The Concubine's Daughter (67 page)

Nearly a month after Sing had learned of her inheritance, she and Toby were on their way to the Villa Formosa. Fewer and fewer buildings dotted the open green of the countyside, where the blue-green waters of
Repulse Bay swept away from rising cliffs. Sea air reached through the car’s open window to ruffle Sing’s hair as the car traveled smoothly up the winding coastal road toward the house.

They had spent the morning in the office of the bank manager, Adrian Lau, who had given them his undivided attention upon reading Winifred’s letter of introduction. They were joined by Angus Grant, the amiable Scottish lawyer who listened well and spoke only when he had something of value to say, his brown eyes frank and engaging. “I knew your father very well,” he told Sing. “He was one of the most interesting men it has been my privilege to call a friend. I am at your disposal at any time.”

Mr. Lau was so intrigued by the unexpected appearance of a claimant to the Devereaux estate after more than a decade that he offered to accompany them to the Villa Formosa. A limousine was at the steps of the bank in record time for the half-hour journey to Repulse Bay.

Seated beside the chauffeur, Mr. Lau turned to address her. “When Captain Devereaux left Hong Kong at that terrible time, he gave his trusted gardener, Ah-Kin, the deed to his own cottage on the estate, plus an endowment to maintain the grounds in their original splendor. Ah-Kin has been notified, and awaits the mistress’s arrival with much burning of joss sticks to Ho-Sen-Yi, the god of lost travelers.”

The iron gates of the Villa Formosa swung silently open. Ah-Kin, his white hair and beard framing a face that still appeared young, bowed low as the car crunched slowly up the wide gravel drive toward the deserted villa. Typhoon shutters barred its many windows, and drifts of leaves had gathered in the bold scoop of its eaves. In contrast, the gardens that fell away on either side of the house were all the more grand and exquisite.

A wide flight of hastily swept marble steps led to the imposing entrance. Mr. Lau produced a ring of keys, talking as he sorted through them. “I understand the main structure remains in good repair, but if it is decided to reopen the property, may I suggest engaging the right tradesmen to undertake a thorough inspection and restoration? The original furnishings and furniture are stored in the company godowns at Causeway Bay.”

When the doors were thrown open, Sing hesitated on the threshold, then turned to Toby and Mr. Lau. “Forgive me. May I beg, with great respect, that you enjoy the view of the bay for a few moments? This is a place I must enter alone. If there are voices here, only I can hear them …”

She faltered, concerned that her request might be misunderstood. Mr. Lau seemed momentarily surprised, but Toby smiled, releasing her hand. “You have waited all your life for this moment. Don’t let it pass too quickly.”

Sing stood alone in the domed entrance hall, light through panels of colored glass casting patterns onto the dusty marble floor like the windows of a church. The long-dead vibrations of those who had come and gone through these doors resounded in her mind.

She expected to feel an invitation to enter, but it was not there. A vast emptiness enclosed her, her footsteps echoing in a void as she passed from one large and musty room to another, entering every forgotten space until she stood in the empty chamber that had once been her father’s private domain.

Drawing the bolts of the shutters, she threw them wide to the sounds and smells of distant oceans, an undeniable presence brought to life.

Time passed as she sat in the window seat, a sea air blowing through the empty room, chasing a stray leaf that had somehow found its way inside. Many voices spoke to her: Master To, the sunrise in his eyes; the Fish, lifting a crab from the shallows; Ah-Soo, tossing her flaming wok; Tamiko-san, in her golden robes; Ruby, with her crinkled smile. They all seemed to tell her that there was something left to see.

She had put it from her mind—the only place she was afraid to find, the room where she was born and Li-Xia had suffered so. The Fish had told her about that terrible night.

Sing knew without asking where it was to be found: The door to the master suite was closed, while all other rooms had been open.

Sing entered to a chill that closed around her like a shroud; there was no welcome here. She felt the hand of evil heavy on her shoulder, urging her to leave this unholy place and not return.

Instead, she unbolted the shutters with trembling hands, throwing
them open to the Ti-Yuan gardens and beyond—windswept spaces drenched with light. She stood her ground, sending down her chi till it was rooted on the Rock of Great Strength. Demons danced about her, but the wind gusts swept them out, until the hand on her shoulder slowly slipped away. Here, in this dark room, so suddenly invaded by the energies of life, only the fragrance of the gardens and the sound of birds remained.

Miss Bramble was delighted to welcome Sing back to her bungalow while the Villa Formosa was being restored. But the dogs of war were gathering beyond the peaceful oasis of Stonecutters Island in those early months of 1941.

