Chapter 25
She had left Lennox Manor in good time for her appointment with Grey. Her mind used the term appointment; it was dispassionate and businesslike. Her hand rested on a large leather handbag. It was just the right size and, among
other things, held all the money she’d been able to gather so far. She’d brought it in case she could placate Grey, perhaps
use the money to delay him. There was a chance he was desperate enough to take ready cash and forgo the sexual conquest he
had in mind.
Caroline had gone to the bank after her first meeting with Grey—had it only been two days ago? She’d taken a quantity of gold
coins and ingots from her safe-deposit box and withdrawn as much as she’d dared from her housekeeping account. The bulk of
the fortune from the Vessey and Dominic inheritances was not in Shanghai but still in New York. Funds and investments, assets
that needed legal letters of instruction to liquidate, all of which would take too long and raise too many eyebrows.
When the motorcar reached Shanghai, she had Gu drop her off at the perfume store and instructed him to head back to Lennox
Manor. She would take a taxi home; she didn’t know how long she would be. If the doctor came to see Thomas, she wanted Gu
to be at the house and drive the doctor back to the city.
At the perfumery, she bought a small bottle of cologne, a blend of Parma violet and lilac.
A dab on her wrists for courage, another dab above her upper lip to fend off malodorous smells.
She dropped the bottle into her bag, where it fell to the bottom with the tiniest of clinks.
From another store a block away, she bought a cheap oilskin raincoat and pulled it on over her own.
She didn’t feel ready, but how could anyone feel ready to face what she knew she had to do?
It was time. She crossed the street and began walking toward Les Trois Lanternes, putting up her umbrella against yet another
shower, drizzling down from a sky as dull as pewter. Blessed, blessed rain that hid her from unwanted eyes. The thought of
being recognized unnerved Caroline, had almost drained her resolve. But there was no other way.
She arrived early on purpose.
It wouldn’t do now to be seen near the hotel so she waited across the street, where she could watch from under the canopy
of a florist shop. She cast another glance at the bar beside the hotel, at the narrow alley separating the two buildings,
its walls still lined with untidy stacks of wooden crates and overflowing garbage bins.
When she felt she’d loitered under the florist’s awning long enough, Caroline moved a bit farther down the road to another
storefront, still keeping the hotel in sight. The rain never let up; if anything, it was falling harder than ever. A blessing.
Tucked under the black umbrella, clad in a nondescript raincoat, she was anonymous, unidentifiable, just another passerby
taking shelter from the downpour.
A man staggered out the hotel door and her heart lurched. It wasn’t Andrew Grey. No, of course not. How could it be? He was
Chinese. His open raincoat revealed evening clothes, as though he hadn’t yet changed since the night before.
The man stumbled to the alley, one hand already unbuttoning the front of his trousers.
He took a few steps in, not caring or oblivious that anyone who saw him would know he was urinating against the wall.
But when he came out, trousers still undone, he wasn’t stumbling anymore.
Shouting loudly, he rushed back to Les Trois Lanternes, opened the front door, and ran inside.
A few moments later, people came running out of the hotel and followed him into the alley.
Soon, a crowd gathered on the sidewalk, pouring out from nearby buildings and shops.
Caroline walked away. There were too many curious bystanders on the street now and she couldn’t risk being recognized.
Pulling the raincoat tight against her body, she lowered the umbrella even more to hide her face. Turning the corner, she
hurried back along Boulevard de Montigny toward Avenue Paul Brunat. She paused by a building where a beggar woman shivered
under a wide window ledge, a soggy piece of cardboard tented over her head to fend off the rain. Caroline shrugged off the
cheap raincoat, tossed it at the woman, and continued on her way.
She entered Dauphin Jewelers, where she feigned interest in the trays of gems and sketches of jewelry from Parisian designers.
The owner did his best to persuade her to commission something.
“A significant piece, a custom design, Mrs. Stanton,” he said, “as a memento of your time in Shanghai? The workmanship in
Shanghai is superb, if you have the right people, which is what we have. I supervise the work myself, of course, and costs
are extremely reasonable compared to what you’d pay in New York.”
“I’ll think on it,” she said, “but may I take the drawing for this necklace to consider the design a bit more? Now, could
one of your assistants go out there and get me a carriage?”
All the way home, Caroline kept seeing images from Rue Voisin unspooling like scenes on a movie screen.
