“So we meet again, Miss Bronte,” he said.
His silky, suave voice again worked an eerie magic upon my mind, dissolving my ties to Mr. Slade, the outside world, and everything sensible and sane. His face had a waxen gold skin that stretched tight over the curved planes of his bones. His age was indeterminate. With his haughty, sculpted nose and lips, he was at once repulsive and alluring. Words from Isabel White’s diary whispered in my mind: His strange beauty captivated me. His eyes, set beneath high, arched brows, were shaped like half moons. Their steady gaze drew me into their black depths. I feared that if I looked too long into them, I would lose myself. I struggled to think what Mr. Slade had told me to do, and I recalled my aim of learning as much as possible about this man.
“Now that I have entered your employ,” I said with a calmness I did not feel, “may I know your name?”
His half-moon eyes narrowed in faint amusement. “I am Kuan Tzu-chan. You may address me as Kuan.”
I later learned that this was his family name, which, in Chinese fashion, he spoke before his personal name. To Hitchman, who stood beside me, he said, “Leave us.”
Surprise, and offense, disrupted Hitchman’s genial expression. “I’ll stay, if you don’t mind.”
“I do mind,” Kuan said simply.
Hitchman stood irresolute for a moment, then departed. I saw that while he fancied himself as Kuan’s partner, he was clearly the subordinate.
“Come, Miss Bronte,” said Kuan, “let us converse.” He pointed me toward a chair and took for himself the wooden captain’s chair behind the desk. It was too big for his slight frame, but he sat regally. “Are your quarters satisfactory? Have you everything you need?”
I had engaged in similar conversations at every establishment where I’d worked; but Kuan’s voice imbued the mundane exchange with portentous significance. His keen scrutiny of me implied an interest in more than my comfort. “My physical needs are met, but I expected a little more. You promised me that if I accepted this position, I would live in luxury. And I prefer that my freedom not be so restricted.”
He heard my complaint with a look of condescension. “There are times in life when we must delay gratification and tolerate minor inconveniences in order to earn our rewards. Now then: I understand that you have met my son and begun his lessons. How does he progress?”
“Your son is intelligent, but he refuses to apply himself,” I said. “His antipathy towards my country has set him against mastering the language.”
A shadow of displeasure crossed Kuan’s smooth face. “My son must learn to accept the circumstances that fortune has thrust upon him. And you, Miss Bronte, must overcome his resistance. Have you ever had difficult pupils in the past?”
“Far too many,” I said.
“Were you ultimately able to tame and instruct them?”
“Not all,” I admitted. Were this an interview with any other employer, I would have tried to conceal my failings so he would not think ill of me; but the force of Kuan’s nature compelled me to honesty, as it had in Brussels. “It is impossible to teach someone who refuses to accept instruction.”
“So you blame the pupils, and not yourself, for their failure to learn?” Kuan said with a glimmer of a smile.
I didn’t want to anger him by implying that if T’ing-nan failed to learn English, it was his own fault; yet I wished to defend myself. “Medieval alchemists claimed to convert base metal to gold, but not even the best teacher can effect a similar transformation in a pupil.”
“In my land, a good teacher is one who acknowledges her own mistakes and endeavors to correct them, rather than giving up,” Kuan said.
He displayed the same arrogant superiority that I had observed in his son. I replied tartly, “With all due respect, sir, this is not your land.”
A look of secretive gloating came over Kuan. “I detect in you a harsh attitude towards children, Miss Bronte. Do you dislike them so much?”
My candor faltered; his observation was astute, and a woman who admits disliking children risks seeming a monster. “I like them very well,” I replied.
I could see that my falsehood did not deceive Kuan; yet satisfaction wreathed his features. “But still you would vigilantly protect any children in your charge?”
“Of course I would,” I said.
“You would endanger your own life before letting them come to harm?”
Although I could not imagine sacrificing myself for any of the brats I’d taught-nor for Kuan’s rude, petulant son-I nodded, rather than contradict my previous answer.
“You would place yourself between your charges and someone who attacked them?” Kuan said. “In fact, you would do anything rather than hurt a child?”
My nods grew weaker, for I did not have much enthusiasm for children and could not commit to risking my life for an unknown hypothetical child; yet his satisfied expression deepened. I felt that I had passed some arcane test he had set for me. He steepled his hands under his chin as he continued to scrutinize my face. “Why did you choose a profession that is so ill suited to your nature?”
“There are few others open to women,” I admitted.
“But many Englishwomen stay home rather than enter the service of strangers,” Kuan said. “Why did you not?”
“I was determined not to be a burden on my father,” I answered. “I considered it my duty to contribute to the household income.”
“Duty to one’s parents is the highest virtue,” Kuan said. “But how onerous must be the burden of supporting a brother and sister who are unfit to earn their own living.”
This description of Branwell and Emily enraged me, as did Kuan’s familiarity with our business. “They are not a burden,” I said in an icy tone. “Whatever I do for them and the rest of my family is done out of love, not obligation.”
Kuan contemplated me. “For love of family, then, you would go to lengths that you would not for anyone else.” He seemed pleased to have deduced this.
His questions had grown increasingly personal, and increasingly offensive. “May I ask the purpose of this discussion?”
He waved away my query. “Its purpose will become evident in good time.”
“Then until that time, I’ll not answer any more questions.”
Kuan placed his hands on the arms of his chair, conjuring the image of an emperor on a throne. “I am your master, and you are my servant. You shall do whatever I decree.”
Anger made me incautious. “I may be a servant, but you do not own me. Here in England, the law does not tolerate slavery.” I rose, flustered as usual while asserting myself. “If you will please excuse me, I must go now.”
Sudden malevolence glimmered through Kuan’s calm visage. “Here in my domain, the laws of England do not apply. Sit down, Miss Bronte.”
Now was the time to flee the house before he could pry more deeply into my mind; now was the time to fetch Mr. Slade to capture Kuan before he could fulfill his secret, evil purpose. I rushed to the door and flung it open-only to find Hitchman standing in the hall, barring my path.
“You will remain until I determine that our conversation is finished,” Kuan said evenly.
I sank into my chair. Hitchman closed the door, imprisoning me with Kuan. Yet even a caged animal will snap at its jailer.
“I will answer more questions from you, under the condition that you answer questions from me,” I said, despite knowing that I was in no position to bargain.
I expected Kuan to be angry, but he seemed gratified that I had stood up to him. “Your courage delights me, Miss Bronte.” A smile of arresting charm transformed his face. “Valor while under threat is a rare and admirable trait.”
My emotions underwent a sudden, unsettling shift. I felt no longer defiant towards him, but flattered by his praise. Once more, as in Brussels, he had invoked his power to make me desirous of his good opinion, even though I knew him to be my enemy.
“The bargain you propose is a fair one,” Kuan said. “I shall postpone my interrogation of you, and you may