Toby brought the daily newspapers, and Sing had discovered the magic of radio, finding that the world outside her own was filled with the threat of invasion. As she learned of the Japanese Imperial Army swarming down from the north and read of the dreadful massacres of Nanking and Canton, she began to understand the terror that was eating its way into China’s heart.

Sing’s personal wars had been fought without knowledge of such things; only now did she realize the size of her country, or begin to understand its history. She learned of the warlord Sun-Yat-Sen; the young Mao-Tze-Tung and his rebel hordes; and his enemy Chiang-Kai-Shek, leader of the Kuomintang. The Japanese had occupied Manchuria and Shanghai for years, and were pressing farther south with every passing day.

That the man who had shown her the meaning of love might himself be in danger made her moments with him more precious. Toby’s visits grew less frequent as the buildup of Hong Kong’s defenses increased with the Japanese push south. The news that was once so alien to Sing seemed more personal to her every day. Miss Bramble redoubled her philanthropic efforts, and Sing joined her as much as she could, grateful for the chance to do more than bask in a luxury that still felt strange to her.

The restoration of the Villa Formosa was complete by the time she considered herself fully recovered. Angus Grant had supervised the work, using photographs and memory to replace all the furnishings as they had been for Li-Xia and Ben.

A separate vehicle had carried countless bottles of rare wines, wrapped in sleeves of straw—vintage champagne, scotch, Napoleon brandy, and kegs of Navy rum. Angus had volunteered to check the inventory and organize the restocking of the cellars, but Sing had insisted he take what he wished of both the liquor and the sealed containers of pipe tobacco and crates of Havana cigars.

The Scottish lawyer had politely refused. “It all belongs here, lassie; for all we know he’ll be back to claim it.” He had selected a bottle of Glenflddich. “But if you care to have a bottle of this upstairs for when I drop in, I’ll not say no.”

Angus turned more serious. “There’s one thing I ask of you.”

Sing had become extremely fond of him. “Anything, Angus, whatever you wish.”

“Don’t go past the five-bar gate and into the birch wood until I take you myself. That garden is out of bounds to Ah-Kin and has been let grow wild, in keeping with Ben’s wishes. It’ll be riddled with snakes. I’ll have it cleared, perhaps in a month or two, when you’ve got your sea legs.”

Her first week beneath her father’s roof was one of sound, untroubled sleep. From the Pavilion of Joyful Moments, she found peace before the altar of a dawn sky. And as the new day bloomed around her, she drank the air and called upon the White Crane, sending down her chi to find its roots, until an apricot sun was balanced on the rim of the world.

Angus had been concerned at leaving her alone in the vast old house, and Toby had assured her that Winifred Bramble would be delighted to keep her company until things were settled. She had thanked them all,
but asked to be allowed to make her peace with the Villa Formosa, and whatever ghosts remained, alone. She was more than happy, she said convincingly, with the attentions of Ah-Kin and his family.

Sing’s favorite room in these new and sumptuous surroundings was her father’s study. She spent hours examining his books and paintings, the scale model ships made by his own hand, the collection of meerschaum pipes, the aroma of his tobacco jar. Even his monogrammed notepaper, with the Double Dragon chop in scarlet and gold on every sheet, had been replaced in the drawers of his gigantic desk, the original inkwells, cigar box, and crystal decanter displayed on its green leather top. The most personal items she found were placed in a top drawer: a bottle half filled with a delightful cologne labeled BAY RUM, and beside it a flat silver flask of brandy, his name embossed on its leather case. Next to these lay a little ivory container of silver toothpicks, a bunch of keys to the desk drawers, a cigar cutter, fingernail clippers, a solid-gold snuff bottle, and a pair of Double Dragon cuff links.

Her father’s desk seemed the perfect place to keep the contents of the Tanka sling she had carried so far. From it, she took the precious journals, the finger jade, the happiness silk, and the Double Dragon dollar, placing them neatly in the drawer beside his personal items. Last, she removed the dragon claw from its worn leather pouch.

She had never looked at it thoroughly, but now realized it was of the same scale, design, and metals as the inlay that covered the desk so lavishly. “I know nothing of its purpose or its value,” the Fish had told her, “but Li-Xia said that it was precious.”

The desk, Angus had explained, had been made to Ben’s strict specifications. Sing examined the claw carefully. Could it be some kind of key?

At first she found nothing to suggest a locking device hidden in the desk. Patiently, she inspected every separate panel, deeply carved and inlaid with ivory, turquoise, and coral, until she found one that included the crest of the Double Dragon, cleverly concealed in the rich extravagance of its elaborate scrollwork—the imperial dragon of China entwined with the legendary dragon of Saint George.