Dear Future Husband

16. Cheer Up!

1 July 1889

On his fifteenth birthday, Maximilian woke up in a foreign country without knowing how his day would go. In the past, at the orphanage, no one had celebrated his birthday except with an extra portion of gruel and a begrudging nod of acknowledgment from Mistress Masterson. He had not stayed with the Sterling's long enough to know how they might have celebrated it. Now, here, he had not one iota of an idea. Though it was Sunday, no one in Hong Kong took the Sabbath day off for work, unless they worked for a European company. None of the locals went to church on Sundays, either, so in Rome, he did as the Romans did.

Maximilian had not thought of God in a long time, or at least he had not thought highly of Him. God was the one who had placed him in an orphanage. God was the one who had allowed Billy to keep framing him for things he didn't do. He had... He had been cruel enough to bring him to Aunt Caro and Gideon and Daisy, then tear him away just as quickly. Just when he had been growing to love them, he had been separated from them by the malicious hand of fate, which looked a lot like Edgar.

"Happy birthday!" Lee crowed when he came into Maximilian's small room, flinging himself onto the bed without so much as a warning. Maximilian, growing up, had always wondered what it would be like to have an older brother. Now, he definitely knew that it was not always as joyous as he had imagined.

In response, Maximilian rolled over in bed and pulled the covers over his face with a low grumble of protest. "Is it truly happy?"

"Cheer up," Lee said, clapping a hand on Maximilian's back. "It's your birthday, after all. You're fifteen now! Practically a man. How shall we spend the day?"

"Hopefully, not in this bed," Maximilian suggested in a strained tone. "If you would be so kind as to please remove your elbow from my back."

Lee rolled his eyes, good-natured, but rolled off the bed, landing sprightly on his feet. "I have an idea for what we should do."

Maximilian's stomach growled as he ran a comb through his messy black hair, staring at his dishevelled reflection in the cracked mirror. He splashed some cold water on his face from the basin before deciding that his appearance was unlikely to become any more palatable no matter what he did to it, and got dressed, pulling on a white linen shirt and dark blue trousers after wriggling out of his sleep shirt while Lee had his back turned.

"How ought we to celebrate?" Maximilian asked warily. He hoped the older boy wouldn't suggest anything to do with the consumption of spirits. Watching Edgar consume alcoholic drinks had been bad enough. "Should we go to the beach?"

"Even better than that," Lee said, an excited gleam coming into his brown eyes. "Eat breakfast first and then I'll show you. It can be a surprise."

With a good-natured sigh, Maximilian followed his friend into the dining room, down a flight of stairs, and into the space. It was filled with the aromas of food and a long, carved wooden table set with fine blue and white china and flanked by lacquered chairs on either side. The carvings on the tables and chairs were complementary; the chairs had designs of phoenixes, while the tables bore a pattern of dragons. Lee had told him that these were lucky animals in Chinese culture.

"Good morning," Lee's father greeted them, not looking up from his newspaper, Hong Kong Telegraph.

They both stood, his hands folded behind his back like Lee's were, as they waited for the man to invite them to sit. In Hong Kong, the patriarch of the family commanded the utmost respect.

"Did you sleep well, Father?" Lee asked when they had been asked to take a seat.

"Well enough," he grunted in response, setting down the newspaper suddenly. His English was slow and accented, but eloquent enough. Max knew he only spoke it for his sake, which he appreciated. The man did not have to take him into his home, nor did he have to give him a job. "Where is your brother? I had some business dealings to discuss with him."

Lee's older brother, who had been born to the first wife of their father, lived in the house though he was already married. Maximilian wondered why he had not moved into his own household, but Lee had explained that in Chinese culture, all of a man's wives and concubines and their sons stayed in the same house. Daughters moved out when they married, but not sons.

"He is with his wife, no doubt," Lee said with a grimace that quickly vanished when he sat down to eat. He did not like his sister-in-law very much. Not that he had much occasion to see her; women ate after the men had eaten, usually. "Doing what newlyweds do."

Over the past month, his palate had not quite grown accustomed to the food here. Maximilian's plate held a triangle of buttered toast with a rasher of bacon and an egg with a runny yolk, instead of the bowls of rice porridge that Lee and his father had set in front of them.

"Ah, yes." Mr. Lee resumed his breakfasting in silence. "Happy birthday, Mr. Walker. Many happy returns to you. Bo bo gou xing."

Lee translated for him. "May every step you take bring you higher."

"Thank you very much, sir. I greatly appreciate it," he said with a bow of his head.

He certainly hoped the well-wishes would come true.

"The Hong Kong Club?" Maximilian read the sign of the ornate building where important-looking British gentlemen-one with an impressive handlebar mustache-strolled in and out, chattering amongst themselves. Perhaps it should have made him feel at home. But he had never felt quite at ease among the rich and wealthy, no matter how much time he spent with the clients of the Wakefields or among the Wakefields themselves. "We aren't allowed in."

A sign read in both languages: Chinese and dogs not allowed to enter. The imposing building already seemed forbidding enough, looming five stories high of whitewash and windows, with two towers sitting symmetrically opposed to one another.

"I know," Lee said, and there was a hint of something like bitterness in his tone. Yet it was mingled with something else, something more reverent, something half like awe. "I thought it might remind you of home to come here. You know, this is the Englishmen's quarter, and all that..."

Maximilian tried to appreciate his friend's efforts to put him at ease.

"You've been out of sorts ever since your encounter with the girl, and..."

They never mentioned Rosalie's name, but Maximilian always knew. How could he forget her? No one laughed like her, danced like her, talked like her, in that rambling way but always, always so kind. Her steps were not delicate or mincing, but there was a vivacity in them that made her seem as graceful as any ballerina in a tutu that he had once snuck backstage to see while on an excursion with Gideon Wakefield.

"Max? Are you listening to me?" Lee shook his shoulder before he could snap out of a trance. His eyes were fixed on one gentleman coming out of the Club's doors. "Oh... It's her father, isn't it?"

"Yes," Maximilian breathed. "It is."

He watched as Lord Winthrop stood at the doorway, conversing with his hands behind his back to a man whose own hands flew wildly in gesticulation as he spoke. What were they talking about? Without thinking, Max stepped behind Lee, his frame shielded by his friend's taller form.

"What are you doing?" Lee looked puzzled. Maximilian had never explained why he'd left Rosalie and Lord Winthrop without a word, and Lee had never pushed for any answers. But Max had a feeling that his curiosity was about to emerge. "Do you not want to see him? Has the man offended you in some way?"

Max shook his head. "We should go."

Just as they turned around to leave, a hand reached out and grabbed his shoulder. "You!"