Chapter 25 #2
“Why, Mrs. Stanton,” Lisan said, leading her to a chair, “you mustn’t say such things. You’re feeling anxious and overwrought.
Your husband will recover. He will. Otherwise Dr. Ellis would be far more concerned. Think on it again after you’ve had some
sleep.”
“Lisan, you’re the model of common sense,” Caroline said, “that’s why I want you by my side. Everything has been so . . .
strange. I’m so tired.”
“Mrs. Stanton, I thank you for such a kind offer,” Lisan said, “travel and a generous wage. But I refuse to take advantage
of you when you’re going through such difficult times. You’re feeling distraught because of Mr. Stanton’s illness.”
“There’s something else, Lisan.” Caroline wiped her eyes. “I’m experiencing strange things, things I can’t understand. It
makes me wonder if I’m going mad.”
“What sort of strange things?” Her secretary looked at her, her eyes intent.
“Perhaps I’m just tired, forgetful,” Caroline said, “but do you remember my gold fountain pen? I lost it, then found it later, back on my desk by the inkwell. This sort of thing keeps happening.”
Her words came out in a rush as she told the tale. Usually in the small parlor, but sometimes in other rooms, she’d notice
that things had moved around, a vase here, a footstool there. When she looked later, sometimes no more than thirty minutes
later, everything was back in its usual location. Two candlesticks switched places, then switched back. A clock on the mantel
gone missing, then appearing later.
“Have you reported this to Head Servant Chin?” Lisan said. “Perhaps one of the house servants is up to mischief.” Although
her voice was soothing, reasonable, Lisan’s expression barely hid her alarm.
“It couldn’t have been one of the boys.” Caroline shook her head. “The last of these incidents happened last night, after
the staff had gone to their quarters. Forget I said anything. I can’t afford to worry about ghosts. It’s Thomas who matters.”
And all she could do about Andrew Grey was to wait.
The next morning, Caroline decided to go into town and take Lisan with her. “I need to go to the bank, Lisan. Then let’s go
for tea, just quickly, a little treat someplace quiet and not too fancy, the sort of place people like Mrs. Easton wouldn’t
even know existed.”
“That would be good for you, Mrs. Stanton,” Lisan said. “You should get out of the house at least once a day.”
Lisan stayed in the car while she went to the bank.
There, she put the gold and cash back into her safe-deposit box.
She didn’t like having so much money in the house, let alone in her purse.
Then Lisan directed Gu to a café in the French Concession where the customers were mostly Chinese.
They saw only a few Westerners. A fashionably dressed couple at the table beside them finished their coffee and stood up, leaving behind a newspaper. Lisan reached over and took it.
“Today’s edition of Xinwen Bao,” she said, “the best Chinese-language newspaper in all Shanghai. I will read it in the car on the way back.”
The young Chinese woman always seemed to know when Caroline needed quiet. As the car rolled through Shanghai, Lisan sat reading
the newspaper while Caroline gazed out the window. As always, she enjoyed the bustle of Shanghai’s streets. Even in rain the
traffic never ceased, a parade of carts, horse carriages, and cars. Rickshaws with tarps pulled down to protect their passengers,
vendors splashing through puddles with baskets swinging on shoulder poles. The city was endlessly in motion, always fascinating
to her. She wondered what it would be like to live in the middle of the city, in one of the new luxury apartments.
A gasp from Lisan jolted her away from idle daydreams.
“Mrs. Stanton, such unbelievable news!” the young woman said. “This is the morning edition of Xinwen Bao. Let me translate for you.”
Yesterday afternoon, a man was found fatally stabbed in an alley beside Les Trois Lanternes hotel. He had no wallet or papers
on him. However, an employee of the hotel identified the man as long-term guest Andrew Grey, an American architect from New
York. Police are asking for witnesses to come forward.
Dead. Andrew Grey was dead. Relief washed over her like a cleansing rain.
The scene on the Rue Voisin rolled through her mind again. The man who’d stumbled into the alley to relieve himself. He’d found Grey’s body. The crowd that had milled around on the sidewalk. They’d gathered out of morbid curiosity.
“Stabbed.” Caroline kept her voice steady. “How horrible.”
“Violent death in Shanghai is all too common,” Lisan murmured, “gambling and gangs, opium, brothels. Political conflicts.
But a white man murdered—the Shanghai Municipal Police won’t let go of that easily.”
No, Caroline thought. The police would not. “Is there more, Lisan? Do continue.”
“Only that apparently, Grey was a frequent customer at the bar beside his hotel,” Lisan said, scanning the article. “The bar
owns a gambling parlor upstairs. Its owner said Grey had run up large gambling debts. That’s all.”
Caroline wondered if Grey had needed money for a business investment or if it was to pay off his debts. She wondered also
whether Grey’s friend Masako Kyo knew what had befallen him. Had he mattered to her at all? When would this news come out
in the English language China Press? But it didn’t matter. She sank back in the seat and waited for the pounding of her heart to subside. She was free now, truly
free, of Grey. But she still didn’t feel safe.
Back at Lennox Manor, the head servant greeted them with the news that Dr. Ellis had been and gone. This time, the head servant
informed them, the doctor had been extremely agitated. He’d left her a note.
Mrs. Stanton, I’ll confer with a colleague about your husband’s situation. In the meantime, keep him sedated and out of pain.
I’ll telephone later today.
“Oh, Thomas,” she whispered, leaning over his unmoving figure, “will they ever find out what’s really wrong with you?”