The Fourth Princess

Chapter 18 #2

Masako Kyo stood with her back to the door of the drawing room.

At the sound of Lisan’s footsteps she turned around, and Lisan saw that her clothing today was nothing like the gorgeous robes she had worn at the party.

She wore men’s clothing: a tailored suit of fine brown wool tweed, a brown paisley cravat tied around a stiff collar, a waistcoat of brown silk brocade, and trousers tucked into polished knee-high boots.

A tight bun pulled her hair back from her pale face; she looked like a beautiful boy playing dress-up in his older brother’s clothes.

When she saw Lisan, Kyo dropped dramatically into a deep curtsy. “Forgive me barging in without an appointment,” she said.

“I know it isn’t done in polite society. But I was so excited when I figured it out, I just had to come see you, to see your

face again, just to be sure. And now I’m sure.”

“Sure of what?” Lisan was so startled by the curtsy she didn’t resist when Kyo guided her to the settee.

“It was only after I left the party that it came to me. The Forbidden City.” She peered at Lisan, and received only a puzzled

look. “When I was a child, my parents were invited to court and stayed for a month. The year was 1898. I was only twelve,

restless and fidgeting. One of the Empress Dowager’s ladies-in-waiting was very kind. She took charge of me so that my mother

could attend functions without worrying that I would get into trouble.”

She cocked her head and looked at Lisan, who waited, puzzled, for Kyo to make her point.

“The lady-in-waiting was Princess Tsai. You look exactly like her. You’re the youngest daughter of Prince and Princess Tsai.

You’re the missing fourth princess. Oh, Your Highness!” Kyo knelt on the floor and, this time, didn’t get up from her obeisance.

“I’m just a lowly aristocrat and I admit, I lie about my title. But your father is a true prince of the Third Rank.” She looked

up at Lisan, excitement coloring her cheeks bright red, her eyes glittering with an intense, fanatical light.

“I’ve no idea what you mean,” Lisan said, pushing herself as far back as the settee allowed. “I’ve never heard of a Prince

and Princess Tsai. Or a missing princess. I’m an orphan.”

Still kneeling, Kyo reached inside her handbag and took out a photograph.

She proffered it with both hands, head bowed.

The photograph was of a group of court women, the Empress Dowager seated in the middle.

Kyo pointed to a young girl standing at the edge of the group.

“I never go anywhere without a copy of this photograph. That’s me, twelve years old, in full Manchu court dress.

And that, just behind me, is Princess Tsai. Your mother.”

Lisan gazed at the face of the woman Kyo claimed was her mother. Hair elaborately styled, face lightly powdered, two small

dabs of color on her lips that gave her mouth a pursed-up look. The woman did somewhat resemble Lisan, the broad forehead

and small nose, rounded cheeks on a wide face. She shook her head and handed the photo back. “It could be anyone under that

makeup.”

“You’re only seeing her in this picture,” Kyo said, finally rising to sit across from Lisan, “but I was in her company every

day for a month in person. I knew what she looked like without that headdress, without the lip stain. You look just like her.

Let me tell you a story and then I’ll tell you what I learned over the past two days.”

Without waiting for Lisan to reply, she continued. “In 1900, Boxer forces and the Imperial Chinese Army attacked the Foreign

Legation in Peking.”

“I know the history,” Lisan said.

“Then you know—we all know—what happened when the foreign armies occupied Peking,” Kyo said. “Violence and looting. Properties

plundered and torched. It wasn’t just foreign soldiers committing these crimes: diplomats, journalists, even missionaries

joined in snatching what they considered the spoils of war.”

“I still don’t understand what any of this has to do with me,” Lisan said.

“You’re a part of an unsolved mystery,” Kyo said.

“Prince Tsai, a well-respected diplomat, was in Paris on a diplomatic mission. But with French citizens in Peking under attack, it was impossible for the prince to carry out his mission. Furthermore, he feared for his family’s safety, so he left Europe and returned to China.

He brought with him only a small staff. And here is where the mystery begins, because all anyone knows after this is what the newspapers reported. ”

When the prince reached China, he boarded a train to Peking, shedding what remained of his staff in order to travel faster

on his own. Then somewhere along the way, Prince Tsai vanished. The last people to see the prince alive were the customs officials

who met him at the border and his six clerks.

