rudeness.”

  “No, indeed,” I said. “You are quite right. Well, Mr. Li, I believe I can help you. I suspect Mr. Chancellor knows exactly where the tea bush is in Sir Jacob’s garden. I saw him steal cuttings from it, which he might have taken with him to Kew Gardens. Should we start there? Or in the garden next door?”

  13

  “The tea is there?” Mr. Li said, rising. “You are certain?”

  “Not certain,” I said. “Though I strongly suspect. But as it is the middle of the night, we can hardly go rushing either to Kew Gardens or next door this moment. Let us have another cup of tea and think about this calmly.”

  Mr. Li sat back down, though he looked as if he wanted to dash next door immediately and begin crawling through the garden as Mr. Chancellor had. I knew, however, that we had to go carefully in order not to alert the world to this theft and the tea’s value.

  “How did Inspector McGregor know where to find you to arrest you?” I asked Mr. Li as I poured more tea for him and set down the pot. “He didn’t send constables running up and down Limehouse and the docklands until they chanced upon you, did he?”

  Daniel answered before Mr. Li could. “Chancellor gave McGregor his name, as he met Mr. Li the night he came to call on Sir Jacob, and told McGregor that Mr. Li was a translator. Chancellor didn’t remember Sutherland’s name, but McGregor was wise enough to ask at museums and Oriental societies until he was directed to Mr. Li’s lodgings. I did the same, which is how I found out about Mr. Sutherland. Because Sutherland is a Cambridge man, I knew Thanos would know him—being Thanos, he is naturally acquainted with everyone who ever attended.”

  “You went to Cambridge,” I said, lifting my teacup. “Or so you told me.”

  “I was there, yes.” Daniel’s gaze was steady, giving nothing away. “But no one knows the place and its people like Thanos.”

  “I lodge with another Chinese gentleman who works as an interpreter,” Mr. Li finished. “Near the British Museum.”

  “I see. At least the inspector let you go,” I finished in relief.

  Daniel and Mr. Li exchanged a glance. “He didn’t,” Daniel said. “Not really. Mr. Li is under a sort of house arrest. He can go to his translation jobs, but if he leaves his lodgings for anywhere else, I must accompany him. I barely convinced McGregor to agree to the last bit.”

  “But we ruled you out as a suspect,” I said to Mr. Li.

  Mr. Li gave me an amused look. “Your Inspector McGregor does not want to lose sight of me. In case he can find no one else who committed this deed.”

  “Blast the man,” I muttered.

  “If McGregor truly thought you the culprit, Mr. Li, you’d even now be in Newgate,” Daniel said. “The inspector isn’t the sort who’d send you to prison and a trial without evidence, but I admit he’s hedging his bets.”

  “I agree Inspector McGregor is careful,” I said. “And, I must allow, fair.” I pushed back my chair and rose. The two men did as well, but I waved them to sit down. “While it is far too late to skulk about the Harknesses’ garden, and Kew is closed for the night, I might be able to show you what Mr. Chancellor took from the garden next door. Do enjoy your tea, gentlemen. I will return shortly.”

  Daniel gave me a puzzled look, but Mr. Li did not look hopeful. Resigned, rather, as though uncertain I could help.

  I ascended the back stairs through the main house, very quietly opening the door to the second floor. All was silent and dark, with only the street lighting outside trickling through the windows on the landings.

  I tapped softly on Lady Cynthia’s door. She rarely went to bed early, unlike her aunt and uncle, but tonight her room held no lights. I peeked inside, but the bedchamber was silent, felt empty. Lady Cynthia was not at home.

  Slipping in, I closed the door, then fumbled with matches on the mantelpiece and lit a lamp.

  Lady Cynthia’s chamber was neither feminine and frilly nor stiffly masculine. The decor was restrained, more fitting for a guest chamber than one belonging to a member of the family.

  The bed’s plain blue coverlet matched the draperies at the window, and a bookcase held books next to an upholstered chair. A dressing table contained a brush and comb, a box of pins to hold Cynthia’s hair in its unadorned style, and a small jewel box with four drawers. No ribbons and laces, gloves or fans, dance cards or carefully kept letters, nothing of a young woman poised to begin her life. All was simple, neat, and unr
emarkable.

  She and Bobby were doubtless together tonight, smoking cigars at Bobby’s flat, or pretending to enjoy risqué magazines at a gentlemen’s gathering place.

  I doubted Cynthia would carry the cuttings with her, and I hoped she’d left them where I could easily find them. She’d have to keep them away from Sara, the upstairs maid who tended her clothes, and the tweeny who cleaned the room. Either maid might mistake the cuttings for unwanted clutter and put them on the rubbish heap.

  I turned in a circle in the middle of the room, taking in the bedside tables, the chest at the foot of the bed, the bookcases, the dressing table. The room was large and airy, with a chandelier hanging from the ceiling, gaslights that would cast a bright glow when lit.

  My eye fell again on the jewel box on the dressing table. It was a square thing of carved wood with a keyhole above the top drawer.

  The jewel box was locked, but a rummage in the dressing table turned up the key, tossed carelessly into a tray inside the middle drawer.

  The key fit the jewel box, and I carefully went through it, noting that Cynthia’s jewelry was old fashioned and sparse. I’d seen her sister wear some of it, probably handed down from their mother.

  In the third drawer down, wrapped in tissue, I found the cuttings. I eased them from their hiding place and closed and locked the jewel box. I returned the key to the dressing table drawer, placing it exactly where I’d found it, then I blew out the lamp and left the room.

  Downstairs, I entered the kitchen and spread the cuttings of green leaves before Mr. Li.

  “Is this the plant you are looking for?”

  I had no idea what tea looked like on the bush—I’d only seen it dried and rolled in a box from the market. These leaves were about the size and shape of bay leaves, but serrated, waxy, and deep green, a bit wilted now.

  Mr. Li looked them over carefully and lifted a cutting to his nose.

  “All tea comes from the same plant—Camellia sinensis,” he said, his soft voice taking on the note of a lecturer. “It is the preparation of the tea leaves, and which tea leaves are used, that distinguishes the quality of one tea from another. However, there are a few varieties of the bush that grow in China and nowhere else.” He laid the branch on the tissue, his expression sad. “This is not the tea plant stolen from my father.”