Chapter 11 #2
once he was bankrupt. Popular opinion was that heartbreak had pushed Charles over the edge into suicide. Mason then paid off
Charles’s debts and moved into Lennox Manor, turning into a recluse who emerged only for business meetings.
“What a terrible, sad story,” Caroline said, spoon tinkling as she stirred milk into her coffee cup. “And did Rosalie ever come back?”
“No, she hasn’t been in Shanghai since,” Mrs. Franks said. “After all, she couldn’t come back to the city where she’d been
the cause of her own husband’s death. What future does she have here with that sort of scandal following her around?”
“Enough of that,” Mrs. Easton said. “Everyone is delighted that you and Thomas are here now. It’s brought Mason back to us;
he’s a man of renewed purpose. A new partner and new business ideas. Perhaps you’ve lifted the curse from this house.”
“I don’t believe in ghosts or curses.” Caroline smiled and finished her coffee. “Another sweet, Mrs. Easton? And I must say,
I saw your automobile as you came in. It’s beautiful. Brand-new?”
Mrs. Easton beamed. “Very new, and the interiors are fitted out beautifully. My husband knows an importer, actually a rich
Chinese man, who brings in just a few luxury motorcars each year for his own collection and as a favor to others. A Mr. Liu.”
“I have heard that name,” Caroline said. “Isn’t there a Liu family that owns a great deal of real estate in Shanghai?”
“My dear,” said Mrs. Franks, “land in Shanghai and all over the province. They are old, old money with tentacles reaching
into every business. Half of Bubbling Well Road used to belong to them before they sold the land for huge sums.”
“Goodness,” Caroline said, “but enough gossip. Let’s discuss this committee. But first, I’ll send for my secretary.”
Caroline winked at Lisan when she entered the drawing room. “My secretary, Lisan Liu,” she announced cheerfully. “Lisan, this
is Mrs. Easton and Mrs. Franks. Now, ladies, I asked Lisan to join us and take notes. Meeting minutes, if you will, since
this is an important discussion and I don’t want to forget anything. Do sit down, Lisan.”
Mrs. Easton stared with disapproval at Lisan, who merely settled on a chair by the window with her pencil and notepad.
“You won’t even know she’s there,” Caroline added. “Now, where were we? The most essential facilities we will need?” For the
next forty minutes, Caroline nodded and smiled, offered suggestions, and Lisan scribbled diligently on her notepad.
After the gates closed on Mrs. Easton’s automobile, Caroline turned to Lisan and sighed in relief. “That woman. I hope there
aren’t many more like her in Shanghai. A city can only take one of her kind.”
“Would you like me to write out the notes from your meeting?” Lisan said. “I can type them up and make copies for Mrs. Easton
and Mrs. Franks if you want something more official as a record.”
“You can crumple them up or use them to light the stove.” Caroline grimaced. “I wanted you there so I wouldn’t feel so . . .
so outnumbered. Yes, I suppose you’re right. Please type them up and send copies to the ladies. Minutes of the meeting and
all that. There’s no hurry. Now I need to lie down, that was such a grueling experience.”
“Shall I help you undress, Mrs. Stanton,” Lisan said, “so you can rest?”
“Goodness no,” Caroline said, “I wasn’t serious. Go type up the notes. But yes, do help me undress. I need to get out of the
house, go for a drive to the city. I’d like to change into something plainer.”
Lisan helped her out of the pale yellow silk dress. “Oh, don’t move, Mrs. Stanton,” the young woman cautioned, “a button just
caught on my bracelet. One moment. There.”
“Let me see that bracelet, Lisan,” Caroline said. It was a simple wooden bangle, decorated with a few Chinese characters.
“Most unusual, carved wood.”
Her secretary blushed. “It was a gift from Xiao Wu, the youngest house servant. He was quite insistent that I wear it all the time.”
“As a sign of your devotion to him?” Caroline teased.
“No, because he worries about Charles Burnett’s ghost.” Lisan held up the cheap bangle. “It’s made of peach wood, which wards
off ghosts, and carved with amulets of protection. Charles killed himself, which in Chinese folklore makes his ghost very
dangerous. They are trapped in the Underworld, and unless they find someone to take their place, they can’t move on to reincarnation.
So they must compel another person to commit suicide, usually by driving them mad.”
“That sounds like a never-ending chain of death,” Caroline said.
“It is never-ending and endlessly tragic,” Lisan said. “The servants have an ongoing debate whether Charles Burnett’s ghost,
because he’s foreign, would behave the same way as a Chinese ghost.”
“What’s their conclusion?” Caroline said, amused and also curious.
“Undecided. Some feel he is bound by whatever the rules are in his homeland. Others think that since he died in China, his
spirit must follow our rules.”
It was most interesting, Caroline thought, after Lisan went to call for her car and driver. The Chinese have no problem with
multiple belief systems. Or, in this case, multiple schools of superstition. She wondered when Mason would tell them about
his son’s death. Surely he must realize that by now they would’ve heard most of the story for themselves from all the gossipmongers.
Perhaps he was content to leave it that way, for them to learn about it through rumor and secondhand chat instead of recounting
the painful tale himself.
She almost felt sorry for Mason. But then she remembered that he was defrauding his own nephew.
Caroline decided to broach the subject again the next morning, after Thomas had spent the night in her room. He watched her
from the bed, smiling contentedly as she brushed her hair.
“Don’t be nervous about this evening,” he said. “You’ve put such attention into planning this party, everything will be perfect.”
“It’s not the party that worries me, Thomas,” she said, sitting on the edge of the bed. She took his hand. “It’s Mason. He’s
living a lie and dragging you into it.”
“Caroline,” he said, “I know you’re unhappy that Uncle Mason isn’t going to put in the funds he first promised, but a railway
to northern China is undoubtedly a fine business venture. I’ve spoken to the Chinese officials . . .”
She shook her head. “No, Thomas. That’s not what bothers me. I mean, that’s not the only thing that bothers me. If Mason’s
backed out of his promise to fund investment in this railway venture, if he’s promised you a house he doesn’t own, what other
lies has he been feeding us?” She took both his hands in hers. “Thomas, get out of this. Nothing’s been signed yet, nothing’s
under contract. We can’t afford any more surprises.”
He sighed. “You’re the surprise, Caroline. You understand more about money than any young woman should ever need to know.”
“My father . . .” she said. “Well, I learned. He was rather more trusting than he should’ve been when it came to money.”
“I’ll speak to Uncle Mason tomorrow,” he said, kissing her on the forehead. “Give me some time to think things over. Let’s
enjoy the party tonight. I must get to work now, just a half day. Don’t worry. I’ll be back in plenty of time.”
The door closed behind him and Caroline put her face in her hands.
Thomas wouldn’t do anything. He might get the truth out of Mason, but he would let it go.
Because Mason was family. Even though he had estranged himself from Thomas’s own mother for years, even though he had lied to Thomas about the house, lied about sharing in the cost of a railway, Mason was family, and important to him.
And what was she to him?