Chapter 31 #3
Yao nodded at her shouted instructions and wrapped one corner of the fabric around his fist. Chin and the rickshaw driver did the same.
A triangle of gold velvet rippled below her and Lisan edged herself to the window, climbed onto the sill, reached for the top of the window frame to steady herself.
“Now jump, my girl,” Mason said, “you haven’t much time.” He had crawled from the chair to the window.
But she couldn’t move. The acrid smell of smoke, the heat behind her, the roar of the fire licking up the wallpaper and consuming
the walnut desk, the sharp small explosions of sound as crystal shattered. The familiar nightmare enveloped her and Lisan
squeezed her eyes shut, clutched at the window frame.
Her short, chubby legs trudge up a staircase, but this time, when she looks up, she sees the face of the person gripping her
hand. It’s her eldest sister. A rounded face and generous mouth. The veranda they hurry along is familiar to her, she knows
it’s the third floor of the palace, her mother’s quarters. But a section of the red-painted railing is missing and now she
sees her other sister, recognizes the high cheekbones and arched eyebrows. Then her mother kneels beside her. Features that
echo her own, a sweet smile curving her lips. Lisan will never forget those faces now.
Her mother smiles at her, ties a silk scarf around her eyes. Something drops onto her shoulders, tightens a bit around her
neck. A murmured few words from her mother, her eldest sister’s hand holding hers, trembling.
Now jump, her mother says.
Now jump, another voice says. Rosalie’s voice. Get out. Come find me. Now jump.
Lisan opened her eyes. Yao was shouting, pleading for her to hurry.
Something at the back of the house exploded.
She released her hands from the window frame and let herself go, landing in a flurry of golden velvet.
The men lowered the makeshift net to the ground and Yao picked her up, set her down by the car.
He ran back to the two others, who were already picking up the curtain again, wrapping the fabric tightly around their fists. It was Mason’s turn.
“Mr. Burnett,” Yao called. “We’re ready for you. Jump!”
But Mason shook his head. He gave a quick salute with two fingers and his head slid below the windowsill, vanished from sight.
“Get away from the house, Miss Liu,” Chin said, still looking up at the window as though willing Mason to come back. “It’s
dangerous to be so close. Master Burnett! Come to the window!”
With a clatter of wood and tiles, part of the roof caved in. The rickshaw puller dashed for his vehicle, straw sandals splashing
through puddles. He ran for the gates, rickshaw jolting behind him.
“Get inside the car!” Yao cried. Lisan stumbled her way into the back of the vehicle, Chin right behind her. They were halfway
to the gates when Yao stopped. They all turned to watch the rest of the roof catch fire. Even if the fire truck arrived now,
there was no hope for the wooden structure. The hothouse and all its tropical flowers, the library and its books, the ballroom
with the shining parquet floors and sparkling chandeliers. The attic with its secrets. And the portrait of Rosalie.
“But what about Mr. Burnett?” Lisan said. “We should stay and tell the firemen someone is in there.”
“Lisan, it’s too late for Mr. Burnett,” Yao said, “and we need to get you away from here, now. It’s best if you’re not here
when the fire department arrives. I’m taking you home. Chin, come with us. I’m certain Master Liu will let you stay until
you decide what to do next.” He turned the car onto Brenan Road. “Lisan, what happened?”
“I don’t even know where to begin,” she said, “but Caroline Stanton isn’t Caroline Stanton.”
By the time they reached the city, she had blurted out what she knew and what she’d guessed about what Mrs. Stanton had done.
“That wasn’t necessarily in the best and most logical order, but . . .”
“But it’s been quite a day,” Yao said, “and you’ve just escaped from a murderer.”
“Who tried to kill you and Master Mason,” Chin murmured. “She’s a monster. And now the house is gone.” He sounded forlorn.
“You’re thinking of your daughter, that when she comes back that’s where she’ll come to find you,” Lisan said, turning around
to face him. “But oh, Chin, she won’t be coming back. I’m so sorry. Mr. Burnett confessed everything to me.”
Chin looked out the window the entire time as she told him what had befallen Rosalie. His face was ashen but he didn’t say
anything.
At the villa, the old gatekeeper was dozing as usual and Yao drove the car directly into the garage.
“Stay here until I come back,” he said. “I must speak first with Master Liu. And stay out of sight.”
Lisan got out of the vehicle. “Old Mah,” she said, shaking her head in the direction of the gate, “still Shanghai’s most hopeless
gatekeeper.”
“Where did they bury my daughter?” Chin said. “Did Mr. Mason tell you?”
Comprehension jolted through her like lightning. Come find me. That was what Rosalie meant. Not to go looking for her somewhere outside Shanghai, but to find her grave so that she could
have a proper burial with all the proper funeral rites. A real grave in a spot where the people who loved her could pray for
her, bring offerings, and sweep her grave during the Ching Ming Festival.
“No, he didn’t tell me,” she said, thinking of the willow trees by the lake and how in her dreams Rosalie’s ghost always lingered
there. “Chin, did you ever feel her presence? Your daughter’s, I mean.”
He shook his head. “No. I wish I had. To hear or see her again, just one more time.”