Chapter 14
Lisan couldn’t stop staring at the princess, whose beauty and spectacular clothing made all the other women seem lackluster
and mundane. Her escort could barely take his eyes off her. She watched the woman and her escort greet the Stantons and Mason.
When the man saw Caroline Stanton a puzzled expression crossed his face. He spoke with Caroline while Thomas chatted with
Masako Kyo. The polite conversations ended as another group of guests arrived, but Lisan had the distinct impression that
Caroline had been disturbed by the brief encounter.
In Western etiquette, it was rude to stare. Lisan turned her full attention to the musicians seated by the drawing room door.
They were now putting their instruments into cases. Once she’d taken them up the service staircase to the ballroom, her duties
would be over for the night.
She spun around at the touch of a hand on her shoulder and found herself face-to-face with the princess. Masako Kyo stared
at her with wide and curious eyes. It was intimidating.
“Who are you?” Kyo said, addressing Lisan in Mandarin Chinese. “Surely you’re not a house servant?”
“I’m Liu Lisan, Mrs. Stanton’s secretary.” Lisan dipped in a slight curtsy.
Without asking, the princess put two fingers under Lisan’s chin and tilted her face up, then sideways, as though she were a horse. Lisan was so startled she didn’t protest being touched. But her distress must’ve been evident.
“I’ve offended you,” Kyo said, stepping back, “and I apologize. It’s just that you look so familiar I couldn’t help myself.
Your family?”
“I’m an orphan,” Lisan said. You look so familiar. But she was sure she had never met the woman before. How could anyone forget such a creature? She dropped her eyes, not wanting
to meet the woman’s forceful gaze. Kyo was slightly older than she’d first thought, with fine lines at the corners of her
eyes and a softening around the jawline. She looked tired. Yet she was so beautiful that these were but minor deficiencies.
“Tell me, have you always lived in Shanghai?” Kyo said, still scrutinizing Lisan with disturbing intensity.
“Living in Shanghai is all I remember,” she answered, wishing she had ducked into the hallway under the staircase instead
of lingering in the foyer. The princess’s attention was unnerving.
“Do you know,” Kyo said, “you look exactly like someone I knew many years ago in Peking. Someone very special.”
“I’ve never been to Peking.” Lisan shook her head. “I have some other duties to attend to for Mrs. Stanton. If I may?”
“Well, don’t disappear, Miss Liu. I want to speak with you later. In private,” the princess said, an unmistakable air of command
in her voice. Lisan felt intense scrutiny and something else from Kyo. Excitement.
The false princess returned to her escort, whom she’d left standing bemused by the staircase.
“You know, Andrew,” Kyo said, taking his arm, “I never forget a face. It’s why I would make a good spy. But as I was saying,
an American thoroughbred makes a poor hunter for the paper chase. The climate here does not suit American horses, darling
boy. You need one of those tough little Mongolian ponies. I can borrow one for you from a friend at the Japanese consulate.”
Andrew. The man must be Andrew Grey, the architect Mrs. Stanton added to the guest list at the last minute. But he seemed
preoccupied, unlike a few minutes ago when his entire attention had concentrated on the princess.
“There’s no need, Kyo,” he said. “I’ll ask Ballard for one of his ponies.” Grey glanced back at the Stantons, who were greeting
the latest arrivals. Was it Lisan’s imagination, or had Caroline’s smile of greeting become fixed and artificial?
The musicians had finished packing up their instruments, and as Lisan led them through the service stairwell up to the third-floor
ballroom, her thoughts lingered on the princess. Why would someone like that bother puzzling over why Lisan looked familiar?
Masako Kyo must meet hundreds of people every year. She guided the musicians to a small platform, where they set up quickly
and swung into “Moonstruck.”
Then Lisan hurried down to the hothouse for one final task. It was something Young Zhao the assistant cook could’ve done,
but it was a chance to see Yao so she’d offered to do the errand.
Yao had done a great deal of work since he arrived. The hothouse was no longer a tangled mess. He had grouped potted plants
neatly on the brick floor, creating islands of greenery like a series of flower beds. Bamboo trellises held up climbing vines,
and palm trees in huge tubs added height and interest to the look of an indoor garden. Pots of orchids hung along bamboo poles
fixed to brackets, and a table at one end held more orchids. Several gardenia shrubs bloomed on a brick platform at the center
of the hothouse, along with large pots of the ginger lilies that Caroline admired so much.
She found Yao in the utility area at the very back of the hothouse.
Enclosed by trellised vines of jasmine and bougainvillea, the space was hidden and almost invisible to the casual visitor unless one made an effort to look behind the vines.
Then they’d see a worktable, gardening tools in boxes on the ground, and a collection of rakes hanging from its walls.
Yao was at the table snipping marigolds and filling an enamel bowl with their petals, the bowl she would take back to the kitchen for Young Zhao.
The cook’s assistant would scatter these fragments of edible color across platters of dainty desserts.
The gardener looked up inquiringly, one hand holding a pair of scissors.
“There’s no hurry,” she said. “Young Zhao won’t be plating the desserts for a while yet.”
“Nearly done,” and he returned to the marigolds.
“It’s quite the party tonight,” she said, drifting to the entrance of the utility area to sniff the jasmine, “with an interesting
addition. One of the guests brought a lady friend—the notorious princess Masako Kyo. And something very odd. She sought me
out.” Lisan leaned to breathe in the strong, almost overpowering scent of pink jasmine. “She said I looked very familiar and
reminded her of someone she used to know in Peking. Someone very special. She asked about my family.”
There was a muttered curse. She peeked back at the worktable, where Yao was wrapping a handkerchief around his finger. He’d
nicked himself with the scissors.
“And what did you tell her?” he said. He pointed at the bowl of petals, indicating that he had finished.
“I told her the boring truth,” Lisan said, pulling a flower-laden vine closer to her nose, “that I’m an orphan. Yao, there
was something most disturbing about her attentions. I felt like a . . . a target.”
“Well, maybe she’ll lose interest if you don’t catch her attention again,” he said, putting the scissors inside a drawer.
“Do you have much more to do?”
“No, I’m finished now and I’ll stay away for the rest of the evening,” Lisan said. She let go of the vine. “Yao, can I cut some jasmine for my room?”
But the gardener had gone. There was just a fleeting cold draft, then a click of the door to the garden, and through the glass
she saw his figure walking around to the back of the mansion. Doubtless he had other tasks and chatting with her wasn’t one
of them. She took the bowl of petals down to the kitchen. That was her final task. She could do whatever she wanted now.