The Palace of Heavenly Pleasure (62 page)

‘Did you tell them about your suspicions about the Boxers? The strange uniforms?' asked Lu.

‘That was another funny thing. They didn't seem very interested. Pooh-poohed the idea, saying everyone had heard these rumours before and that they were a bit below the dignity of such an eminent court as the
yamen
to consider. The doctor pressed them, stressing that our attackers were wearing yellow turbans and had some pretty good discipline—but the chamberlain told him, rather rudely, I thought, that he was being credulous, and hadn't we considered that Iron Man Wang or whichever bandit was directing this might not have dressed his own men in such costumes simply because of the rumours, knowing that would make everyone more scared of him? I suppose that's possible, if you think about it,' Frank finished glumly, reaching for the rice wine again. ‘Clever in its way. The villains round the walls certainly seemed to think so. Laughed as if the chamberlain had made some joke, though I didn't see the humour.'

‘Are you not drinking a little excessively, De Falang Xiansheng?' asked Jin, as Frank hailed the waiter for another pot of rice wine.

‘I suppose I am,' said Frank. ‘But do you know? I need to get a little drunk after the last few days, holed up in that mission. Airton's a good fellow, but he portions out his precious whisky as if it's the communion cup or something. And what with concern for poor old Tom—who's mending fine by the way—and my daughter down with some sort of illness that nobody's prepared to tell me much about, well, it hasn't been easy.'

‘I am sorry to hear about your daughter,' said Lu, again after a glance at Jin. ‘What is ailing her?'

‘Well they say it's the flu, but what's rum is they're so secretive. Maybe it's some woman's thing they're shy to talk about. She was uncommunicative the only time I was allowed to see her—don't know what's got into her these last few months—and Nellie's as protective as a mother hen, and the doctor goes in at odd hours with a tray of syringes. You know, old friends, I'm a bit at my wit's end with worry about her.' Frank's face had reddened and his eyes had misted sentimentally. ‘She looks awful.'

‘Have they talked to you about the other Englishman, Ma Na Si Xiansheng?' asked Lu carefully.

Frank looked up in surprise. ‘No. What's he got to do with it?' he asked, somewhat belligerently.

‘It may be nothing, De Falang, but since the madman's attack on the Palace of Heavenly Pleasure the other day there have been many rumours spreading round the town. Lao Jin and I were there last night, and some of the girls were talking freely. They were telling us some strange stories about Ma Na Si and a—foreign woman who used to visit him regularly in his pavilion there.'

Frank's face achieved the unusual feat of turning from red to white to red again. ‘I don't know what you're implying, my friend,' he said, in a low growl.

‘Please, De Falang, this is painful for me, and Jin and I discussed the matter long before we decided to talk to you. I only do so because there may be lives at stake.'

‘Go on,' said Frank, coldly, as he poured himself a cup from the new pot, drained it and poured another.

‘De Falang Xiansheng,' said Jin quietly, ‘did you perhaps hear that, during the raid by the Christians on the Palace of Heavenly Pleasure, one of the girls escaped?'

‘No, I did not hear any such thing,' said Frank, ‘and I'll thank you for sticking to the point.'

Jin continued, undeterred, ‘The girl was Fan Yimei. You may remember her. She was a close friend of your once-companion, Shen Ping.'

‘I may remember her. What about her?'

‘Fan Yimei had a particular position in that establishment. She was the permanent mistress of Major Lin Fubo, who heads the Mandarin's militia. Major Lin, who returned from the country yesterday, is extremely angry at the loss of Fan Yimei, I am told, and will want vengeance on whoever is responsible.'

‘Good for him,' said Frank. ‘I still don't know what you're getting at.'

‘There are other rumours, De Falang.' Lu took up the story. ‘It is said that Fan Yimei was not the only one who escaped during the disturbance. It is being whispered that the Lius were keeping a foreign boy, perhaps the son of the preacher Millward, in an upstairs room as a catamite, and that during the commotion he also disappeared.'

‘What bloody nonsense!' exploded Frank. ‘Everyone knows that the boy was killed by bandits and his murderers were executed. And what's this got to do with my daughter?'

