My Splendid Concubine (49 page)

It wasn
’t easy for Robert to avoid a man he considered a friend.

Chapter 27

The weather conspired with Ward to make life miserable for Robert and Ayaou. The winter of 1858 was the coldest since he’d arrived in China.

Guan-jiah, his Chinese servant, insisted on doing the sho
pping so Ayaou stayed inside the house alone most of the time. Each day Guan-jiah brought in frost bitten cabbages that were withered and looked rotten. The potatoes were loaded with ice crystals and tasted like pork liver.

Robert was in a surly mood, and others
went out of their way to avoid him. He spent hours concocting far-fetched schemes on how he was going to exact revenge for Shao-mei’s death.

He bought another revolver for Guan-jiah and took the eunuch into the countryside daily for target practice. On those days, for her protection, Ayaou visited boat people she had known all her life.

They found a place to practice without witnesses. There, away from the city, among
the trees and rice paddies, Robert’s servant learned to shoot.

At first,
Guan-jiah’s hands shook. When he squeezed the trigger, he closed his eyes and jumped at the sound of the boom. “I’m going deaf, Master,” he said.

“
Then take cotton and plug your ears,” he replied.

“
What about my eyes, Master? How do I keep them open?”

“
We’ll work on it. If you learn, I’ll add five yuan a month to your pay.” He stood behind his servant and reached around him putting his hands over Guan-jiah’s to steady the shaking.

“
Put your index finger on the trigger and squeeze,” he said. “Do not jerk the trigger, or you will miss the target.”

Since he was
behind Guan-jiah, he couldn’t help but observe the eunuch’s shaved skull. A tail of hair called a queue grew out of the back of the eunuch’s head and hung halfway down his back. He was a bony, short man with a turned-up nose and eyes set far apart.

After helping Guan-jiah fire his first
five shots, he stepped back to observe and was aware of his servant’s graceful, feminine posture and movements. Since Guan-jiah had voluntarily castrated himself at a young age to apply for a job inside the Forbidden City, he was no longer a man. He was a
lao-gong
, a eunuch. If he grew his hair long and dressed like a woman, he could easily pass for one. He was sure that men would find Guan-jiah attractive as a woman. As it was, he looked homely in his drab colored, baggy peasant clothing.

It was a tragic blow when Guan-jiah did not get the first job he applied for as a
tai-jian
, a court or palace eunuch. Robert realized his servant was not alone. He’d heard that as many as fifty-thousand boys castrated themselves each year to be eligible to apply for the few positions available in the Emperor’s palace. Many that were not accepted killed themselves.

Guan-jiah, on the other hand, decided to live.
He respected his servant for the burden he had taken to feed his siblings, his parents, his grandparents, his uncles and aunts, and cousins.

It took days to get Guan-jiah to keep his eyes open and calm enough to hit the target. The target was only twenty yards away, but it might as well have been a mile. The eunuch learned and hit the target on average four out of every six shots. They went through two hundred rounds before Robert was satisfied.

He
suspected he was being followed. When Robert turned to catch the person, the phantom melted like fog. He questioned his sanity. He suspected he was imagining things—that Shao-mei’s death had made him paranoid. On the other hand, he felt he couldn’t take the chance that he was wrong.

One evening o
n his way home, he confronted a man that looked like a Japanese sailor. The man had been walking behind him for three blocks by the time Robert decided to confront him.

He turned and pointed a finger at the sailor
’s face. “Why are you following me? Trying to discover where I live, huh?” Robert’s other hand was in his jacket pocket holding the Colt revolver.

The man was taller than he was, but Robert
’s intensity and anger caused the man to step back. The sailor looked around at the Chinese on the street as if he were seeking help against a lunatic.

None of the Chinese paid the slightest attention to this dr
amatic scene in their midst. Robert knew why—what happened between foreigners or strangers was none of their business. Why should they care if two barbarians killed each other?

“
Leave me alone,” the sailor said. He took another step back.

Robert pursued him.
“You have been spying on me. Admit it.”

The sailor ran. Although Robert felt satisfaction at chasing the man off, he worried that next time the spy would be sneakier and harder to detect. At least, he had proved he was ready if something unexpected happened.

W
hen he opened the front door one morning, it resisted as if the hinge pins had swollen. He examined the door and discovered scratches and dents on the outside surface as if someone had been attempting to force the door with a metal pry bar.

He sucked in a
breath—shocked. Without thinking, his right hand slipped into the jacket pocket where he kept the Colt revolver. He stared at every face in the street and looked at the rooftops expecting to see someone watching. A wave of dizziness swept over him. He had to lean against the wall to keep his balance.

He wanted to yell
, I am here, you bastards! Come get me!
His house had been violated. The woman he loved had been threatened. He felt helpless, useless.

“
Master, what is wrong?” It was Guan-jiah. Since the attempt to hijack Robert into a British warship months earlier, before Shao-mei had been murdered, the eunuch arrived every morning and accompanied him to the consulate. He came with a sturdy walking stick—a gnarly, knobby thing that doubled as a bludgeon.

Robert pointed at the door
’s hinges. “They came to get her.” He continued to babble as the eunuch guided him inside. Then the servant went back out.

Robert sat on the nearest stool. He pulled the Colt out of his poc
ket and stared at it. When Guan-jiah returned, the eunuch slipped the bar into its brackets securing the door.

“
Master,” Guan-jiah said. “Why do you hold that thing? It is dangerous.” He took the revolver out of Robert’s hand and put the weapon on a small table next to the door.

