Sudden malevolence glimmered through Kuan’s calm visage. “Here in my domain, the laws of England do not apply. Sit down, Miss Bronte.”
Now was the time to flee the house before he could pry more deeply into my mind; now was the time to fetch Mr. Slade to capture Kuan before he could fulfill his secret, evil purpose. I rushed to the door and flung it open-only to find Hitchman standing in the hall, barring my path.
“You will remain until I determine that our conversation is finished,” Kuan said evenly.
I sank into my chair. Hitchman closed the door, imprisoning me with Kuan. Yet even a caged animal will snap at its jailer.
“I will answer more questions from you, under the condition that you answer questions from me,” I said, despite knowing that I was in no position to bargain.
I expected Kuan to be angry, but he seemed gratified that I had stood up to him. “Your courage delights me, Miss Bronte.” A smile of arresting charm transformed his face. “Valor while under threat is a rare and admirable trait.”
My emotions underwent a sudden, unsettling shift. I felt no longer defiant towards him, but flattered by his praise. Once more, as in Brussels, he had invoked his power to make me desirous of his good opinion, even though I knew him to be my enemy.
“The bargain you propose is a fair one,” Kuan said. “I shall postpone my interrogation of you, and you may interrogate me. Is it agreed?”
He extended his hand towards me. My small, unexpected victory startled me so much that my mouth fell open. We shook hands. His grasp was firm, his slender fingers like iron sheathed in silk. I had a disturbing sense that I had agreed to much more than an exchange of information. Even more disturbing was the way our new comradeship gladdened my spirits.
“Well, Miss Bronte?” said Kuan. “I await your questions.”
All I could think to say was, “Who are you?”
Kuan nodded his approval; he settled himself more comfortably in his chair. “This is an instance when a short question requires a long answer. I trust you are intelligent enough that by the time I am finished, you will deduce why I wish you to know my story in such detail. Who I am extends beyond my mere identity and has deep roots in the past. In China, a man’s history begins not with himself, but with his forebears. Mine were rice merchants in Shanghai, the great trading city on the eastern coast. The family business was prosperous, but my father aspired to join the ruling mandarin class, and I-his eldest son-was chosen to elevate our family’s station. His wealth bought the best tutors for me. I studied for long years. At age twenty, I passed the examination for entry into the civil service of the emperor.”
This sounded indescribably foreign to me. Kuan’s words seemed to waft me upon a breeze laden with Oriental spices. I found myself mesmerized by his voice. Vague scenes of Chinese pagodas and palaces took shape in the mist outside the window; the gulls’ cries became the babble of Chinese merchants.
“I was then appointed district magistrate of a village in Fukien Province,” Kuan continued. “There I learned the skills of statesmanship and administration. For the next seventeen years, I worked in various posts throughout the land.”
I found myself unable to look away from his steady, black, vertiginous eyes; an eerie stupor relaxed me. Kuan’s beauty grew more alluring and less repellent by the moment. I didn’t feel the same attraction towards him as I felt towards Mr. Slade; yet he exerted upon me a pull that I couldn’t define. Did my character predestine me to be smitten by Kuan? Did some magnetic current flow from him to me, as between lodestone and iron? I began to fathom some part of his motive for telling me his life story: He sensed how drawn I am to the lure of things dramatic and fantastical, and he wanted to sink his hooks into my mind.
His suave, musical voice went on: “Those were tumultuous years. While I was a judicial commissioner in Sinkiang Province, it became embroiled in a war against the followers of a prophet called Mohammed. Two years later, when I was financial commissioner in Hunan, rebel attacks beset the province. By this time I had married; my wife had borne my son T’ing-nan. Our two daughters followed.” Dark memories swirled in Kuan’s eyes. “I eventually attained a post as secretary to the governor of the city that your people call Canton.”
The part of my mind that remained rational comprehended that Kuan hadn’t yet said anything to explain his actions.
“Canton is located in the tropic region of south China,” he continued. “It is a busy port where merchants from Europe, Arabia, the Orient, and the New World come to trade. These foreign traders live separate from the townspeople, in factories on the bank of the Whampoa River. There are vast fortunes to be made in tea and silk, by Chinese and foreigners alike. It was a most advantageous post for me.”
“Then why did you leave China?” I asked boldly. “What brought you to England?”
He regarded me in silence, his eyes narrowed to slits, as though measuring how much I deserved to hear-or how far he could trust me. At last he folded his hands on the desk and said with an enigmatic smile, “Those are questions that I shall answer on a future occasion. You are dismissed. Until I summon you again, you will continue teaching my son-if you can.”
30
I spent the rest of the day in solitude. T’ing-nan never reappeared for more lessons. I surreptitiously tried the doors and windows-and found them all tightly secured: I was a prisoner. That night I heard an argument between Kuan and T’ing-nan. The son screamed in Chinese; the father never raised his voice. Later I heard stealthy movements in the cellar. I had a frightening sense that there were many more people in the house than I had encountered. The atmosphere was so turbid with menace that I vowed to stay not a moment longer. The next morning, I was dressed in cloak and bonnet when the key turned in the lock and opened my cell. I hurried out and intercepted Hitchman in the foyer.
“Good morning, Miss Bronte,” he said, surveying me in his insolent fashion. “Are you going somewhere?”
“To town, if you please,” I said.
I regretted that I could not take my bags, which would alert him that I had no intention to return; but I would gladly escape with only the clothes I was wearing. I tried to hide my nervousness, but I must have failed, because Hitchman looked askance at me.
“Why must you go to town again so soon?” he said.
“I need to post a letter,” I said, holding up the envelope that contained a message written to Papa, Emily, and Anne. “My family will wish to know that I arrived here safely.”
Hitchman said, “Give me the letter. I’ll see that it’s posted.”
“Oh, but I’d rather do it myself and spare you the trouble.” Dismay sank my spirits, for he had clearly been instructed not to allow me to leave.
“Hadn’t you better attend to your duties?” Hitchman said.
“I doubt that Master T’ing-nan will mind waiting for his lesson,” I said.
Hitchman regarded me with suspicion alerted by my urgent need to be gone. “Go to the schoolroom, Miss Bronte. I’ll send your pupil to you.”
Defeated, I turned to obey, but he grabbed my arm and swung me around to face him. “I have something to say to you first. You have somehow earned Kuan’s good opinion, but until you’ve proven to me that you’re trustworthy, I’ll be watching you. Do you understand?”
“Yes, sir,” I said, breathless with fright. He, unlike his master, had no gentleness nor magic to lull me. “May I go now?”
“Not just yet.” Hitchman smiled, relishing my fear. “I’ll have you know that I owe my life to Kuan. I’ve repaid him by doing more than I’ll mention now. And I’ll do more yet to further the plans we’ve laid and reap the rewards we expect.”
Was it more than lucre and gratitude that inspired his loyalty? Perhaps he, too, had fallen under Kuan’s mysterious spell.
“Isabel White stole money from Kuan before she ran away from him,” Hitchman said, and finally I learned how she’d come by the thousand pounds she’d sent her mother. “She died for her mistake. If you do anything to betray Kuan, I’ll kill you.”