The Red Chamber (7 page)

On an impulse, she goes to the dressing table and pulls open a drawer. It is empty. She opens another. She doesn’t know what she hopes to find.

“Miss Lin, what are you doing here?” It is Snowgoose, Granny Jia’s body servant, carrying a duster.

Daiyu shuts the drawer and jumps back guiltily. “I was just looking. Lady Jia told me this was my mother’s bedroom.”

Snowgoose nods. Daiyu thinks that she sees sympathy on the maid’s face. “Don’t let me disturb you. I was just making sure the junior maids had dusted properly.”

“Is it the same as when my mother was here?” Daiyu asks shyly. Of all the maids, she finds Snowgoose, with her air of quiet authority, especially intimidating.

“I’m afraid I don’t know. That was before I came here. Why don’t you ask Lady Jia?”

“I did, but she said she couldn’t remember.” Daiyu watches Snowgoose dust the shelves, carefully lifting the vases and screens, and feels awkward about standing there idly while the maid works.

Snowgoose pauses. “How do you like it here at Rongguo?”

Daiyu wonders whether Snowgoose will be offended or report to Granny if she tells the truth. She shakes her head. “It seems strange to me.”

“How do you mean?”

“It doesn’t seem like a family at all. Everyone lives in their own apartments, and never sees each other except at meals.” She doesn’t know how to describe the endless pomp, the atmosphere of stultifying formality.

Snowgoose gives a little laugh, beginning to dust the dressing table and chairs. “It
is
strange, I suppose. But you should visit the others at their apartments. I suppose it’s easy for you to be left out, since they all live in the Garden, and you are here.”

“I feel shy going to see them when they haven’t invited me, and they never come see me.”

“You must overcome your shyness. It isn’t personal, you know.” Snowgoose hesitates. “I suppose Miss Tanchun and Miss Xichun aren’t the type to take the initiative, having been ‘born in the wrong bed,’ as the saying goes.”

“ ‘Born in the wrong bed’?” Daiyu echoes, afraid that she is revealing her ignorance.

“It means that they were born to concubines.”

“Does it matter so much?”

Snowgoose considers. “Yes and no. Huan is a concubine’s son. He is only Baoyu’s half brother, and you see how differently he is treated. He’s
hardly ever allowed in the Inner Quarters, and no one pays much heed to him when he comes. Everyone knows Lady Jia doesn’t care for him.”

“Who is his mother?”

“Lord Jia’s concubine Auntie Zhao, a very disagreeable woman. She is Miss Tanchun’s mother as well. Everyone hates her, so Miss Tanchun avoids her as much as possible, but Huan is always going to her for attention.” Snowgoose breaks off abruptly with a laugh. “But enough gossiping. There’s too much gossiping around here, anyway. I only told you because you are new to the household. The important thing is to overcome your shyness and visit your cousins.” Snowgoose nods at her in a friendly fashion, before moving towards the door. “I know you must miss your mother and home, but you should try to enjoy your time here.”

She follows the maid to the door, wanting to talk longer. “How about you, Snowgoose? Where is your family?” She suddenly recalls that many girls who become maids have been orphaned, or sold by their families as little girls, and regrets her question; but Snowgoose seems pleased at her interest.

“I grew up here in the Capital, and was sold when I was twelve. My mother is a cook in another household, and my father is a groom. But my older brother is a blacksmith. He finished his apprenticeship last year, and just opened his own shop, in Flowers Street.”

Daiyu sees the pride and happiness glowing on Snowgoose’s face, and envies Snowgoose for having a brother. “Do you ever get to see them?”

“Lady Jia lets me visit them on holidays sometimes, if she can spare me. Sometimes my brother comes to the back gate and sends a message, and I go out to meet him. But I’m afraid I must go now. Lady Jia will be waking up soon, and will want me.” With another friendly nod, she leaves the room.

Daiyu feels a pang of loneliness. In this household full of people she spends far more time alone than she did at home. Her talk with Snowgoose is the first real conversation she has had since coming to Rongguo.

7

The district magistrate’s office is a small airless room off a dusty courtyard. When Jia Zheng passes through the doorway, he sees a young man in shabby official’s robes sitting behind the desk editing a closely written document with a writing brush. Because the magistrate is younger than he expects, probably only in his early twenties, Jia Zheng asks in some surprise, “Excuse me, am I addressing Jia Yucun?”

