Page 82 of Inventing Vivian

“You’ll feel better after a good meal and some sleep,” Benedict said to Zhang Wei, leading the way to where his carriage awaited farther down the road. “I will cook some noodles when we return home, and if you please, Mr. Thomas, will you send to the grocers? I’ll write a list.”

“Of course, my lord.”

Zhang Wei paused, looking down the road in the other direction.

Benedict stopped. He recognized his friend’s hesitation. “You want to call on Miss Pang.”

“Yes. I have not seen her since her father died. I feel I should go to her.”

“I understand,” Benedict said.

“The lady would probably prefer if you changed into clean clothes first,” Mr. Thomas pointed out.

Zhang Wei looked down at his rumpled clothing. He brushed at his loose shirt. “You are right.”

“We’ll eat quickly, then,” Benedict said. “And as soon as you’re dressed, I’ll take you to visit Miss Pang.” He glanced at the heavy case Mr. Thomas held. “I have something for her.”

Two hours later, Lord Benedict’s carriage was again headed west toward the dockland.

Zhang Wei, cleaned and fed, sat with his hands folded in his lap. His thumbs tapping together were the only indication that he was nervous. “Do you think she will be happy to see me, Jinsè?”

Benedict was tempted to tease or to discount his friend’s concern with assurances that the young woman would be a fool to be otherwise, but he did neither. He considered what Zhang Wei must be feeling. He’d not spoken to Miss Pang since what could very well have been the worst night of her life. There was no knowing what the woman was feeling or how she would act when she saw Zhang Wei. “I imagine she will be grateful to have a friend in her mourning,” Benedict said truthfully. “And she will be glad to have these back.” He tapped the case with his toe.

At Zhang Wei’s direction, Benedict ordered the carriage to stop a few blocks from the Pangs’ shop. The roads in the Limehouse district were too narrow for all but foot traffic and small hand wagons.

As the pair walked past the Chinese markets and stalls, Benedict was struck with a wave of memories. The smells and sounds were so familiar that he could close his eyes and easily imagine himself in the village he loved in the Hunan mountains. But while they walked, listening to the familiar sound of the language, Benedict realized with some surprise that he no longer felt the same ache of longing. His feelings were pleasant and nostalgic, and he remembered his time in China with fondness.

They came to a small shop with red-painted windowsills. Strands of beads hung from the ceiling, and silk paintings covered the walls. The shelves and display cabinets were filled with jade carvings, jewelry, and painted vases.

A small woman in a fitted silk gown stood behind the counter. She wore a white mourning bow in her hair. When she saw Zhang Wei, she gasped and hurried toward him. She touched the bruise on his cheek with gentle fingers. “I heard you were taken by the police.” She spoke in Chinese, and from her accent, Benedict thought she must be from Hong Kong.

“Yes.” Zhang Wei’s eyes were soft as he looked at the woman.

“You are hurt,” she said.

“I am well.” He held up a hand toward Benedict. “Please meet my friend Lord Benedict.”

“I am happy to meet you, my lord,” Miss Pang said in English. “Zhang Wei speaks highly of you.”

“And of you, miss,” he said in Chinese. He handed her a red envelope with money inside—a customary gift following the death of a family member. “I am sorry about your father.”

She took the envelope with both hands, bending forward in a deep bow.

“We return these to you,” Zhang Wei said, giving her the case.

She set it on the counter and opened it. When she saw the horses, her mouth formed ano. “I did not believe I would ever see these again,” she said. She used a key to open a glass-fronted case and put the horses inside.

Benedict hadn’t had the opportunity to get a good look at the carvings. The horses were spectacular specimens of ancient war animals, carved with intricate saddles and bridles. The jade was a deep solid green.

“Do you manage the store alone, Miss Pang?” Benedict asked.

“Yes,” she said.

Zhang Wei looked concerned. “It is too much work for one person.”

“It has been difficult.” She bowed her head, looking at her folded hands.

“Zhang Wei mentioned you are an artist, miss,” Benedict said.

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