The Hidden Blade (30 page)

“I—I think so. I hope so. My goodness, I hope so.”

“What happened?”

“Do you remember the house in the south of England? I gave one of the jade tablets my father had brought back to England to the master of the house.”

“Yes, of course. He was your dearest friend.”

“Well, he passed away five years ago. The letter is from his widow. She tells me that there is a possibility that his son might be on his way to visit me.”

“But that’s wonderful!”

“Yes, it is. But it would not be an easy journey for him. I am beside myself, imagining all the worst-case scenarios.” He shook his head as if to clear it. “Forgive me—I’m a little overcome.”

“It’s quite all right,” she reassured him, feeling rather overcome herself—she wanted so much for him to be happy.

He poured the remainder of his tea down his throat and made a valiant effort to start the day’s lesson. But she excused herself after some time, knowing he probably wished to read the letter again and again and do whatever it was that people did when they had news that was both exhilarating and unsettling.

“Just remember,” she said as she rose. “Don’t do that.”

They both knew what she was talking about: the jade tablet. She had come upon him at the beginning of the previous year looking at it with fierce concentration, oblivious to her presence—and had admonished him for not heeding her warnings about never having the tablet in the open again.

“Not a chance,” he replied, smiling.

At the door she turned back. “I hope he comes.”

“I hardly dare hope,” said Master Gordon, his voice cracking just a little. “But yes, I hope so with every fiber of my being.”

What if Master Gordon’s friend’s son did come? There was certainly space in Master Gordon’s rooms for him to stay. But would Da-ren allow it, or would the thought of two foreigners under his roof be too much even for him?

All those thoughts and more careened inside Ying-ying’s head. She scarcely knew whether she was on her way home or charging headlong into Da-ren’s study.

“…can’t leave yet. Wait a little longer, please, I beg you.”

She blinked—the voice belonged to Little Dragon. She was in the garden outside the Court of Contemplative Bamboo, and he was speaking from the other side of the artificial hill. Amah had always instructed her to walk heavily: a noiseless progress was the surest sign of a martial-arts expert. But distracted by Master Gordon’s news, she must have forgotten—and Little Dragon and whomever he was speaking to had no idea that she was within hearing range.

It was not a bad place to hold a private conversation for those who otherwise could not find any privacy. Most other servants didn’t come to this part of the residence, as the majordomo frowned on anyone making unnecessary noises near Da-ren’s study. And Little Dragon had no doubt counted on Ying-ying and Master Gordon being absorbed in their lesson.

“How much longer?” came a girl’s voice. “You said we can go to Tientsin. You said you can find work with the foreigners. That was two years ago.”

Her words were not plaintive, but anguished.

“I know it’s my fault. I know we should have gone years ago. But he is scared to leave. He doesn’t even dare visit his old mother—and he’s desperate to see her.”

“Every day Shao-ye calls me stupid. Useless. He says I can’t even smile properly. He says he wished he’d asked for Little Lotus instead. He has no idea how much
I
wish he had asked for Little Lotus instead. Or maybe he does—maybe that’s why he hates me so much.”

It was all Ying-ying could do to not make any sounds. The girl was Little Orchid, the maid who had been given over for Shao-ye’s bedchamber use. Little Dragon was playing with fire. Even if Shao-ye had wearied of Little Orchid, Ying-ying didn’t think he would want her to rendezvous with another young man, especially one who was both taller and better-looking.

She didn’t want—or dare—to listen anymore. If Little Dragon knew that she had learned his secret…She circulated her chi as high as it would go, and retreated silently back into the Court of Contemplative Bamboo, all the way back into Master Gordon’s rooms.

He looked up in surprise at her reappearance, the letter open before him. She pointed at the umbrella she had left behind and took it in hand. And then she said loudly, “I’m leaving, Master Gordon. I had better get home before a thunderstorm comes.”

She stomped out, making her footsteps almost heavy enough to crack the paving stones. This time, when she passed through the garden, it was silent as a tomb.

Ying-ying could not stop thinking about Little Orchid. Little Dragon would do fine for himself someday—if he could manage to keep his pride in check. But the poor girl…her plight made Ying-ying’s teeth hurt.

The path she was on ended at a wider path. She had to stop for a moment to reorient herself. The next courtyard was where Mrs. Mu-he lived, and usually Ying-ying avoided this part of the residence, because it was too close to where the lordlings’ Confucian masters lived.

This particular path, however, did not take her past the Confucian masters’ courtyard, and she had no reason to suppose Shao-ye would ever visit old Mrs. Mu-he. But as she passed by the front gate of Mrs. Mu-he’s courtyard, a man came out.

Shao-ye. She immediately bent her neck and walked even faster.

“Halt,” he ordered.

There was no one else on the path. She stopped.

“Come back here.”

Slowly she complied, keeping her face down. What was he doing in Mrs. Mu-he’s courtyard? Of course, she should have remembered: Mrs. Mu-he had a new maid, a plump, pretty girl.

“I wasn’t here today. Do you understand?” he said softly. “You never saw me here.”

