She swallowed hard. “Do you know what this is?”
“Xian-Li wore it often. I expect it was her favourite piece.”
“It was our mother’s favourite too,” explained Hana-Li, dabbing at her eyes. “We were very young when she died, and we were very poor. We had almost nothing from her-but this brooch and a few other small things. Father gave it to Xian-Li when she was married.”
“Then I am glad I could return it to you.”
“Do you have children?”
“A son. He is grown now. No daughters.”
Hana-Li held out the box. “Give it to him to give to his daughter when the time comes.”
Charles shook his head lightly. “That is a kindly thought. But I think it means more to you than it ever will to him. I insist you keep it.”
“Thank you,” she sighed. “You make an old woman very happy.”
“I have something else for you,” he said. “Excuse me a moment.” He turned away and unbuttoned the top three buttons of his shirt to withdraw a cylindrical parcel no bigger than the palm of his hand. It was wrapped in fine suede leather and bound with a leather strap of the same material. He buttoned his shirt and turned, offering the package to his aged relative. “This is also very precious, but for a different reason,” he said.
Hana-Li took it and regarded the green suede bundle curiously.
“You may open it,” he instructed, “and I will explain.”
The old woman gently closed the box containing the brooch and set it on the table beside her chair. Her wrinkled fingers worked at the leather lace and in a moment had unwrapped the package to reveal a tightly wound scroll of semi-translucent parchment. She gently unrolled the scrap and spread it on her lap, her eyes playing over the oddly ornamented surface-a spray of fine blue swirls and lines and tiny dots. She lifted the thin, papery material and held it up against the light from the window to study the richly patterned design more closely.
“Have you seen anything like this before?” asked Charles after a moment.
“These are tattaus,” she said. “I have seen them many times, as you must surely know, for my father was a tattau maker.”
Charles nodded. “And you know that he created many tattoostattaus — for my grandfather, Arthur.”
The old woman held the parchment across her palms. “That is true. He would have come many times to have his tattaus made. But I met your grandfather only once-when he came to take Xian-Li for his wife. After that, we never saw them again.”
“What you hold is a parchment made from Arthur’s skin,” Charles explained, placing his hand reverently on the map.
The old woman’s mouth formed a perfect O of wonder.
“It was made to preserve the marks you see on its surface, and it has been in our family for many, many years.”
Charles went on to tell her how his father, Benedict-then only a young boy-had tried to secure a copy of the special map when Arthur had died unexpectedly while on one of their travels. The parchment had been made by well-meaning priests in order to preserve the map. “It has been in the family ever since,” concluded Charles. “It has proven its worth many times over.”
The old woman nodded, uncertain what to make of this revelation. “Why do you wish me to have it?”
“What you hold in your hands is but one small piece of a larger map. I have divided it up into sections, and I bring this portion to you for safekeeping.”
“Why me?”
“Because you are the only surviving member of my grandmother’s family,” Charles replied. “And because no one will ever think to search for it here.” He smiled. “No one knows about you, Hana-Li, but me.”
She rolled the scroll once more and rewound it in its leather wrap, then handed it back to Charles. “I will think about it.”
“Very well,” he agreed, but made no move to take the map from her. “Whatever you think best.”
“You will stay here with me, and I will tell cook that tonight we celebrate the good fortune of your arrival,” she said lightly. “We will eat together, and you will tell me stories of my sister’s life in England.”
“I would be delighted.”
The old woman rose and crossed the room. She lifted a tiny brass bell from a table and rang. Tam-Ling appeared, and the two exchanged a brief word. “She will take you to the guest room, where you can rest from your journey. I will have hot water brought to you.”
“You are most thoughtful, Aunt,” he said. Taking her hands in his, he pressed them, and added, “I knew that coming here was the right thing to do.”
They enjoyed a sumptuous dinner together, and while Tam-Ling ferried various dishes from the kitchen to the table, Charles regaled his aged relative with stories remembered from his childhood and other family stories passed down through the years: tales of Arthur’s daring travel exploits; his mother’s winsome, slightly otherworldly ways; his and his father’s childhood memories of the farm and country life in rural Oxfordshire; and much else. Hana-Li relished the tales, clapping her hands with pleasure from time to time as a particular story unfolded; she added her own recollections of her and her sister’s childhood growing up in Macau. The two went to bed that night sated in body and soul.
Charles arose the next morning to a light rain pattering on the roof tiles; he dressed and went downstairs to find his great-aunt waiting for him in the sitting room. She had the leather roll in her lap and was gazing at it intently. He greeted her with a kiss and then, as she clearly had something on her mind, he stood and waited for her to begin.
“I have been thinking,” she said, still gazing at the bundle on her lap. “I am a very old woman, and I will not live many more years.”
“You are the very picture of health-”
She raised a hand and cut off his objection. “No, it is true. Therefore, I am not prepared to accept this duty.” Before Charles could interrupt, she continued. “However, I understand your desire to keep this… ” She hesitated. “This remnant safe and secure.” She raised her eyes to Charles for the first time. “I have a proposal to make to you.”
“I am eager to hear it.”
“I want you to take me to Macau,” she said. “It is many years since I visited my home, and I should like to see it again before I die. There is an old family shrine outside the city-my father’s and mother’s ashes are there. We will visit the shrine and there, I think, you will find a place to keep this”-she lowered her eyes to the object on her lap-“in all safety.”
Charles considered this for a moment. “A splendid idea, Aunt. I think you have devised the perfect solution.” Indeed, hiding the pieces in tombs and shrines seemed not only appropriate but inspired. He stooped near and gave her a kiss on the cheek. “It would be my pleasure to escort you to Macau to visit the family shrine. We could also see the old tattoo shop if you would like-I know I would.”
“Then I will make arrangements,” replied Hana-Li. She took the parcel and offered it to him once more. “We will visit the shrine first, and you will place this inside.”
Charles made a little bow and accepted the leather-wrapped scroll. Holding it on the palm of his hand, he said, “That will be a most fitting resting place for this particular piece of family history.”
CHAPTER 32
Chairs had been set up in a neat semi-circle in the genizah to accommodate the small but select group. The centre of the big room had been cleared for the special meeting at which Cassandra Clarke was to be inducted into the Zetetic Society, becoming its newest, and youngest, member. In point of fact, she would become its first new member for over a hundred and twenty-five years-a detail she would have found astonishing, but wholly in keeping with the odd group she was still struggling to embrace.
