Chapter 9
Caroline’s dressmaker was one Lisan had recommended.
“I have some very fashionable friends who use this tailor’s shop,” her secretary had said. “All they do is give him magazine
pictures and his seamstresses copy the outfits perfectly.”
On his first visit, the tailor had come to Lennox Manor bringing bolts of silk, embroidered fabric panels, and his head seamstress.
The entire experience had proven wonderfully convenient. The shop was in the Chinese district of Shanghai, not in the International
Settlement.
“I much prefer your Chinese tailor to the English one Mrs. Easton said to use,” Caroline said. “There’s no risk that any of
my secrets will get back to ladies such as Mrs. Easton. Lisan, I order you to keep this tailor a secret from those busybodies.”
They both laughed, Lisan at first just giggling, hand in front of her mouth, then a loud guffaw. Caroline, who had never seen
her rather solemn young secretary like this, laughed even more.
And now she was going into Shanghai with Lisan for a final fitting.
Normally the tailor would’ve come out to Lennox Manor again, but Caroline was curious about the Chinese City, or the Old City, as Lisan called it, the oldest part of Shanghai.
Embedded within the foreign concessions, the Old City remained under Chinese authority, unlike the areas surrounding it, where a Western police force and law courts operated according to their own conventions.
Besides, they were already going to Shanghai for other errands, so why not take a look? She had the use of Thomas’s motorcar
every day because each morning, after he and Mason went to the office, Thomas sent the driver back with the car for Caroline.
“Thomas and I can hail a taxi or rickshaws to come home if necessary,” Mason said. “It’s more important that you get around
in comfort, Caroline.” His smile was a bit oily, nervous. It turned out that the horse and carriage he’d been using were hired
from a stable and not his own. By now Caroline knew he was barely keeping up appearances.
Thankfully, the enclosed carriage of the Pierce Arrow kept out rain and wind and they had a pleasant ride all the way into
Shanghai, Lisan pointing out the city’s landmarks, which Caroline was starting to recognize. As they neared the Old City,
Lisan explained there had been walls encircling the Old City during the Ming dynasty, built during the sixteenth century to
fend off pirates. But raiders had not been a problem for three hundred years.
“Now the old wall is an obstacle,” Lisan said, “even though there are ten gates to let traffic through. Every year there are
arguments for and against demolishing the walls.”
The dressmaker’s shop was on a street just inside the wall.
Its windows were papered over with fashion magazine covers, and the interior was cramped and disorderly, filled with rolls of fabric and notions, with a curtained-off area for customer fittings.
Lisan translated as the head seamstress tucked and pinned, checking with each adjustment whether it was to Caroline’s satisfaction.
When the seamstress finished, Caroline rotated slowly to admire her reflection in the tall three-way mirror.
The gown of pale celadon-green silk trimmed with jet beading was French—or at least the design was French.
The dress was deceptively simple, an empire-waisted sheath adorned with gauzy billowing sleeves.
A short train of the same pale green silk fell from the shoulders in soft pleats.
The design was by Callot Soeurs of Paris.
The dress was a perfect copy that had taken just a week to complete.
Lisan helped her out of the dress, which the head seamstress took away. “The gown can be finished in fifteen minutes, Mrs.
Stanton,” Lisan said, “if it’s not too inconvenient to wait?”
Caroline nodded. “Yes, I can wait. I wanted to look at his collection of fabrics anyway. They’re as good as anything I’ve
seen in New York. My goodness, what is this lovely blue cloth with black under weave?”
“That’s silk from Siam, Mrs. Stanton,” Lisan said. “It’s hand-woven and appears to be cotton cloth until you notice the sheen
and that two-tone effect.”
The door of the tailor shop opened to a tinkling of bells and a voice squealed, “Liu Lisan!” There followed a cascade of greetings
in Chinese that Lisan returned with smiles and exclamations. Caroline stared admiringly at the stylish young woman who had
flounced into the shop, followed by a middle-aged servant who immediately sat down to flip through the pages of a fashion
magazine.
The young woman was exquisitely dressed. She wore the latest in winter coats, and the leather boots peeping out from under
the hem exactly matched her navy blue hat and the colors of her cashmere scarf. The conversation was rather one-sided, with
Lisan mostly nodding at what her friend was saying, responding occasionally with an appreciative gasp. When Lisan finally
got a word in, she said something that made the young woman twirl around to face Caroline.