Newspapers speculated the most likely reason behind the prince’s disappearance was that he’d met with misadventure. There

had been all sorts of confusion on the roads and railways surrounding Peking. Chinese soldiers and Boxers trying to escape,

foreign troops executing people they merely suspected of being Boxers, ordinary civilians fleeing the destruction of their

homes. There had been uncontrolled looting everywhere around the capital and assaults on homeowners trying to defend their

families and belongings.

Had the prince made it back to Peking, to his small palace near the Forbidden City, he would’ve found his courtiers and servants

dressed in mourning. Three princesses—his wife Princess Tsai and their two older daughters—lay in three coffins. They’d hung

themselves, fearing what foreign soldiers would do to them.

But the youngest daughter, the fourth princess, was missing. When questioned, the household servants believed the girl had

been abducted or killed. She had been missing since the day her mother and sisters committed suicide.

This gave rise to more speculation: that Prince Tsai did reach his home and had taken his last surviving child away from Peking, never to return, for the city held nothing for him now except sorrow.

There were rumors afterward, sightings of father and daughter, but nothing concrete.

Gradually other calamities displaced interest in the story of one missing prince and his child.

“You’re the missing princess,” Kyo said. “Your face, even your voice, tells me so.”

“So you believe this?” Lisan said. “Just on the basis of a passing resemblance to a woman you knew more than ten years ago?”

“Not merely a passing resemblance,” Kyo insisted, “a near-exact resemblance. But you’re right, looks can be mere coincidence.

So I’ve spent the last two days making inquiries.”

What she had learned was that Master Liu had bought himself a villa in Shanghai’s French Concession a few weeks after Prince

Tsai disappeared, effectively cutting himself off from his own family and the estate where the Liu clan lived. A short time

after, he brought a little girl into his household. A little girl who remembered nothing of her past.

“But ask yourself, Highness, why would Master Liu Fengmu of the rich and powerful Liu clan adopt a street urchin?” Kyo said.

“Did you know that your guardian spent some years in Paris, as a student? And did you know that Prince Tsai was there at the

same time? They became close friends. Did he never mention this?”

“No, and . . . and I’m not adopted,” Lisan said, starting to feel unsure. “I’m more . . . like a servant in his household.

And I still don’t know how any of this . . .”

“Liu Fengmu may not have adopted you officially,” Kyo continued, “but he’s treated you very well. For one thing, he sent you

to an expensive school. Why do that for a child picked up off the streets?”

“He’s eccentric, everyone knows that.” But a slow knot of anxiety was tightening at her throat. There was something in what Kyo had been telling her that both tugged at her memories and at the same time made her want to run away.

“I believe that Prince Tsai did survive, and he did take his daughter away,” Kyo said, “and you’ve been hiding at Master Liu’s,

living as private citizens. But the prince needs to step out and lead, Your Highness. This is why I’ve come to see you. Between

the Nationalists, the warlords, and infighting among the nobility, our nation is on the edge of revolution.”

“This is nonsense,” Lisan said. “For one thing, there isn’t anyone in Master Liu’s household who could even remotely be the

prince. Secondly, suppose Prince Tsai is in hiding. It means he doesn’t want any part in politics anymore.”

“Please understand, Highness,” Kyo said earnestly, “your father was a man of such sterling reputation even his political enemies

respected him. He was a man of great integrity and intelligence. He also admired Japan. If he endorsed a monarchy guided by

Japan, the nobility would follow, it would be a bloodless revolution that could save China. But if we don’t move quickly,

the empire will fall and we’ll lose the chance to establish a modern Chinese empire.”

“If this Prince Tsai were alive, and if I were his daughter, he would be the one taking care of me, and not Master Liu.” Lisan

got up from the settee. “As I’ve said, there’s no one at Master Liu’s who could possibly be the prince. Also, I’m not this

fourth princess, and I’m of absolutely no use to you.”

“All this must be very bewildering for you,” Kyo said, her smile radiant, “and you need time to get used to the idea. I’ll

leave you now to think things over, but know that I’ll be speaking with important people in Peking next week and you’ll be

part of the conversation. It would be ideal if your father is alive, but if not, I’ll find a way for you to be helpful to

our cause. There’s always marriage to a noble house.”