‘If it is true, De Falang, your daughter may be in danger, for it is widely believed that it was the Englishman, Ma Na Si, who effected the escape of both Fan Yimei and the boy.'

‘There you go again. You can bloody well come out straight with it. What has been going on between Ma Na Si and my Helen Frances?'

‘If it is true that Mother Liu and her son were keeping this boy, they will be doing everything in their power to destroy the evidence, and eliminate anyone who can accuse them. For otherwise they will be found guilty of kidnapping—and worse besides. They will certainly suspect Ma Na Si—and anyone who is close to him. And that will almost certainly include your daughter, who has visited Ma Na Si—I am sorry, my old friend, but that cannot be denied. Jin and I made very thorough enquiries. I fear that she may even be pregnant by him. Alas, your story about her illness would seem only to confirm that.'

Jin and Lu looked at Frank tenderly. His features were broken in anguish and he could not bring himself to speak.

‘Ren Ren came back to Shishan also this morning. Now he knows. I cannot emphasise enough how dangerous that young man is to you. He will stop at nothing, believe me.'

‘Why should I possibly fear a little brothel boy like Ren Ren?' whispered Frank.

‘Because he is more than that now. I hear that he is powerful in the Black Stick Society. There are also rumours that he leads a Boxer band. In ordinary times going to the authorities may have been a solution, but the situation is changing for the worse, as you yourself saw when you went to the Mandarin this morning. Is it not strange that the Mandarin did not speak? And that there were unfamiliar people in the
yamen
? I fear that we are facing very troubled times.'

‘We tell you this to warn you, De Falang,' said Jin. ‘There is still time for you to take your daughter and Mr Cabot and leave Shishan. Perhaps you should also warn the other foreigners. We are your friends and we strongly advise you to do so. I believe that the Boxers are a real threat, whatever people say, and they will shortly be coming to Shishan. If that is the case, the Mandarin's writ will no longer apply. Any foreigner—and any friend of a foreigner—will be in deadly danger. Besides, Ren Ren now has a motive to get rid of you and your family. If the Boxers come to Shishan he and his like will be all-powerful.'

‘I'm not afraid of him,' growled Frank.

Lu looked at Jin, who nodded. ‘You should be, dear friend,' he said. ‘He has already murdered one person you love.'

‘What do you mean?'

‘It grieves my heart to tell you, and I had hoped to spare you, but it is almost certain that he murdered your companion, Shen Ping. I hoped that you would never know.'

Frank stared.

‘She did not return to the countryside as I told you. She was beaten and tortured by Ren Ren for daring to fall in love with you, and then she hanged herself when Mother Liu persuaded you that she had been unfaithful to you. Ren Ren might have put that noose around her neck with his own hand. Perhaps he did. I am sorry, my friend.'

Frank tried to say something, but words did not come. Tears were rolling down his cheeks. He dabbed uselessly at his face with a napkin, sniffed, stood up, sat down again, then groaned—a terrible, despairing sound—and lurched towards the door.

Lu and Jin tried to pull him back, but he shook them off. ‘I'm sorry, gentlemen,' he muttered through his sobs. ‘I am a little indisposed.'

Lu and Jin returned to the table and the remains of the meal. They looked at each other, but neither had anything to say.

After a long pause, Lu Jincai said, ‘De Falang has forgotten to take his hat.'

‘Poor De Falang,' said Jin.

‘Poor us,' said Lu Jincai, after another long silence.

*   *   *

When Frank left the restaurant he had no clear idea of what he would do or where he would go. He reeled back at the noise and bustle, and the intoxicating smell of the busy main street. A muleteer driving a heavily loaded wagon yelled at him to stand aside, and Frank lurched backwards, stepping into a puddle of horse urine and unidentifiable animal droppings, which covered his shining black pumps—he was still in morning dress, following the call on the
yamen
—with a dirty yellow slime. He felt the hot sun beating down on his uncovered head, and had to squint in the dazzling white light to make any sense of the movement around him. He had not realised quite how much he had drunk or how disoriented he had become. Passersby stared sourly, or smiled curiously, at the red-faced foreigner swaying in the street.

