Victoria Holt - The House of a Thousand Lanterns

What seemed so odd was the method chosen. I was not to be killed outright. I was to be made weak and then everyone was to believe that I suffered from hallucinations. There was a method in it for when I was very weak and had been so for some time my death would surprise no one.

This was what had happened to Sylvester. I was certain of that now.

He had had no idea. He had accepted the weakening of his body as a natural effect of the sedentary life he was forced to lead.

“Sylvester,” I murmured. “What happened? I wish you could come back and tell me.”

Whenever possible I directed the rickshaw man to take me in such a way that we passed Chan Cho Lan’s house.

Sometimes I would say, “Slow down. We’re nearly there.” They were not suspicious because during my journey I often asked them to stop or slow down. I was so sorry for them, running as they did with their burdens. Sometimes I looked into their wizened faces and I seemed to see a certain hopelessness there. It was as though they accepted the fact that this was their lot in life. They were meek and uncomplaining, but looked so tired sometimes; and I had heard that the life of a rickshaw man was not a long one.

They were faintly amused by my concern, I think. Whether they were grateful or not, I could not say. They thought me odd. I think perhaps I lost face with many of the servants by allowing myself to consider these menials. I didn’t care. I was happy to lose as much face as they wished in such a cause.

It was on one of these occasions when I again saw Joliffe going into Chan Cho Lan’s house.

When I reached The House of a Thousand Lanterns I went to my room and asked myself why Joliffe called there.

Chan Cho Lan and Joliffe. How long? I wondered. Lilian Lang knew. This was what she was hinting. She had told me as plainly as she dared that Joliffe kept a Chinese mistress and that mistress might well be the inscrutable fascinating Chan Cho Lan herself.

There was so much that I did not know. It seemed that often outsiders knew more of one’s affairs than one did oneself. A man’s secret life was often secret only to his wife. Others quickly learned about it, whispered about it and if they were kindly, kept it from the one it most concerned and if they were malicious they betrayed it.

Now I was building up the picture. Could it possibly be that Joliffe wished to marry Chan Cho Lan? That was not possible. He could not marry anyone because he was married to me. But if I were not here…

I tried to push such thoughts out of my head.

Joliffe came in.

“Jane, my darling, I wondered if you’d be in.”

I was caught up in an embrace. He smelled mainly of a mixture of jasmine and frangipani.

I did not have to ask myself where I had smelled that before.

“Do you often go to Chan Cho Lan’s house, Joliffe?” I asked.

“I have been.”

“Recently?”

“Yes recently.”

“Do you have business with her? Is she interested in some collector’s piece?”

“She is always interested in collectors’ pieces.”

“So that is why you went to see her… recently?”

“There is another matter, Jane.”

My heart began to beat faster. Was he going to tell me now? Was he going to explain to me, confess that he had a mistress, that there was much I had to learn about life here, that I had to adjust my views…

That I would never accept, I thought fiercely.

“It’s Lottie,” he said.

“Lottie! What has she to do with this?”

“Everything,” he said. “Chan Cho Lan is going to find a husband for her.”

“Lottie mentioned something of this to me.”

“She should marry. She is now of an age.”

“Is it marriage… or a liaison?”

“Marriage.”

“Lottie seemed to think that because her feet had not been mutilated this would be impossible.”

“It would probably be so with someone who is entirely Chinese. The husband Chan Cho Lan has in mind for her is half English half Chinese like Lottie herself.”

“So the reason you visit Chan Cho Lan is to arrange this?”

“Yes.”

“I can smell the perfume of her house on your clothes.”

“What a nose you have, my darling.”

“You make me sound like the wolf in Red Riding Hood. All the better I should say to smell out your secrets.”

He kissed me lightly on the nose. “What a mercy that I have none from you,” he said.

“I should have thought that Lottie’s matrimonial affairs should be discussed with me rather than you.”

“Oh, you don’t know the Chinese. It’s the men who arrange these matters.”

He was so plausible. When I was near him I believed him. How could I ever have thought that he would deceive me?

I was always swamped by my love for him, by my need of him; for that tremendous physical bond which held us together.

I would believe him now that we were together. Later perhaps in the night when I awoke suddenly and looked towards the door for fear that I should see the Mask of Death, the doubts would come back again.

Someone in this house had threatened me.

I would find out who, and in order to do so I must not allow myself to be deluded.

I had always known that Joliffe liked Lottie and she him, although I think she had been disappointed when I married. Not exactly disappointed but fearful. She knew of course that Jason was his son and that something had gone wrong. She probably put all this down to the inscrutable ways of the foreign devils.

Now I began to notice certain glances between them. A fondness in his expression when he spoke to her or of her; of Lottie I could not be sure. Those giggles which indicate tragedy or amusement had always bemused me.

I knew that she often visited Chan Cho Lan. This had been a regular feature of her life since she came to us, so there was nothing unusual about that. I asked her how she felt about this union which was being arranged for her.

“Very happy,” she said dolefully.

“You don’t sound it, Lottie.”

“Shall wait and see,” she said.

“You should be dancing with joy,” I said.

“No.” She shook her head. “Nothing all good.”

“Have you seen this man?”

“Yes, I have.”

“He is young… handsome?”

She nodded.

I put my arms about her. “Is it that you don’t want to leave us?”

She laid her forehead against me in a helpless gesture which I found appealing.

“We’ll see you often, Lottie,” I said. “I shall ask you and your husband to visit us. To come to tea…”

She turned away giggling.

I was now feeling as strong as I ever had. My energy—both physical and mental—had returned. I now faced my suspicions squarely. Something mysterious was going on. Someone had attempted if not to kill me to harm me and when I thought of what had happened to Sylvester I believed that the same method was being used on me. Sylvester had died—whether as a result of these methods or not I could not be entirely sure, but if he had been poisoned however mildly this could not have done him any good.

He had had violent dreams. He had seen the Mask of Death.

And so had I.

I had been awakened from my sleep by it. I now believed that I had been awake when I saw it, and if this was the case then I must have seen someone.

I was going to discover.

The next day I feigned listlessness and retired to my bed. I spent two hours there watching, ready to leap from my bed at the moment the apparition appeared. Nothing happened. The next day I tried it again.

Just as I was beginning to despair I fancied I heard a faint movement. I was tense, watchful, my eyes on the door. Then I saw it move… quietly, slowly. The face was in the doorway glaring at me from the gloom.