The Mandarin's Fan

Rupert shook his head. "If I lose Olivia I don't care about keeping Royabay. It can be sold up and I'll go abroad to the Colonies to work for my living."

"Without Olivia."

"No. With Olivia. Nothing will buy her from me."

Miss Wharf finding all her arts fail, snatched the fan from him, and bit her lip. Her eyes flashed, and she seemed on the point of making some remark, but refrained. "Very good, Mr. Ainsleigh," said she. "I'll see what I can do with Olivia. You have ruined her."

"What do you mean by that, Miss Wharf."

"You'll find out my friend," she replied clenching the fan fiercely. "Oh, I am not so blind, or so ignorant as you think me."

Ainsleigh turned crimson. He wondered if by any chance she had heard of the marriage, and it was on the tip of his tongue to put a leading question to Miss Wharf, when Chris Walker came up. He was not alone. With him was a small Chinaman with the impassive face of the Celestial. Tung-yu – as Rupert guessed he was – wore a gorgeous yellow gown, with a kind of blue silk blouse over it. His feet were encased in thick Chinese shoes wonderfully embroidered and his pig-tail was down. Several ladies cast avaricious looks at these gorgeous vestments, and especially at the blouse, which was heavy with dragons woven in gold thread. In his thin yellow hand with long finger-nails, Tung-yu held a small ivory fan, and he stood impassively before Miss Wharf, not even casting a look at the fan in her hand, which he was prepared to buy at such a large price.

"This is Mr. Tung-yu," said Chris boyishly. "He wants to meet you, Miss Wharf. He admires English ladies."

"I fear I can't speak his language, Chris."

"He can speak ours to perfection," said Walker.

Tung-yu bowed politely and spoke in admirably chosen English. "I was at Cambridge," he said calmly, "and I know of your Western culture. If you will permit me, madam." He took a seat beside Miss Wharf.

Chris, seeing his friend well established looked around. "Where is Miss Rayner?" he asked. "Oh there she is – the dance is over."

And so it was. The dancers were streaming out on to the balcony and the room was almost empty. Burgh, with Olivia on his arm, came towards Miss Wharf, and Chris hurried forward to ask Miss Rayner for a dance. But quick as he was, Rupert was quicker. He had seen his wife dance with one admirer, and was not going to let her dance with another. "Miss Rayner is engaged to me," he said, and offered his arm with a defiant look at Burgh, to whom he had not been introduced.

Burgh showed no disposition to let Olivia go, and scowled. But his eye fell on the Chinaman seated by Miss Wharf, and he suddenly moved away. It seemed to Rupert that the buccaneer was afraid. Chris remained to protest, but Ainsleigh ended the matter by abruptly taking Olivia out of the room. Miss Wharf frowned when she saw them depart and opened her mouth, as though to call Olivia back. But on second thoughts she contented herself with another frown and then turned to speak to Tung-yu. "I have heard of you," she said.

"From my friend, Mr. Walker," said the polite Chinaman.

"Oh yes, and from someone else, through a third party. I heard of your advertisement – "

"What advertisement?" asked Tung-yu.

"About this fan," and Miss Wharf waved it under Tung-yu's narrow eyes, which did not change their expression of indifference.

"I do not understand, Madam!"

The lady looked astonished. "Why. Didn't you advertise for the fan?"

Tung-yu permitted himself to smile. "Who told you I did?" he asked.

"Mr Ainsleigh, who left just now, told a friend of mine, who told me," said Miss Wharf. "I understood you wished to possess this fan."

"No," said Tung-yu indifferently, "the advertisement was placed in the paper, by a compatriot of mine called Hwei. He asked me to see anyone who called about it, as he was engaged. I saw Mr Ainsleigh and told him what he told your friend. You must apply to Hwei."

"And have my life taken," said Miss Wharf with a shudder.

This time the Chinaman was not able to suppress a start. "I do not quite understand, Madam?" he reflected.

"Oh, yes, you do, Mr Tung-yu. Hwei would murder me to get this fan. I prefer to sell it to you for five thousand pounds."

The Chinaman's face became impassive again, though his eyes looked surprised. "I assure you, this is quite wrong, Madam. My friend Hwei wants the fan, because it belongs to a Mandarin who received it as a gift from his dead wife. So dearly does this Mandarin prize it, that he is willing to buy it at any price."

"Even five thousand pounds?"

"I believe so. This Mandarin is rich." He turned his narrow eyes again on the lady. "Did the person who said that Hwei would go as far as crime, tell you the Mandarin's name?"

"No. Who is the Mandarin?"

"I fear I cannot tell you madam. Hwei did not tell me. If you like I will bring him to you."

Miss Wharf hesitated. Her avarice was aroused by the hope of getting rid of a trifle for five thousand pounds but she did not wish to risk herself alone with a blood-thirsty celestial. "If you will come also," she said, hesitating.

Tung-yu reflected. "Madam, I will be plain with you," he said gravely, "as I am here, I can act on behalf of my friend Hwei – but to-morrow."

Miss Wharf tendered the fan. "Why not take it to-night and give me a cheque," she said quickly.

"To-morrow," replied the Chinaman, rising and bowing politely, "I will call on you, if you will permit me. Mr. Walker will show me the way. I will then arrange to buy the fan at a price to which you will not object. Meanwhile – " he bowed again and gravely departed.

Miss Wharf, rather annoyed and surprised by this behaviour, looked round for Miss Pewsey, to whom she was accustomed to tell everything. The little woman appeared at that moment pushing her way through the crowd in a state of excitement. "Oh, Sophia!" she said, throwing herself down. "Oh, Sophia."

"What's the matter?" asked Miss Wharf coldly.

"I might ask you," said Miss Pewsey, parrying the question, "you look so upset, my Sophia."

"It is with pleasure then," said the old maid, dryly, "I have arranged to sell this fan to-morrow for five thousand pounds."

"Oh," Miss Pewsey clasped her hand, "What joy; you will be able to add to your income. But, Sophia, I really can't keep it any longer. That Major Tidman – "

"Well. What about him?"

"Mr. Ainsleigh said he had a cold and was confined to his room. I went up to see, as I don't trust that Major a bit. He's so wicked. I went to his room, and peeped in. Sophia," added Miss Pewsey in a tragic manner. "He is not there – the room is empty!"

CHAPTER IX

The End of the Ball

Miss Wharf looked at her excited little friend with an indulgent smile. "Really I don't see why you should trouble," she said with a smile. "Let the Major do what he likes."

"He's up to some mischief," persisted the old maid, "and I'd like to find out what it is. He is supposed to be keeping his room, because of a cold, and I find he is not in. People with colds," added the lady, impressively, "do not go into the night air."

"How do you know Major Tidman has?"

"Because he would be at the ball, were he in the hotel. I shall ask Clarence to see what he is doing."

"Why?" asked Miss Wharf, puzzled.

"Because – oh, just because," replied Miss Pewsey, tossing her head in a sharp way, like the Red Queen in Alice's Adventures. "But the fan, dearest Sophia? – Can't I take charge of it?"