“
I have to be ready.”

“
It was only a thief, Master. Do you think the men that murdered Shao-mei and her child would have given up because they could not force their way into the house if they knew you were inside?”

Robert shrugged.
“What am I going to do? I feel helpless. I couldn’t protect Shao-mei. She is dead because of me. How can I protect Ayaou?”

“
Master, I will hire a craftsman to repair the door. The man will make it stronger. I will see to that.” Guan-jiah knelt and looked into Robert’s eyes. “What happened is something to feel pleased about. The door held. You and Ayaou are safe. Your efforts to protect your concubine worked.”

“
That’s true,” he replied, and sat straighter. “Make sure the new hinge pins are twice as strong as the ruined ones. The thieves will come better prepared next time. We must be ready. This house must be strong enough to withstand an army.”

“
Do not worry, Master. When the workers are finished, the hinge pins in this door will be the sturdiest in Ningpo.”

At the consulate, Robert often slipped into a trance and stared at the wall. He thought about the three men he had angered since coming to China. There was General Frederick Townsend Ward, the American mercenary. If he hadn’t forced the general at gunpoint to sell Ayaou to him, Shao-mei would still be alive.

“
Master,” Guan-jiah said.

Caught-off guard, Robert jerked.

The eunuch put a tray on the desk. There was a steaming teapot and a cup with a lid. “This tea will help calm your nerves.” Guan-jiah took a step back, folded his hands together and nodded.

Robert lifted the lid on the cup. Steam escaped.
“How do you know that I need something to calm down? What’s in this?” he asked. “It smells familiar.”

“
That would be the chrysanthemums. I have added orchids, jasmine, black tea, green tea and some peppermint. It is a blend I developed. I suggest you allow me to bring you some each morning.”

“
Good idea.”

Guan-jiah left. Robert took a sip then put the cup down and placed the lid on. He returned to his paperwork. It didn
’t take long before his mind drifted to the other two men.

The second was Unwyn Fiske, someone Robert angered during a battle with the Taipings. He wished there was some way he could erase the hate Unwyn felt for him. He still didn
’t understand why the man blamed him for wanting to save those boat people from the rebels.

He had no idea what Captain Patridge had done to Unwyn. He dreaded finding out. Had Unwyn lost his job because of Robert
’s complaints? If so, where was Unwyn? Did he want revenge?

He picked up the tea and lifted the lid. He buried his nose in the aroma
tic scent. The heat and fragrance of the ingredients acted as a balm. Guan-jiah had been right.

If Captain Patridge hadn
’t invited him to spend his holiday at the captain’s summerhouse on Zhoushan Island during the summer of 1855, Robert would have never met Ayaou. It hadn’t helped that Captain Patridge was the principal agent for the largest British opium merchant in China.

It didn
’t take long to fall in love with Ayaou. However, love came with a price. He had to help the captain smuggle opium into parts of China where it was outlawed. For doing this, Patridge had promised to protect him and Ayaou from Ward.

That hadn
’t worked.

He shook his head to snap out of the trance. He checked to see if anyone had noticed. Dr. Winchester, the consul in Ningpo, was in another room busy with a British merchant making sure the man didn
’t avoid paying the legal duty for his goods. The other two assistants were out, probably on ships checking manifests.

Good, he didn
’t want anyone to discover there were moments when he stopped working. How would he explain that he was struggling to figure out a way to keep the woman he loved alive? They didn’t know he had a concubine. Ayaou was his greatest secret. If his parents and friends in Ireland discovered he’d bought a woman, they’d never forgive him.

The third man he angered was Payne Hollister, the British consul in Ningpo when Robert arrived at his first duty station in 1854.
They worked together for a few months before Hollister quit.

Robert considered it his fault that
Hollister held a grudge against him. After all, he had seduced Me-ta-tae, Hollister’s concubine. Months later, to get even, Hollister raped Shao-mei making her pregnant.

He slipped a hand inside his vest and rubbed an ache gro
wing in his gut. It was a constant burning born with Shao-mei’s death. It was growing as if it had a life of its own.

After the attempted break in, his ability to sleep deteriorated. He awoke several times a night and saw Ward’s face. The mercenary’s eyes glowed in the dark. His teeth flashed and his tongue, like a fat mangled blood sausage, snaked in and out of that open wound in the side of his face.

“
She was always mine, Hart,” Ward said.

When he heard Ward
’s demonic laugh, Robert broke out in a cold sweat. “No!” He yelled, waking Ayaou.

“
What is it?” she asked.

“
Nothing. Go back to sleep.”

“
You have soaked the sheets.” She touched him. “You are covered in sweat. You will get sick if you do not dry off.”

“
Leave me alone.” He left the bedroom to search the house for intruders. He carried the revolver with the hammer cocked. He looked like a pale wraith floating naked from room to room through the darkness—one phantom chasing another.

“I think we should move,” he said a week later. They were in the parlor, the room where the three of them had once read and discussed poems together. The laughter that once filled this room had died with Shao-mei. Now the house was a tomb for two dead people. He remembered Guan-jiah saying that a poet had killed himself in this house leaving evil spirits behind.

Scrolls with Chinese calligraphy hung from the walls. There was a bench with a table and some chairs. Against one wall was the altar for Shao-mei
’s spirit. He stared at one vase sitting on the altar. It held the ashes from his Chinese robes, the robes Shao-mei bought for him. They had been a perfect fit. One had been linen and the other silk. After Shao-mei’s death, he burned the robes and swore he would never wear Chinese clothing again.