Chapter 26
Lisan had hung up her clothes and changed her shoes. She tried to sit at her desk and read, but the compulsion would not go
away. It was different though. Instead of pulling at her, it gave Lisan the feeling that she had to leave Lennox Manor. She
found herself climbing the stairs up to the attic, and next thing she knew, she was looking at Rosalie’s portrait again. She
sighed, studied the exquisite features. Rosalie couldn’t have been more than twenty or twenty-one when the artist painted
her. Whether it was the change of light or the onset of madness, Lisan thought with grim humor, Rosalie’s expression seemed
to change each time she saw it, imperceptible changes that begged her to understand. Right now, a worried gleam shone in Rosalie’s
painted irises. The faint lines between her brows seemed to have deepened, signaling a warning, telling Lisan to be careful.
Lisan shook her head and turned the portrait to face the wall again. She would not give in to madness. It was her own fault.
Hanging the painting on her wall, reading the diary, those were the reasons why Rosalie kept intruding on her dreams, why
she couldn’t turn her thoughts to her own future, a reality that loomed ever closer, and one she wasn’t completely certain
she wanted. A future that deserved more timely consideration.
She stood up to leave, then saw that one of the wooden crates was open, its cover pushed aside ever so slightly.
It was the crate containing the Dominics’ silverware.
Caroline had been adamant she’d never use the ugly silver place settings and Lisan clearly recalled pulling the wooden lid along the top of the crate until it sat snugly closed.
Had one of the servants been poking at its contents?
Pulling the cover off, she looked inside to see whether anything had been disturbed.
It was all as she remembered, polished wooden boxes of silverware neatly stacked.
Except for the long, slim box that held the carving set. It was out of place and lay on top of the other boxes at an angle
instead of being tucked alongside. Opening the box, she saw the long fork nestled in its velvet-lined slot. But the knife
was gone. Could one of the Liao brothers have stolen the knife before they left? Had any other silverware been taken?
She took out each box to check. The boxes had slots to fit each piece of silverware, which made it easy to see if all the
pieces were present. She put them all back in the crate and left the lid as she’d found it, slightly offset. Then she went
to look for Chin.
The head servant was in the butler’s pantry, the cabinets open and a list on the table beside him. He was hand-polishing wineglasses.
When he saw her, he inclined his head slightly. “Miss Liu. Does Missy Caroline need something?”
“No, no,” she said. “Just a question for you, Chin. Have you sent any of the servants up into the attic?”
He frowned. “No need. Only Yao the gardener, who went to put down rat poison. Why?”
When she told him about the missing knife, he shook his head in dismay. “No, it wouldn’t have been one of the Liao brothers.
I’ll look into the matter, Miss Liu. Have you told Missy Caroline?”
“Let’s not say anything, for now,” Lisan said. “She’s already so worried about her husband. I trust you to find out what’s
happened. When you’re certain, we can tell Mrs. Stanton, if we need to.”
Chin nodded his thanks. An accusation of stealing couldn’t be made lightly.
Word always got around among the servants, and it upset the careful balance that existed belowstairs.
The accused, whether or not he was the wrongdoer, would find his reputation tainted.
There would be hostilities and resentment, concerns that the crime had brought suspicion upon all their heads.
Their reputations were all they had. It was Chin’s job to investigate and uncover, in his own way.
Although there was hardly any staff left.
“The foreign doctor came by again,” Chin said. “He left a note for Missy. And he said something while he was here.”
“What did he say?” She knew that Chin understood more English than he spoke.
“That Master Thomas is dying, that’s what I heard the doctor mutter,” Chin said, “and he seemed more worried about himself.
He kept saying ‘what this’ll do to my reputation’ and ‘second opinion’ and he helped himself to a whiskey before leaving.”
“How do you think the servants will react?” she said, already knowing the answer.
“I think we’d be lucky to keep any of them. Da Wu and Xiao Wu are leaving soon.” He sighed, the first time she’d seen him
show any emotion or admit to weariness. “I’ll stay and do everything I can. And you, Miss Liu?”
“As long as I can,” she said. “Miss Caroline needs . . . companionship.”
Caroline knew her husband was dying. Lisan could see it in the tired bend of Caroline’s slim neck, her slumped shoulders.
The American woman’s fatigue was palpable and there was a resignation about her that seemed in keeping with the melancholy
atmosphere of the house. Lisan could almost believe that a curse had fallen on Thomas. She thought of Rosalie’s portrait,
those soft lips, the reproachful expression. Come find me.
Yet somehow, she didn’t think Rosalie’s presence, sent by Charles’s restless spirit, was part of the curse.
But what if, the thought occurred to her, what if Rosalie was dead?
Perhaps she had died after leaving Shanghai.
What if it was Rosalie’s ghost that had been haunting her? Not the wraith of Charles, but Rosalie.
“And how is Mr. Burnett?” she said.
“The same,” Chin said. “Goes to work in the city each day as though nothing’s happened. Comes back for supper on his own,
since Missy Caroline takes a tray in her husband’s room now. Then he sits with Master Thomas for a bit so she can have a rest.”
“Chin,” she said, “I’m not sure if I should bring this up, but why have you stayed with your master for all these years, even
when you were the only servant looking after everything? Mason Burnett is not an especially . . . pleasant employer.”
“It’s not Master Mason,” he said, “it’s this house. I have to stay here.”
“Why, Chin? Why do you say that?” Was the house compelling Chin to stay? Is this what would happen to her? Would she become
so bound to this house that she wouldn’t be able to leave?
“I’m waiting for my daughter to come back,” he said. “When she comes back to Shanghai, I must be here where she can find me.
At this house.”
Suddenly the room shifted, went off-kilter. “Chin, is your daughter Rosalie? The one who married Charles Burnett?”