She left the photograph on the coffee table and practically sashayed out of the drawing room.

The sedan chair lurched as the chair porters found their balance, then moved off, taking away Masako Kyo and her absurd declarations.

Lisan closed her eyes and put her hand on the windowsill to steady herself, then sank into an armchair to take another look

at the photograph.

“She’s gone, has she? My dear, what was it all about?” Caroline said, coming into the drawing room. “You’re quite pale. What

did that woman say to upset you?”

Lisan tucked the photograph into her sleeve and looked up at her employer. “She claimed to know my mother. She thinks my father

is still alive. She told me things about my supposed family.”

“I see,” Caroline said, sitting on the chair on the other side of the window. “And what do you think?”

“It’s all preposterous. If I don’t know anything about my early years, how could she? And certainly nothing about my family,”

Lisan said. “My guardian said he found me on the streets in Shanghai. I don’t understand why Masako Kyo would say things that

can’t possibly be true.”

Caroline leaned forward. Her voice was gentle. “But does a part of you hope it might be true? That you might have a father

who’s still alive?”

Lisan didn’t answer immediately and turned to look out the window again. “A little bit,” she admitted. More than a little

bit, in fact. But what worried her most was that she wasn’t sure who to believe anymore. Master Liu, who had been her benefactor

all these years, or this woman with her ridiculous stories? The fact that she even doubted Master Liu was beyond disloyal.

Yet there was the photograph of the court ladies.

And Kyo’s claims that Master Liu had bought his house shortly after Prince Tsai vanished, then brought her into his household.

It couldn’t be anything more than a coincidence of timing.

Perhaps it was true that Master Liu and the prince had known each other in Paris, yet how could Masako Kyo say for certain that the two men had been close friends?

Close enough for Master Liu to shelter a prominent member of the royal court for all these years?

“I’m not sure what it means if what she told me is true,” Lisan finally said. “I’d like to believe I still have a family somewhere,

a father. Yet at the same time . . . oh, Mrs. Stanton, I don’t know what to think right now.”

“This must be very distressing for you,” Caroline said. “I don’t understand what sort of mischief that woman hopes might come

of this.” Then a pause. “But if I may say something, Lisan, because I also lost my family. Sometimes, without family obligations

or expectations, you can do more with your life. Your decisions affect only you. You have more choices.”

“Perhaps that’s true for American women, Mrs. Stanton,” Lisan said, “but in China, family is everything, for better or worse.

Without a family, I’m nobody.”

“Never say that about yourself, Lisan,” Caroline exclaimed, “you’re an intelligent, educated young woman.”

“China is different from the West, where the self-made man is much admired,” Lisan said. “If I could be simplistic about it,

in our society one advances only with the help of family and family connections. In return, it’s one’s duty to enrich the

entire family. Education, career, and marriage. So much is enabled by one’s family and the family’s position in society, especially

for women.”

“I stand by my words,” Caroline said. “As an orphan you need only consider yourself, not carry your family’s burdens with

you. You have more choices.”

Spoken like a woman of wealth, Lisan thought, stifling a groan.

Words from a woman who came from a country where women were allowed to earn a living, like the missionaries and schoolteachers she’d met, or the female doctors and nurses at the Margaret Williamson Hospital.

They didn’t depend on the goodwill of a male relative or on charity.

She didn’t expect Caroline Stanton to understand.

Yet she didn’t hold it against the American woman.

She meant well. She was better than most foreign women Lisan had met.

Lisan touched her sleeve, felt the photograph tucked there. Her mother’s image. No, how ridiculous. Outside, Yao was walking

down the driveway, an umbrella on his arm. His light gray raincoat stood out against the dark green cypress hedge. Wherever

he was going, Lisan wished she could go too, get out of this house. She needed to talk with someone, not Caroline. Not even

Yao.

“I wonder, Mrs. Stanton,” Lisan said, “may I be allowed to take my day off now, a few hours early?” She had to speak with

the one person who could tell her the truth: Master Liu.

“Of course,” Caroline said. “Lisan, you’ve worked so hard since you’ve been here. The party is over and there’s nothing going

on that I can’t handle myself for a couple of days. Go home for the whole weekend and don’t come back until Monday. I insist.

Get some sleep, you look so tired.”