The young man finishes drawing a neat line through a column of text before he looks up. His face is fine-boned, with clever, almond-shaped eyes, but his hairless cheeks are marred by a few pockmarks.

“Yes, I’m Jia Yucun,” the young man says, but he neither offers a greeting nor rises from his seat, continuing to look coolly at Jia Zheng.

Taken aback, Jia Zheng says, “I beg pardon for intruding on you. I am Jia Zheng, Duke of Rongguo, and Under-Secretary of the Ministry of Works. I wrote you a note yesterday that I would be coming to see you.”

“Ah, yes.” Jia Yucun leans back in his chair, putting his fingertips together meditatively, still without offering his visitor a seat. “Who doesn’t know the Rongguo Jias? As a matter of fact, I am a kinsman of yours.”

“Is that so? I wondered, when I heard your surname.”

“Only a very distant one. Our grandfathers were second cousins, I believe.”

“What was your grandfather’s name?”

“Jia Dairui, of Huzhou.”

“Oh, yes. I’ve heard the name.” Jia Zheng feigns recognition.

“I doubt it,” the district magistrate says, with a shrug.

Jia Zheng forces himself to say, with an assumption of pleasure, “I had no idea we had another kinsman in the Capital. We must have you over to Rongguo sometime.”

Jia Yucun’s smile is unmistakeably malicious. “The Rongguo Jias have ignored the Huzhou Jias for more than thirty years. Are you sure you wish to change that?”

Jia Zheng grows flustered. If the young man feels snubbed by the Jias, he is unlikely to help Xue Pan. He vaguely remembers hearing his father complain years ago about a distant branch of the family in Huzhou. “We never hear from them unless they want money,” his father would say.

“Really, I had no idea you were in the Capital,” he says, flushing. “Otherwise, I would have—”

The young man bursts into laughter, as if delighted by Jia Zheng’s discomfiture. “Don’t worry! I’m not offended.” He rises from his seat and walks around the desk to Jia Zheng. “I’m not so thin-skinned! I would never have gotten this far if I were. My father died when I was two, and my mother died ten years later. She took in sewing to support the two of us. Now, what brings you here?”

Caught off balance by the direct question, Jia Zheng stammers, “Perhaps you remember among your cases one involving a young man named Xue Pan.”

“Xue Pan? Yes, I’m hardly likely to forget a murder case.”

“Well, it so happens that Xue Pan is the son of my widowed sister-in-law—”

“Your nephew, is he?” Jia Yucun interrupts. “I wondered to what I owed this unexpected honor.”

At Jia Yucun’s sarcasm, Jia Zheng falls silent. But Jia Yucun looks at him expectantly, and he forces himself to speak the words he had rehearsed before coming. “I have come to ask for leniency on Xue Pan’s behalf. He is an upstanding young man, and has never been in trouble with the law before. While he did lose his temper and try to throw Zhang Hua out of his house, he had no intention of inflicting serious injury. In fact, he was so shocked when he heard Zhang Hua had died that he could not speak.” He sees the incredulity on the magistrate’s face, and breaks off, feeling foolish.

Jia Yucun seats himself behind the desk again and looks through a sheaf of papers. “Yes, he has already submitted a petition asking that the charge be reduced from ‘intentional homicide’ to ‘fatal bodily harm by mischance.’ Although I issued a warrant for his arrest, he is nowhere to be found.”

Though Jia Yucun’s expression is openly contemptuous, Jia Zheng forces himself to continue. “I came to ask if there is anything you can do to help my nephew. He is truly contrite. That is why, when he heard how seriously Zhang Hua was injured, he returned the girl at once, and even paid for the medical expenses—”

“Tried to pay him off, you mean,” Jia Yucun cuts in. “The case looks serious. Look at the list of injuries that Zhang Hua sustained: a broken arm, teeth knocked out, several serious cuts on his face. I find it hard to believe that his death was accidental.”

“I see,” Jia Zheng says slowly. “In any case, I thank you for taking the time to speak to me.” Secretly he is relieved that his mission has been unsuccessful. When Mrs. Xue came to him, his first impulse was to have nothing to do with the matter. However, when she begged and pleaded, and said that Xue Pan was in danger of his life, he had agreed to help, in part because he feared the scandal would redound upon the Jias, and also because he could not stand by coldheartedly while his nephew ran the risk of execution. He is a man who has always followed rules to the letter. He had slept badly the night before, hounded by a sense of wrongdoing and also by a fear that his misdeed would somehow be discovered and punished.

