Chapter 22 #2
doctor keeps saying things will get better. Miss Liu, Master Thomas’s hair has started falling out.”
“Surely the doctor has seen this,” Lisan said.
Da Wu shook his head. “We clean up everything as Missy Caroline orders. Sheets, blankets, pillowcases. We brush away the hair
and take it away.”
“I’ll make sure to tell Mrs. Stanton,” she promised, “in case it’s important.”
“And he had convulsions earlier today. Master Mason is more worried than he appears,” said Little Liao, “and in the evening,
after supper, he sat with Master Thomas so that Missy Caroline could eat dinner and have a rest.”
Lisan found it surprising that Mason would have the patience to attend a sick person. She’d put him down as the sort who avoided
unpleasantness, and from the sounds of it, Thomas’s condition was extremely unpleasant to witness.
“The house is cursed,” Da Wu said, and added hastily, “I don’t mean the illness is anything supernatural, only that if any
bad luck was to fall, it would be here.”
The door to Thomas’s bedroom was ajar, and Lisan called out softly, “Mrs. Stanton? I’m back. And the house servants are here
to take care of the sheets and chamber pots.”
When Caroline opened the door, an overwhelming stink almost made Lisan retch. The Caroline Stanton who stood aside to let
the servants in wore her hair tied back in a simple braid, a pinafore over her dress. The pinafore was dark blue, splashed
with stains.
“He’s unconscious now,” Caroline said, as the servants began their work. “Morphine and laudanum. He’s in terrible pain otherwise,
and quite frankly I can’t bear watching it.”
“Can I bring you something, Mrs. Stanton?” she said, shocked at Caroline’s appearance. “Tea or broth? A meal perhaps?”
“No, no. But as you can guess, Lisan,” Caroline said, “I’d like you to cancel all my appointments for the coming week. And
if people come to the house, let them know we’re not taking visitors. Especially not Mrs. Easton.” Her smile was brief and
rueful.
“I’ll start telephoning to cancel engagements scheduled for tomorrow and the day after, Mrs. Stanton,” she said, “and write notes of apology for the ones that come later; those we can send by post. ”
“Perhaps I should make those telephone calls,” her employer said, sighing. “There will be so many questions. But not right
away. It’s still light out. I’m going to take a walk in the garden now that there’s a break in the weather. Number One Boy
will be up shortly; he helps keep an eye on Thomas. Would you come with me?”
The lawns squelched under their feet. They kept to the gravel paths that wound through the garden, stepping over puddles,
avoiding fallen branches and patches of mud. As they walked across the garden, Lisan felt as though no other world existed
outside the walls of Lennox Manor, no other reality. Her father and Master Liu, and the plans to leave China, they all slipped
to the back of her mind, pushed away by the persistent throb of three words. Soft but insistent. Come find me. She really was going mad.
“Let’s go up there and take a look,” Caroline said, pointing to the western side of the property. “See where the path splits
and runs up to that berm? It’s on higher ground and won’t be as soggy.”
The garden sloped up and the path took them all the way to the long line of poplar trees atop the earthen berm that marked
the western edge of the property. They looked down on a broad, flat expanse of paved surface with short poles set at opposite
sides of faded perimeter lines.
“This was the tennis court.” Caroline shook her head, surveying the marshy ground. “But then, everything here needs work.
It’s too bad. It could’ve been . . . must’ve been wonderful. At one time.” There was something wistful in her manner.
“In another month, it’ll be springtime,” Lisan said. “Under sunshine and bright skies, this will look completely different. The magnolias will be in bud, the fruit trees covered in pink and white.”
How did she know that? Only from her dreams. A quick movement at the far end of the garden beyond the poplar trees caught
her attention. A fox trotted out, glanced at the two women, and vanished down the berm, reappearing in the empty field next
to Lennox Manor. It ran into the tall grass, solitary and secretive. The late-afternoon sun was surprisingly bright and birds
were making the most of the weather. A flock of black-collared starlings foraged on the lawn, and as the women approached,
they rose up in alarm, settling in the bare branches of a magnolia tree. Lisan lifted her eyes to follow the flight of a greenfinch,
yellow wing patches flashing as it soared over the garden, its high-pitched stuttering call echoing behind as it flew out
of sight. A feral cat lurked under the box hedge bordering the formal garden, completely still except for an uncontrollable,
agitated twitch of its tail. It sprang. There was a flap of wings, then silence, and the cat hurried off to deal with its
prize in private.