Frank was hardly aware of where he was; nor did he care. In his mind was one image: the laughing face framed in silk pillows of a girl whom he had hardly thought about during the last few months, but whose merry eyes now twinkled ironically at him in their two narrow slits above the familiar flat cheekbones, and whose wide mouth with its wicked white teeth was half open in what he knew must be a gentle rebuke.

The memory of her pierced his heart, and his blood throbbed violently, almost choking him with grief and remorse. Other images came to his mind, as vivid as if he was watching the scenes unrolling in front of him on a flickering cinematograph: his interview with Mother Liu, the hard-faced smile as she twisted her pearls and broke his heart with her unspeakable and relentless description of Shen Ping's treachery; wicked words that he now knew had been lies, which only someone as foolish and gullible as he could have believed; the smirk of her son as he passed out of the door in despair; the long night he had spent at his desk, whisky bottle, paper and inkstand before him, penning the cruel letter of rejection, which he realised now must have helped to seal his dear girl's fate. Lu Jincai's recent words seared in his memory like accusations of the Furies:
‘daring to fall in love with you … hanged herself when Mother Liu persuaded you that she had been unfaithful to you'
.

Frank blundered aimlessly down the main street, oblivious of the people who had to step quickly out of his way. Another image haunted him and possessed him, the same face of his dear Shen Ping, but now drained of blood and colour, dangling on a cord in a dark room, her glazed eyes reproaching him for his blindness.

Without consciously deciding to do so Frank reeled off the high street into an empty alley. The stink of the open drains, coupled with the effects of his drinking, caused him to retch, and he vomited into the gutter. On his knees, his hands in the filth, he began to sob, his heavy body shaking with helpless sorrow.

Then he recalled the other words of Lu in the restaurant:
‘She was beaten and tortured by Ren Ren … Ren Ren might have put that noose around her neck with his own hand.'
And, while feeling no less guilty for his own betrayal, he became angry. His head was clearer now that he had vomited, and he understood the full horror and significance of those words.
Beaten and tortured
. Tortured? His Shen Ping tortured? Beaten? Now the image in his mind was of a sneering, pockmarked, ratlike face, staring back at him sardonically, unrepentantly, chewing on a melon seed and spitting it out at his feet.

‘Ren Ren,' he hissed, on hands and knees by the gutter. He saw Ren Ren's hateful reflection in the murky water, not his own. ‘I'm going to kill you,' he addressed the smirking image, almost fondly, ‘after I've torn you limb from limb.'

Clumsily, he pushed and heaved himself to his feet, staggering until he had retained his balance. ‘I'm going to tear you,' he roared, down the empty alley, ‘limb from bloody limb.'

He was still disoriented and did not really know where he was, but a determination to pound down the doors of the Palace of Heavenly Pleasure and wring his enemy by the neck propelled him forward—in the opposite direction to that which he had come. He burst out of the alley into another half-empty sidestreet, absorbed in his own thoughts. Part of his mind was reminding him that it was not only Ren Ren he had to deal with: there was also Manners and his disgraceful treatment of his daughter. ‘One at a time. One at a time,' he muttered in his anger, the vicious image of the brothel boy still uppermost in his sights.

He was dimly aware of a small group of people blocking the far end of the road where a nondescript
pailou
marked a crossroads. They were dressed in the blue tunics of artisans and they appeared to be watching a performance of some kind, although Frank could not see what it was. All he saw was an obstacle on his way to the Palace of Heavenly Pleasure that he had to push past.

He shoved and elbowed his way through the ring of townsmen, who were startled enough to give way to him. He found himself confronting an athletic young man giving a demonstration of martial arts. Something about his dress—the yellow turban, the tiger-skin tunic, the red belt—was vaguely familiar, but Frank did not want to think about that now. He only wanted to get on and complete his business with Ren Ren. On the other hand, as soon as the red-faced foreigner stumbled into his circle, the young man stopped what he was doing, put his hands on his hips and blocked Frank's path.

Frank tried impatiently to sidestep him to his right. The man moved lightly across to block him. Frank tried to get past on his left, and the man blocked his way again.

He heard laughter and a few jeers from the artisans, but the young man was staring at him steadily.