Will Thomas - The Limehouse Text

“Oh, he’s managed to successfully alienate most of Limehouse. I do my best to temper his remarks, since he doesn’t realize what gross insults he gives everyone. Poor chap, he’s doing more harm than good.”

“When did he arrive in London, Mr. Woo?” Barker asked.

“Just plain Jimmy will do. Let’s see. It was after Christmas last year. No, it must be two years ago, now, since it is February.”

“So Campbell-Ffinch has been on this case for over a year? The Foreign Office must be more forgiving than I thought.”

“Don’t think they haven’t threatened him, but I gather he’s furthered a few other cases in and around this one, through his bullying tactics and his group of Old Boys. I don’t believe the needs or desires of the Imperial Government come at the top of the F.O.’s list of priorities.”

“What about yours, er-Jimmy?”

“You mean regarding the Finch? That’s what I call him-the Finch. He sings and blusters all day, but no one really pays attention. He treats me abominably, but the F.O. compensates me for it. I’ve had worse employers. One merely has to understand that he’s going to take his frustration over his own inadequacies out on you.” He eyed my employer. “Do you mind if I ask you another question, the one everyone in the district is dying to know? Do you have any Chinese blood? Are you one of us?”

“Yes.”

Woo actually stopped and took Barker by the arm. “Really? You’re Chinese?”

“Yes, I really do mind if you ask me another question.”

I saw Woo hesitate a moment, then he threw his head back and roared with laughter. It rang false to me, but that was the impression all Chinamen gave me: that they laughed when they had been caught out or embarrassed.

“Good one, sir. Didn’t know you detectives had such a sense of humor.”

“Enquiry agents.”

“So sorry.”

“Shall you return to China someday, Mr. Woo?” Barker asked.

“Oh, I do hope so, sir. I miss the old place, Shanghai, Peking, the beauty of the Sung Mountains.”

“Ah, a northerner,” Barker was quick to say. “I’ve only been to Peking once to aid the Dowager Empress, but I found it spectacular. You must be very familiar with the Forbidden City.”

“Of course. I see we understand each other.”

There it is again, I thought to myself, that phrase. First Barker’s friend Huang Feihong used it in the letter and now Woo. What did they understand now?

“It must bring back good memories for you,” Barker continued.

“I look forward to the day when I arrive in Peking again and can see the roofs of the city. Shall you return yourself, sir, and continue the legend of Shi Shi Ji?”

Barker actually thought over the question. “I consider myself a resident of the world, Mr. Woo, but I must admit I also have a soft spot for China. Perhaps someday I shall return, at least to visit.”

“I think sometimes I could just jump aboard a ship and say good-bye to London, even after all these years,” Woo said, “but then I come to my senses and remember I’ve got responsibilities here.”

Woo showed us to the front door and we passed a group of old salts content to sit around the square tables, playing endless games of mah-jongg. It was pretty to look at, but it made chess look as easy as draughts by comparison.

“Well, I must take my leave. The Finch expects me to translate for him within the hour, and, if I know him, I’ll be fetching and carrying, as well. Pleasure seeing you chaps again.”

Off the fellow scampered like Alice’s White Rabbit. He really was one of the most eccentric fellows I’d ever met. Barker and I walked several streets to the tram, which took us out of Limehouse again.

“What did he mean by the two of you understanding each other?” I asked.

“Have you noticed Woo’s voice?” my employer asked.

“It is rather high and strident.”

“The Forbidden City is not open to normal males, since it contains the Prince’s wives and consorts. It is heavily populated and run by eunuchs.”

“Are you saying?”

“Yes. To anyone familiar with China, the voice is a dead giveaway.”

“He’s a…castrato?”

“Not castration, lad, I mean a complete sacrifice.” He made a cutting gesture with his hand, like a cleaver.

“My word!”

“It is the price young men in China must pay if they are intelligent, talented, and ambitious.”

Ambition is one thing, I thought, but that is a price I consider too dear merely to get ahead.

The next morning, the Sabbath, I stopped just long enough to down a cup of coffee and snatch a brioche before stepping outside. My employer was directing one of the workers in how he wanted the algae removed from his fish pond before it froze, with the aid of a long-handled bamboo rake. He stopped on seeing me and gave me an appraising look. I had grown very good at estimating his moods based upon the raising and lowering of the brows behind his spectacles and the crinkling of his eyes at their corners. He shot a glance toward his Pen-jing collection, and I followed his gaze to where Miss Winter stood in her heavy veil, brushing Harm on top of a flat-topped rock Barker used to prune his miniature trees. The dog, at least, had manners enough to yip a greeting at me while Miss Winter brushed the dog’s fur as if I weren’t there. It was chilly in the garden that morning and I didn’t merely mean the weather. I waited until I received the smallest of grudging nods from my employer, who went on discussing the removal of the algae, as if it required Pythagorean mathematics. It was all the permission I required. I took off my hat and offered my most sincere bow.

“Miss,” I ventured, “I apologize for the unfortunate turn of events of three days ago. It was not my intention to enter into a disagreement with your maid, and the circumstance that resulted in her lying on a mudflat was entirely an error in judgment on my part. I was concerned over the welfare of the dog, you see, which of course, was stupid of me, for he obviously could not have been in better hands.”

The woman stood there stock-still, as they say, with her brush still buried in Harm’s fur, while I waited, hat over my chest, for her forgiveness. Ducking one’s ladies’ maid in the river was certainly a breach of etiquette, I reasoned, but it was not exactly a crime. Not an unforgivable one, anyway. Would she accept my apology?

She stood there a moment or two, lost in thought. Finally, she finished her stroke, set the dog on the ground, and put her brush away in a little leather box she had brought with her. Even from a distance of five feet, her veil was impenetrable, but as I was noting it, she leaned forward and lifted the heavy tulle from her face.

“I have no maid, Mr. Llewelyn,” she stated.

A shiver ran down my spine that wasn’t due to the fact that it was cold in the garden. How was I to know that the Chinese girl I had fought and the girl who tended after Harm at our home once a week were one and the same?

“I-I’m so sorry,” I stammered.

She said nothing but regarded me out of black, almond-shaped eyes. I wanted to protest, but couldn’t find the words. How could I have known? For that matter, what was a Chinese girl doing dressed up like an Englishwoman-though I had to admit she was attractive in her close-fitting widow’s weeds. Some movement of my face must have betrayed my thoughts, for she suddenly stepped forward and before I could move, slapped my face hard. It reminded me of the fact that I myself had already been ill-used. True, I had tossed her in the Thames, but she had half kicked me down a stairwell, not to mention trying to scratch my eyes out. I thought we were about to have another set-to, but thankfully Barker had finally finished communicating the exact formula for extracting algae from a fish pond and came up beside me.