The man rushing out of the alley, waving his arms in panic, shouting to attract attention.
The crowd swarming out, eager to be first on the scene.
The entrance of Les Trois Lanternes, its blue awning soggy and limp in the rain. All she could do now was wait.
Caroline leaned back and closed her eyes. It was easier for her to think while listening to the rhythmic clip-clop of the
horse-drawn carriage. She’d been foolish to think she could avoid the past. She should’ve realized she would always have to
stay one step ahead of the Andrew Greys of this world. It had been sheer luck that of all the lawyers at Blackwell and Danby,
it had been Mr. Danby who came to Spokane, Danby with his myopic vision. But there were just too many people: the Dominics’
society friends, her classmates at Miss Fielding’s Finishing School for Young Ladies, all the servants and neighbors.
When she reached her bedchamber, she closed the door and pressed her back against it, light-headed and drained of emotion.
If she were at all superstitious, if she believed this house was cursed, she might blame her situation on Lennox Manor. But,
of course, the house had nothing to do with it. She’d taken a risk and now she had to deal with the consequences. She had
to, because she was not giving up her life as Caroline Stanton. She wished she could run away, as Rosalie had, but that wasn’t
possible.
She took off the skirt she’d worn. Its damp hem would take a while to dry; she draped it over the back of a chair and moved
the chair closer to the fireplace. She tidied her hair and crossed the hall to Thomas’s room. Lisan was there, reading quietly
in the chair by the window. She rose when Caroline came in.
“It’s all right, Lisan, please sit down,” she said. “Any change?”
“No, he’s completely unconscious now,” Lisan said. “Mrs. Stanton, perhaps you should get a different doctor? This is more
serious than intestinal parasites, don’t you think?” The young woman looked nervous.
“I’ve been wondering too.” Caroline dipped a washcloth in a basin of cold water and wrung it out, placed it on Thomas’s forehead.
“The thing is, the results from the laboratory are quite clear; Dr. Ellis showed me the actual report. Parasites. I don’t know what else it could be.
But yes. Perhaps another doctor. Tomorrow. ”
Lisan nodded. “It’s just that the servants noticed that his hair is falling out, Mrs. Stanton. Is that significant? What did
Dr. Ellis say?”
“I’ll mention it again to Dr. Ellis. Thank goodness for morphine—that laudanum just wasn’t enough.” She sighed and looked
down at Thomas.
She moved to the window and gazed at the small courtyard and bamboo grove below. The green stems swayed gracefully, their
long leaves whipped by wind. She gestured to Lisan, who joined her. Together they watched the storm gather strength, surges
of rain that beat against the glass, black clouds massed above, the cracks of lightning. In the garden, puddles were turning
into ponds.
“Even ducks might complain at this weather,” Caroline said, but her smile was insincere. “Lisan, have you ever wanted to leave
all your troubles behind? I loved being on honeymoon with Thomas. I thought it was because I loved seeing all those different
countries, their art and monuments, but now I think it was the freedom of moving on to the next place, leaving nothing of
myself behind, no obligations, no consequences. Like stepping in and out of a puddle. A ripple of water, and afterward, nothing
to show your foot had ever been there.”
“You had a wonderful time,” Lisan said, “and you’ll have wonderful times again with Mr. Stanton when he is well.”
“But what if he doesn’t get well, Lisan?
” Caroline said. “Could I ever be happy again? And do you know what occurred to me? Travel. A wandering life. But with a companion. With you, Lisan. Would you come with me?” She spoke quickly, excitedly, the idea forming in her mind.
“We would travel. We’d have such a good life, Lisan, and when we’ve had enough of one place, we’d move on to a new city, a new country.
Venice and London, Istanbul, Athens. Trust me. I’ll take care of everything.”
“Mrs. Stanton, I pray it doesn’t come to that,” Lisan said, her face puckered in astonishment. “Mr. Stanton will recover;
the doctor doesn’t seem alarmed. And please don’t take this the wrong way, but I don’t want to depend on your goodwill for
the rest of my life.”
“I do understand that”—Caroline’s features softened—“oh, believe me, I understand more than you would think. After Thomas
is gone, if you come with me, you’ll be paid a good salary as my companion, but I’ll also give you a large sum for you to
do with as you wish. Then if you decide to leave, you’ll still have money of your own to start over.”