Poor Tom Is Cold (16 page)

This account had disturbed Lewis almost as much as the story of the exploding lamp. He wondered if the mood in the house had anything to do with it. His father and uncle had to go and see the body. They hadn’t said anything about all the blood but they must have been horrified.

He cut into the pudding. In spite of what Janet had said, it was undercooked in the centre and the suet was unpleasantly sticky. He picked out a raisin and chewed that.

Nathaniel finished eating and immediately Augusta put down her spoon. Lewis saw her exchange a glance with his uncle Jarius, who nodded and wiped his mouth with his napkin in his fastidious way.

“Stepfather, perhaps while everyone is present we could continue our earlier discussion,” Jarius said. “We do owe Dr. Ferrier an answer by tomorrow. As I understand it, delay will only make matters worse.”

Nathaniel shook his head. “This is not a suitable subject at the dinner table. Especially not with the boy present.” He took another helping of the pudding.

“I am confident that Lewis is old enough to hear,” said Augusta. “If we don’t broach it now, when will we? It is a matter that concerns all of us.”

“You’re wrong,” said Nathaniel, his open mouth revealing partly masticated suet and raisins. “She is my wife and the decision is mine to make.”

Jarius answered; his voice was calm, reasonable.

“No one would disagree but it is such an important matter, Sister and I thought it might be helpful to you if we discussed it more thoroughly. As a family. Isn’t that so, Frank?”

“Yes,” said Frank.

“And you agree too, don’t you, Peter?”

“Yes, begging your pardon, Father.”

“We all love and honour you, sir,” continued Jarius. “However, we cannot pretend this new marriage has been easy on our household. To speak honestly, both her presence and her illness have been a dreadful disruption and created havoc for all of us.” He paused. “Surely it is obvious that we cannot return to the situation as it has been. I’m sorry, I realise these are most unpleasant things to hear, as they are for me to say, but we must not put our heads in the sand like so many ostriches.”

The image struck Lewis as funny and he could feel another giggle threatening to break free. He concentrated on the pattern of green squares on the tablecloth, jumping across them like stepping-stones.

Nathaniel pushed aside his dish. “You’re a good talker, Jarius, and you always have been. But if you want to speak honestly as you say, let’s go the whole hog. The truth is that under all this mealy-mouthed gabbing what my children are really concerned about is their inheritance. They’re all shitting in their britches in case I get more tads.” His eyes were dark under the bushy eyebrows. “And why not? She’s going to be all right. It was her boy dying that unhinged her.”

Lewis shrank down into his chair, trying to make himself as small as possible. He couldn’t bear any mention of Charley, whom he’d loathed from the moment he’d arrived. Whenever they were left alone, he tormented the younger boy until he sobbed. When he had died so suddenly and painfully, Lewis thought it must be because of him. He’d finally confided in his mother, who had been unexpectedly gentle with him. “Bad feelings don’t kill us, my chuck. If they did, nobody in this household would be alive today.”

“I’m still a vigorous man,” continued Nathaniel, “and she’ll be fertile for a long time to come yet. I could spawn five sons before I die.”

“Father, please,” said Augusta, indicating her son.

“You’re the one said he was old enough. So let him hear.”

Peter Curran stopped eating and sat staring at his plate as if he were a rabbit and the fox’s snout was coming through the table.

“And any son she might drop would be a whole lot better than the one I have.” Nathaniel addressed this remark to Jarius, ignoring Frank, who was leaning on his elbows on the table, toying with his fork.

“We all know my stepbrother has sowed a lot of wild oats,” said Jarius. “I’m not condoning that, but he has settled down now. Isn’t that so, Frank?”

Nathaniel didn’t wait to hear a reply.

“Bollocks. He’s still up to his tricks and you know it. He’s hell-bent on destroying everything I’ve built up.”

Frank didn’t look up, but began tapping the fork on the side of the dish as if he were about to crack an egg. Nathaniel wouldn’t stop now.

“This woman can get me children who will have respect. I’ll see to that. They won’t end up scragged like he’s going to. Jarius, I don’t count you in this. You’re not my own flesh and blood, more’s the pity, but you will get a nice bequest, don’t worry about that. And I know you love me like you should.”

