“A day of rest won’t hurt you.” She smiled. “And you can use the time to get to know Brother Lazarus better.”
“Fine,” agreed Kit, regarding the smiling cleric. “As you know, my Spanish and Italian are every bit as good as my German. We’ll have a ball.”
CHAPTER 31
The journey to China had proved a trial of patience and endurance. Schooners, however luxurious-and they were rarely that-might be strong and reliable, but they were slow. Even the swiftest of the new clipper ships took six months or more to reach Hong Kong from Portsmouth, and there was no faster way to make the journey. At least there was no faster way Charles Flinders-Petrie had ever found. Grandfather Arthur might have discovered a ley line connecting Britain to China, but if he had, that was yet another secret he failed to pass along to anyone. The monumental inconvenience of sea travel was one of the main reasons Charles had never made the journey, and the only reason he was making it now was that cruel necessity had forced him from his beloved London garden.
Now, as the humped back of Hong Kong island slid into view beneath the low clouds hanging over the harbour, it was all Charles could do to refrain from leaping into the sea and swimming the rest of the way to shore. The ship made port a few hours later, and by midday Charles was picking his slow way up the dusty steeps of Wah Fu Road, looking for the house of Xian-Li’s sister. Having shunned the clamour of rickshaw drivers at the harbour for the pleasure of feeling solid ground beneath his feet after so many weeks aboard ship, he was enjoying his exotic surroundings as much as the physical exertion was making him sweat.
At the top of the hill he stopped and looked about him. The houses in the neighbourhood were oddly out of place-rambling English-style wooden bungalows with steep roofs, deep eaves, and large wraparound porches-built as they were by European businessmen and bureaucrats for families accustomed to suburban sprawl. They were painted white with red trim, and as a concession to climate and decorum, most of the porches and windows were screened with woven bamboo shades. He had never met Hana-Li, but he had the number of the house and, as the widow of a notable government official, she was well known.
When he had caught his breath he continued on, entering a wide tree-lined boulevard where the houses were larger and set back from the road by green lawns strewn with flower beds and ornamental shrubs tended by barefoot gardeners wearing wide straw hats. At last he came to an iron post at the end of a winding driveway. The post bore a sign with the number forty-three painted in gold. He stood for a moment and gazed at the rambling house, wondering whether he would find a welcome within. There was only one way to find out.
Charles walked up the drive and mounted the steps to the porch. There was a bell pull beside the door, which he employed, once and then again, and waited until he heard the quick patter of sandals on the other side of the heavy wooden door. It opened to reveal a sprightly young girl with long black hair, robed in a plain white shift, with simple sea grass slippers on her feet.
“Hello,” said Charles with a smile. “I have come to see Hana-Li. Is she at home?”
If his words made an impression on the girl, she did not show it.
“Do you speak English?” asked Charles.
The girl frowned, then turned away abruptly and pattered off, leaving the door open. Charles stood on the threshold gazing into the dark interior of a spacious vestibule lined with standing porcelain pots in green and blue. He patted the parcel beneath his shirt and waited.
In a moment an old woman appeared. Her dove-grey hair was bound in a topknot beneath which a round face, wrinkled as a walnut, expressed a mild curiosity at what had fetched up on the doorstep. Her robe was threadbare and faded, and she carried a dusting cloth in one hand. Taking her for the housekeeper, Charles replied, “I have come to see Hana-Li. Is the lady at home?”
“She is at home,” answered the woman in careful colonial English with a whistling lisp. “Who wishes to see her?”
“My name is Charles Flinders-Petrie,” he said. “I am the honourable lady’s great-nephew.”
“Nephew?” wondered the old woman.
Charles offered a reassuring smile. “My grandmother, Xian-Li, was her sister,” he explained. “She is my great-aunt.”
The woman paused to consider this, her quick dark eyes wary of this bold gaijin stranger.
Charles grew uncomfortable under this scrutiny. “Does Hana-Li live here?” he asked finally. “May I see her?”
As if making up her mind about him, the old woman opened the door and stepped aside. “Please, come in.”
“Thank you.” Charles entered the foyer. The room was dark; a red silk rug carpeted the floor, and two potted palms stood at the doorway into the sitting room.
The old woman gestured toward the second room. “Sit down, please,” she instructed.
From among the chairs available, Charles chose a low-seated rattan model with a red silk cushion. The old woman remained standing in the doorway, studying him as Charles settled himself.
“You like tea?”
“Yes, indeed,” said Charles. “I do like a nice cup of tea.”
The elderly housekeeper nodded and disappeared into the house. Left alone, Charles gazed around the room. It was light and airy, if cluttered with knickknacks of various kinds large and small-the accumulation, no doubt, of a life in government service. What sort of official Hana-Li’s husband had been, Charles did not know-only that he had been involved with the British Board of Trade at some time in the past. He wondered why, after her husband had died, his great-aunt had not moved back to Macau.
Presently the old woman returned with a porcelain pot and two shallow cups and a plate of sugared almonds on a teak tray. “You are far from home,” she said.
“Yes, I have come a long way to see Hana-Li,” he replied. “Is she coming soon, do you think?”
The woman bunched her wrinkled cheeks. “Yes, very soon.” She placed the tray on a table and began pouring it out. She handed Charles a cup and then offered the plate of almonds.
“Thank you,” said Charles, selecting a few of the sweets.
“I am sister of Xian-Li,” announced the woman, taking a seat in the chair opposite. “My name is Hana-Li.” She offered a broad, gap-toothed smile, enjoying her little jest at his expense. “Hello, great-nephew.”
Charles sat up so quickly, he almost spilled his tea. “Oh, I am sorry!” he blurted. “I took you for the housekeeper.”
She laughed. “I know. Little Tam-Ling is housekeeper.”
“Please, forgive me.”
She batted away the apology. “You honour me with your presence, nephew.”
Charles made a little bow. “The honour is mine, dear aunt.”
“Did you know my sister?”
“Indeed I did,” replied Charles, remembering. “When I was a little boy, she used to let me feed the chickens on the farm. She was always very proper.”
Hana-Li nodded over her tea. “Did she have a happy life?”
“Yes, very happy-quiet, but happy, I think. She was a joy to all who met her.”
Hana-Li laughed. “You would not say that if you knew her when she was young. She used to pull my hair and scream like a monkey when we fought.” She laughed again. “And we were always fighting.”
“I brought you something,” said Charles, standing up. He fished in the pocket of his jacket and brought out a small parcel wrapped in blue paper. “I thought you might like this.”
The old woman took the present, unwrapped it, and opened the box to reveal a jade brooch skillfully carved to resemble a lotus flower. “Oh!” exclaimed Hana-Li. Tears came to her eyes.
“Do you like it?”