Lisan switched to English. “Ju Ming, I’d like you to meet Mrs. Thomas Stanton, my employer. Mrs. Stanton, my friend Ju Ming Lee.”
“Mrs. Stanton. I’m so delighted to meet you.” The young woman spoke perfect English with just a touch of an accent, similar
to Lisan’s. “I see so little of Lisan these days. But now I understand. She has a new job!”
The owner of the shop rushed out from the back, pouring out a torrent of words that made it clear Miss Lee was a valued customer.
Following quickly behind him, the head seamstress brought out a garment bag, handed it to Lisan, and bowed to Caroline.
“I have so much more to tell you about Princess Masako Kyo,” Lisan’s friend said. “Oh dear, my father was so scandalized.
But I see you’re finishing up here, so I won’t keep you. So nice to meet you, Mrs. Stanton. May I have permission to visit
Lisan one day, when it’s convenient?”
The driver sprang to attention as soon as Caroline and Lisan came out of the shop, held the door open for them. Caroline looked
at Lisan curiously as they climbed into the automobile. “Your friend is delightful. How do you know her?”
“Ju Ming and I were classmates at St. Clare’s Hall,” she replied, settling into the passenger seat beside Caroline.
“Is she a close friend?” Caroline said.
Lisan hesitated. “She’s one of my better friends. She’s very kind and invites me to her parties, but I can never truly be
part of their circle, Mrs. Stanton. No family, no lineage, no wealth.”
“Women don’t have an easy time making our way in this world.” Caroline’s voice was soft. “We must take hold of any opportunity
that comes our way, make the most of every lucky break. I understand more than you know.”
Lisan nodded, but Caroline could tell what she was thinking.
Her secretary doubted that a woman like Caroline could truly understand.
To her, Caroline had been born to wealth, had inherited wealth, and married wealth.
Lisan seemed dejected by this turn of conversation, so Caroline changed the subject.
“Lisan,” she said, “your friend mentioned a princess? Can you tell me more?”
“Just some gossip.” Lisan brightened. “Ju Ming’s father gave a banquet last night for Count Kato Komei, who is here from Japan
on his way to the royal court in Peking. Princess Masako Kyo, who is notoriously scandalous, came unannounced, declaring she
was part of the count’s diplomatic staff, even though she isn’t.”
Lisan explained that Masako Kyo was infamous in Japan and China. Born in Peking, she claimed her parents were members of the
Manchu royal family. On his deathbed her father had asked a close friend, a Japanese artist, to adopt her. Raised in Tokyo,
she was a great admirer of all things Japanese, but she’d also been taught to cherish her Manchurian origins. Princess Kyo,
as she styled herself, dressed in Japanese, Chinese, or Manchu robes as the mood took her, claiming affinity with all three
cultures. Sometimes she wore Western clothing, and when she did, often donned menswear. She reveled in scandal, and because
of this, gossip columnists sought her out.
Her beauty and eccentricity were renowned, as was her loudly proclaimed goal of making the Qing monarchy into a constitutional
monarchy like Great Britain. Yet if she hoped to gather allies for a political cause, she was her own worst enemy. Her morals
were considered a disgrace: she’d had numerous lovers of all ages from all walks of life and nationalities. Her credibility
was no better: she offered to spy for any country willing to pay her, somehow oblivious to a spy’s first requirement of discretion.
“My guardian says she’s just a social climber,” Lisan said, “from a very minor branch of aristocracy, so minor she doesn’t
have any right to a title. She exaggerates her connections to the royal family. And now she’s in Shanghai.”
“Well, on your day off,” Caroline said, “you must see your classmate and hear more about this fascinating creature. Because I want to know more too.”
Lisan looked away, but not before Caroline caught the resignation in her eyes. “On my day off, I must go to my guardian’s
home,” she said.
After the dressmaker’s, they went to the Patisserie Bontemps to confirm last-minute details, then to the florist and the perfumers.
After this, Caroline declared she needed a cup of tea and a pastry to keep herself going, so Lisan found a café.
“I can’t imagine getting ready for this party without you, Lisan,” Caroline said, teasing her. Yet she meant it. “How do other
foreign women get by in China without someone like you?”
“They have someone like Chin,” Lisan said rather distractedly, her gaze directed out the café window. Then she turned and
smiled at Caroline, once again attentive. “They have a Number One Boy like him who speaks enough English, trains the others,
conveys your wishes. Helps you plan parties.”