“What about Lewis?” Augusta burst out. “What about your first grandson? He deserves consideration.”

“Does he? I say let him earn it. Let him earn it the way I had to.”

Lewis had heard his grandfather’s story many times. How, at the age of fifteen, he’d fled from a poor farm in the north of England, stowed away on a steamer to Canada, and by dint of hard work and a good mind, had established himself in a livery stable, now considered one
of the best in Toronto. This history usually took a long time to relate, especially after two jugs of beer, and Lewis hoped Nathaniel wasn’t going to launch into it tonight.

However, he could see his mother wasn’t going to tolerate storytelling. Her mouth had gone very tight and she spoke as if her jaw were stiff.

“And what about me? I am your only daughter. Surely I matter?”

Nathaniel flapped his hand as if she were an irritating fly. “I’ve no time for a woman who’s put a twitch on her husband’s tool the way you have.”

Curran didn’t respond, except to stuff his hands underneath his thighs out of harm’s way. Nathaniel jabbed his finger in the air.

“And I’ve told you time and again that you’re turning your lad into a prize Miss Molly. But you, you won’t listen. He’s getting to be more and more soft as he grows.”

This wasn’t the first time his grandfather had used that term, but when Lewis asked his mother what it meant, she wouldn’t tell him. Uncle Frank said it meant he would turn out like the fat gelding in the stable and Lewis added that to his other pile of worries.

Suddenly, Frank sat up straight. “Young Nephew, you probably don’t know what the hell we’re all talking about, do you? Concerning your new grandmother, I mean.”

“No, Uncle,” whispered Lewis.

“Do you remember how we had to drown Fluffy because she kept getting out and having kittens? She just
wouldn’t stop? Always caterwauling and carrying on.”

“Frank!”

“Don’t worry, Aggie. I’m only trying to educate the boy. You see, Lew, your uncle Jarius thinks Grandmother Peg should have this special operation. It’s performed on women who’ve lost their slates. They take out their innards, their sex parts. They can’t have children after that but it’s said to work wonders. Dampens them right down.”

“Frank, stop it. You can’t talk to the boy like that.”

“Why not? His future is at stake. You see, Lewis, the problem is we’re not just talking about a poor woman who’s gone barmy. It’s worse than that. Your grandfather is in fact married to a whore who is ready to stand for any man that comes knocking.”

Nathaniel cuffed his son across the side of his mouth. His knuckle caught the top of Frank’s lip, cracking it.

“You piece of filth. Your mother is crying in heaven over you.”

Frank touched his finger to his mouth and examined the daub of blood. “She has a lot more to cry over than just me swearing.”

Nathaniel hit out again but this time Frank was ready and he caught him by the wrist. He pushed back and they locked as if they were in a wrestling contest.

“Jarius, stop them,” Augusta cried.

Gibb jumped up and came around the table. He gripped Frank’s shoulder.

“Let him go.”

Eakin did, at the same time pushing back from his chair so he was out of harm’s way.

“I believe your father is owed an apology.”

“Is he? All I’m doing is telling the truth … You say you’d like more sons but how could you ever be certain of her offspring?”

“Hold your tongue.”

“Look at me, Father! I’m flesh of your flesh. You look into a mirror when you see me. There is no doubt who fathered me.”

Nathaniel stared at him, then he said, “Don’t you think I regret that every day? What I see when I look at you disgusts me.”

Frank flinched and Lewis could see the movement of his Adam’s apple in his throat. Jarius was still standing close to him and he stepped forward.

“Stepfather, I am afraid in the interest of truth I must take Frank’s side in this matter. He did not want to tell you but she went to him as well as myself. On Friday.” He looked over at Curran. “I regret to say she approached both of them.”

“You’re lying.”

Jarius frowned. “How can you say that to me? We were trying to spare you.”

“Is it true?” Nathaniel asked his son. His voice was quieter but to Lewis he sounded even more terrifying.

Frank reverted to studying his plate. “Yes, Father.”

“Like she did with Jarius?”

“Yes, the same.”

“And you, Peter?”

“Er, yes, sir.” He glanced quickly at his wife.

“Why didn’t you tell me?” asked Augusta.

Curran stared at a point over her right shoulder. “No point really.”