“Just a minute,” Jia Yucun says as he reaches the door.

He stops and turns. The magistrate is leaning back and putting his fingertips together, just as he was doing when Jia Zheng introduced himself. “I said it was a serious case, but not that it was hopeless.”

Jia Zheng takes a step back, wondering whether Jia Yucun has been feigning reluctance to fish for a bribe. “What do you mean?”

Jia Yucun shuffles through his papers again. “The testimony is far from conclusive. I can see some potential weaknesses in the prosecution’s case. Over the next few days, I will be calling witnesses in for questioning: those who were present at the fight—”

“The only people there were my nephew’s servants,” Jia Zheng says.

Jia Yucun continues as if he had not spoken, “I will question the eyewitnesses as to who struck the first blow—there may be some question as to whether your nephew acted in self-defense. I’ll ask for an examination of Zhang Hua’s body and a coroner’s report. Finally, I’ll question Zhang’s doctor about his injuries, and his general state of health.” He looks up from the papers. “I’ll let you know if something comes up. Why don’t you come back in a few days?”

Not knowing what to make of the magistrate’s about-face, Jia Zheng hesitates. “You are taking so much trouble on our behalf. Surely there is something we can do for you—”

Jia Yucun cuts him off sharply, drawing himself up. “I am simply doing my duty. There is absolutely no need to offer me anything. I should not accept it in any case.”

While no one would accept a bribe outright, Jia Yucun’s response seems unequivocal enough to be a true refusal. Jia Zheng gives him credit for being sufficiently shrewd not to risk his career for a few thousand
taels
.

Jia Yucun returns to the examination of the documents before him. He nods dismissal to Jia Zheng. “Remember what I said. Come back in a few days.”

8

When Xifeng falls behind on household tasks, she works without resting through the period after lunch when everyone else naps. Even Ping’er, who has a headache, is lying down in her small bedroom behind Xifeng’s apartments. Xifeng sits at her desk, piled high with cloth-covered ledgers, adding up household expenditures on coal for the last month, her fingers swiftly clicking the wooden beads of her abacus. There is a cough at the door. She looks up.

It is Mrs. Lai, one of the head stewardesses. “The gatewomen told me you would be here giving out tallies.”

“What do you need?”

Mrs. Lai hands her a sheet of paper requesting permission to order paper for the windows of Baoyu’s study in the outer part of the mansion. Xifeng checks the amount of paper requested before copying down the quantity in one of the ledgers. She opens a locked box on the desk and takes out a tally.

“Go ahead and order it.” She hands the small wooden tally to Mrs. Lai. “But remember, I won’t give you the tally to authorize payment until the goods have been received.”

“Of course. I’ll bring you the receipt when the paper comes.”

“One more thing. Could you send Autumn to me?”

When Mrs. Lai returns with Autumn, one of the junior maids in the apartments, a single glance confirms Xifeng’s suspicions. Autumn does not dare to meet her eyes, her expression at once fearful and defiant.

Xifeng leans back in her chair, watching the maid. “This is the second time something has gone missing after your shift.” She catches a twitch of fear in the maid’s thin body, hastily suppressed.

“First, it was two dozen candles,” Xifeng continues. “Now it’s more than a pound of soap. Perhaps you think that because there are so many costly things lying around, no one will notice if some of them disappear.”

“Oh, no, Mrs. Lian. Truly, I have no idea where those things went. Maybe somebody else took them.”

“Somebody else indeed!” Mrs. Lai snorts. “All the other maids have
been here more than two or three years. Things only started disappearing after you came!”

It is true. They never had problems of this sort until four or five months ago, when Granny Jia had given Autumn to Xifeng. Granny had imagined that Autumn would be a good maid—she is unusually pretty, and quick-witted, and well-spoken. Xifeng has always disliked her long, sideways-glancing eyes, but because she was Lady Jia’s gift, it is impossible to dismiss her.

Lian walks in. He almost never comes home to the apartments before dinner. “What’s the matter?” she says, jumping up.

“Nothing. I’m just tired. I’m going to take a nap.”

He disappears down the hallway to their bedroom.

Xifeng turns back to Autumn. “I told you the last time what would happen if something disappeared again.” She looks at Mrs. Lai. “Give her twenty strokes of the bamboo, and stop a month of her wages.”