Caroline pointed down to the lake and Lisan followed her there. They stopped by the willow trees. The lake was almost a perfect
oval and rain had made it overflow; the edge of the lake now lapped against the base of the willows. This was where she’d
seen Mason Burnett walking at night, obsessively circling the lake. This was where Rosalie had knelt by the shore saying Come find me. Lisan shivered.
“The lake is fed by a natural spring, according to Uncle Mason,” Caroline said. “It used to be just a small pond, but when
the grounds were landscaped, they enlarged and deepened it. I would miss this house if we had to leave. Don’t you love the
willow trees?”
“They’re beautiful,” she said, even though something pulsed in her consciousness, the memory of another lake in another garden, another stand of willow trees, arched stone bridges and carved veranda railings. A sensation of bewilderment and fear. She pushed it to the back of her mind.
“Let’s go in now, Lisan,” Caroline said. “I’ll start making those phone calls and you get a start on the cancellation notes.”
She had to carry on as though everything were normal. If only that were possible.
Writing the notes took Lisan longer than usual. Her mind wandered back continuously to her father, to Yao and Master Liu,
to the lost years locked inside her memories, willing them to come out of hiding, but each time she tried, her thoughts slid
away around a corner of her mind, a dark alcove, a constant loop of fruitless effort.
Lisan had hoped the tedious, repetitive work of writing apologies would calm her mind, requiring as it did both concentration
and control to form perfect loops and letters slanted at precise angles, but the pen kept slipping from her fingers. An ink
blot and a misspelling forced her to rewrite two of the notes.
It didn’t help that Rosalie’s diary, lying in its hidden compartment, enticed her far more than the list of addresses and
engagements. She gave up and pulled out the sheets of paper where she had been writing down her translation of Rosalie’s diary,
then read through the pages she’d translated so far. It was barely past eight o’clock but she was so tired. She glanced up
at the portrait. Rosalie’s expression was confiding, a woman about to share her secrets with a friend. She didn’t mind Lisan
reading the diary; in fact, she wanted her to read it.
Lisan shook her head. She was imagining things now, imagining what Rosa might say or want, just because she felt guilty about reading her personal diary. “Rosalie, I hope you’re all right,” she murmured. “Where did you go when you ran away? Are you safe? I hope you are.”
Rosalie’s dark eyes shone with urgency, willing Lisan to ask the right question. Lisan sighed and got up. Why was she wasting
time thinking about a woman who had run away from her marriage years ago?
She was dazed by the events of the last two days. By her past, which Master Liu had finally revealed to her. By her future,
which apparently was all arranged for her. She had so much to think about, yet it was the presence of something in the mansion
that overwhelmed her, stronger than before, an urgent summons to do something. As though her own life had receded into some
archived past. As though Charles’s ghost knew she was leaving soon and urging her to do something.
Her head pounded from the strain of resisting. Resisting what? She had rubbed Tiger Balm ointment on her temples but it didn’t
help.
Come find me.
Rosalie didn’t need her but Caroline did. Lisan walked along the corridor to Thomas’s room. Da Wu was just leaving with a
chamber pot and whispered, “Master Mason is in there with them,” before heading down the corridor toward the servants’ staircase.
Lisan paused by the partially open door, preparing to knock and call out. But the sound of raised voices rooted her outside,
pressed against the wall.
“There’s always bureaucracy to get through,” Mason said, “and very importantly, we need to have a look at the lay of the land,
due diligence and all that. I’m not an engineer, I need money to hire someone to do the survey if we’re to continue the project.”
“If you’ve spent all the company funds then you’ll just have to wait, Mason”—Caroline’s voice, like a whip—“I’ve no interest
in opening my pocketbook to this railway project. It’s up to Thomas.”
“Thomas would want to continue,” he said, “he’d want to keep the momentum going even though he’s ill.”
“You’ll just have to wait until he recovers,” Caroline said.
“Caroline, I know Thomas is totally committed,” Mason said, “because you should know that in his will, he left a large sum
to Burnett and Stanton Ltd. to continue the project should anything happen to him.”
“I know about the will,” Caroline snapped, “and I don’t doubt you’ll be using that money for your own debts and not for the
business.”
Silence.
“Caroline, let’s not quarrel.” Mason’s voice. “You’re overwrought because Thomas is ill.”