“I don’t believe you!” Nathaniel roared and slammed his fist on the table. Lewis was afraid he would hit Frank again. Jarius bent over him.

“It is true, Stepfather. I saw them bringing her back. I did not want to tell you. You had enough to contend with. And you can see how upset you are.”

All eyes were on Nathaniel. Finally he spoke.

“The woman is a whore, that is clear. I must apologise to you, Frank.” He held out his hand, palm down, to his son.

Frank took it in his and kissed the fingers.

Lewis saw that he left behind a smudge of blood.

S
AM
L
EE AND HIS SON LIVED IN A ROOM
to the rear of the laundry. No Westerner had ever entered this place, and, if they had, it would have fulfilled all their most riotous fantasies about Chinamen. Earlier the two had lit incense sticks and the smell was dense and pungent in the air. The light was a soft bluish red. Lee had draped scarves of violet-coloured silk over the two lamps, which were turned down low. There was little furniture and all of it Lee had made himself. He was a talented wood-carver, but it would have been impossible for him to find work other than in the expected laundry. However, he had built a massive hinged panel that covered one side of the room, and slowly, over the lonely years, he’d covered it with carvings of flowers, birds, and bats. The entire work was painted with gilt. In front of this panel was a red lacquered table on which stood the kitchen altar, three porcelain
cups, and rice-filled bowls with their chopsticks. A brightly coloured picture of Choi Sun, the god of wealth, was propped beside these items, and tucked slightly to the back was a more subdued painting of Jesus ascending to heaven.

Against the opposite wall was a single wooden couch covered with a thin, padded mattress and a blue quilt. The evidence of Western life was an ugly iron range that served as cooker and heater. Foon had prepared boiled rice and greens for their dinner and they were having it, seated cross-legged on the floor. He finished eating, served his father the remaining rice, and sat quietly, waiting.

Sam gave a soft belch in a sign of appreciation of the meal his son had prepared.

“Shall I get your pipe,
baba
?”

The older man nodded and Foon got up, crossed to a cupboard beside the range, and took out a brown leather sack. He returned to his father, who had stretched out on the wooden couch.

“Baba, with your permission, I have a question I would like to present to you.”

Lee was lying with his head on the pillow roll and his eyes were closed. “What is your question,
laoerh
?” He addressed his son in the traditional Chinese manner, according to his birth order, number-two son. Sam’s oldest child had remained in Hong Kong to help support his mother and sister. Sam intended to send
for them when the law changed, or smuggle them in if it didn’t.

Foon opened the sack and removed the
yangqiang
, the opium pipe. It was made of bamboo with a tortoise-shell overlay. The tips were ivory and the saddle, where the bowl sat, was pewter and copper latticework studded with semi-precious stones of red and green. It was the most expensive object they owned, passed down to Lee from his uncle on his mother’s side and already promised to the eldest son. Foon placed it carefully beside him and lifted the cloth that covered their eating table. Tucked underneath was a low stand of black lacquer inlaid with mother-of-pearl, which he pulled out. Resting in shallow holes were four small bowls, each a different shape and material. He slid open the drawer and took out a long steel bodkin and a tiny polished wooden box. He placed them beside the pipe.

“Do you have a preference tonight,
baba
?”

Sam studied the dampers for a moment, then lazily indicated an onion-shaped one made of jade with a carved dragon design around the edge.

Foon picked it up and snapped the stem securely onto the pipe. Next he unscrewed the top of the little box and dipped the end of the bodkin into the opium paste it contained. He had turned up the wick of the lamp and he held the blob of dark, treacly paste in the flame. As soon as it caught fire, he blew it out and rolled it in the pipe bowl, twirling the bodkin between his fingers
and thumb. He repeated this procedure twice more, then handed the pipe to his father. Sam took in a deep breath, exhaled completely, then drew in the aromatic opium smoke, holding it in his lungs as long as possible. He let go of the smoke through his nostrils. Foon watched him for a moment, until he could see the pipe was to his satisfaction.

“At the inquest this morning, you instructed me to tell them that the young woman who claimed to be Mr. Wicken’s fiancée was the same one that you had seen with the constable.”

Sam was holding the bowl of the pipe over the lamp to heat it. He nodded an acknowledgment.