Ying-ying understood. Shao-ye had been in considerable trouble last month. Apparently he had become enamored of a young concubine of one of Da-ren’s friends. That was fine—nothing made a middle-aged man happier than to have a woman who inspired lust all around. But the lordling went several steps beyond. He sent her gifts. He proposed rendezvous. That had infuriated the Da-ren’s friend and had put Da-ren into an unusual display of rage. Shao-ye was supposed to be on his best behavior now, not going around trysting with maids.

“Yes, Young Master.”

“Good. Go.” He waved an imperious hand.

She bent her knees slightly and left, exhaling in relief.

“Stop. Turn around,” he commanded anew.

What now?

“Lift up your face.”

“This humble maid does not dare.”

“I grant you permission. Lift up your face.”

Her jaw clenched tight, she raised her face but kept her eyes downcast. He sucked in a breath. “Lovely. Most lovely. Who are you? How have I never seen you here?”

She was a little short of fourteen, but very tall for her age. And since her monthly flow started the year before, her chest had begun to burgeon in an embarrassing fashion. She could easily be mistaken for someone two or three years older.

“I’m Bai Fu-ren’s daughter.”

Mother’s name took a moment to register with him. “I’d heard she was the most beautiful woman. But her daughter rivals her.”

“Young Master is too generous with his praise.” What rotten luck. Why did he have to be here today? She had taken so much care to never cross his path.

“Not at all. You are far more exquisite than that Peony Petal Minister Chao is so proud of. Fairer, too.”

Ying-ying cursed inwardly.

A young lackey came running. “Da-ren is looking for you, Young Master. You had better make haste.”

He swore. But he didn’t leave immediately. He stared at Ying-ying some more—and for good measure trailed a fingertip along her cheek. “Now that I know Bai Gu-niang lives here, and that her beauty shames the spring blossoms, I hope to see much more of her.”

She broke into a run as soon as he turned away. She must wash her face immediately. “Where have you been?”

Da-ren. Ying-ying had already sprinted around the corner; now she froze—until she realized that Da-ren wasn’t address her, but his son.

“Just…just out walking,” stammered Shao-ye.

“And when did you develop that habit?” Da-ren snapped. “Whose courtyard is that?”

No one said anything for a long moment. Then the young lackey answered, his voice not quite even, “That would be the majordomo’s.”

The slap reverberated in the walled alley. “You dare lie to me? That’s Mrs. Mu-he’s or I’m a Han.”

Another slap, even louder. Shao-ye moaned.

“Is this how you teach your lackeys? You are to give them moral guidance, not signal them to lie.”

“He lied on his own. I didn’t tell him to do it.”

This time Da-ren slapped him twice. “Shut up. You, go in the courtyard and bring out everyone.”

“Yes, Da-ren.” The lackey’s voice trembled. “Right away.”

Ying-ying smiled grimly. This promised to be good. There was chaos in the courtyard: Mrs. Mu-he demanded to know what was happening, and why was everyone headed outside just when she was getting ready for her bath.

Distant knocks came. Someone was rapping on a courtyard gate, but not gaining admission. The knocks became louder and more impatient. “Anybody home?” a sullen voice shouted.

Was the lackey knocking on the door of
Ying-ying’s
courtyard? If so, why hadn’t Amah answered? Where was she?

Ying-ying ran again.

The manservant had let himself into the courtyard and now stood before the door of the reception room, shifting his weight from foot to foot.

He turned around as soon as he sensed Ying-ying’s approach, the same servant who had refused her the sweet walnut soup years ago. “Bai Gu-niang? What’s going on? Why is there no one to take this food? I can’t stand here forever. My joints suffer enough without having to shiver in the cold.”

Usually lunch never came so early to their courtyard—but she’d heard the majordomo’s headaches had become much less frequent, thanks to Amah’s ministrations. Perhaps this was another way of repaying her.

Ying-ying put on a conciliatory smile. “Master Keeper Po,” she said sweetly. Only the majordomo was properly addressed as Master Keeper. But all the menservants, especially the older ones like Po, adored the elevation of their meager office. “Master Keeper, so sorry you had to wait out in the cold. My amah must have been called away—you know how everyone always needs her to brew a bowl of medicine.”

She opened the door and quickly glanced inside. Amah wasn’t in the reception room. “Here, I’ll take it from you.” She took the double steamer. “Please wait a moment.”

She went to the next room and retrieved a small sealed urn of eau-de-vie from a bottom cabinet. Da-ren had kept a number of them with Mother. Now that they were without ready access to coins or silver ingots, the liquor had become their currency.

“Here, Master Keeper, this will keep your joints smooth.” She pressed the spherical earthen urn into his hands. “Thank you for your trouble.”

Po’s grin made his eyes disappear. “Bai Gu-niang, I’ve always told everyone you are the nicest, most generous girl.”

A whimper of pain, barely audible, came from the inner rooms. Ying-ying’s stomach dropped. But she widened her smile. “Master Keeper leave well.”