Dear Future Husband

20. Merry Christmas

24 December 1889

Staring off into the distant horizon of the Hong Kong skyline, Maximilian sipped at the baijiu or wine made from rice, his feet dangling off the rooftop. He took a small mouthful before passing it back to Lee, shuddering as the burn made its way down his throat, nearly choking on the sharp, acrid flavour. At least it kept him warm, though there wasn't much need of that. Despite it being winter, there was not a flake of snow in the city except on its highest peaks, the only sign of cooler weather being the grey skies and chilly winds.

"Merry Christmas," Lee intoned, tilting the bottle towards Max in a mock toast.

He shook his head and echoed the greeting, his mind heavy with memories as they sat in near-silence. Maximilian had not thought of Rosalie Winthrop in a long time but now, he felt that it was urgent to remember her, and the time they had spent together. He felt that something was wrong, that she might have been in some sort of danger, that there was something he desperately needed to protect her from, but what? And how could he, when she was in England, and he was in the Orient? How could he, when he would likely never see her again?

No, more likely than not, it was only a fluke, some misguided desperation to invent reasons to see her when he knew better than to believe in the impossible. Maximilian swung his legs off of the roof's ledge, watching as people busied by in the streets beneath their feet: policemen in their conical hats with batons, street vendors hawking their wares with loud shouts, coolies carrying luggage, and rickshaw drivers running barefoot through the roads with their passengers. There was something peaceful about it, though it was far from a pastoral tableau, to watch life go by in a busy, foreign city. It was not his. He did not have to worry about it, only take it in and be captivated.

Still, he could not help but wonder, as he often did, what the Wakefields were doing. He thought of last Christmas, when they had so kindly taken him in, and he wondered what he would have been doing if he were still with them. Would they be having Christmas dinner, with roast goose and ham and Daisy babbling cheerily on her mother's lap, instead of being in the nursery with her nursemaid as most grand households kept their children? Would he be warm and safe and dry and happy? Or would Edgar have spoiled his joy already, whether with his mere presence or through more sinister methods?

These were all questions he ought not to ponder, for he had no doubt that they would only lead to distress. And this was the day of the Lord's birth, the time for feasting and celebrating and rejoicing. At home in England, he doubtless would have heard countless carols by now sung by mummers going to door-to-door, half a dozen at least with that in mind. We Wish You A Merry Christmas played in his head as if on cue. He would not have minded some figgy pudding right then and there.

"How come you aren't going to church?" Lee wondered after taking a few more swigs of baijiu.

Maximilian silently wondered how he could stand the stuff, considering its completely unappetizing taste as well as the pain involved in its consumption. "It just feels like a load of bollocks and tradition to me. Sit up, stand, kneel, and then repeat the entire process. And for what? People act all high and mighty and religious during the holidays, but when do they donate to the orphanages? Or when do they care about those in the poor house? It seems like people only wish to appear holy, but they do none of the acts that are required to be holy."

Lee turned to him, cracking a smile. "It sounds as though you might be going to the wrong churches, my friend."

Maximilian jolted, then rolled his eyes. His little tirade had been a mistake. He wished to consider his friend's words, to give them a drop of truth that he had missed, but too much pain and suffering consumed him for him to truly accept that opinion. "Perhaps."

Silence fell again, punctuated by the rising of conversations below, the thuds of footsteps, and clopping of horses' hooves. Just as Maximilian shivered with cold and was about to suggest they return inside, he heard shouting and shuffling. Both their heads whipped around, Lee's dark hair falling into his eyes. He scrambled to his feet as Lee did the same, darting back inside the house.

What had happened?

When they were safely ensconced back in the warmth of the building, the sounds of an argument grew louder. They ran down the stairs with thunderous footfalls, making a leap down the last five. Peering around the corner, what Maximilian saw made his blood run cold. It was the same man who had brandished the knife at him all those months ago.

"You cannot be here, sir! This is private property," a policeman was yelling, waving his baton. Lee's father stood next to him, folding his arms over his chest. "Please vacate the premises immediately."

"Not until I find what I'm looking for," he said, smiling a malicious grin with crooked, yellowing teeth. "The gweilo boy."

"Max?" Lee cast a glance at him. "But how did he find you?"

"I... I don't know." A shudder ran down his spine, and he rubbed his hands over his arms, cold despite the roaring fires in the braziers.

"The woman told me where you live," the criminal said, that same malignant smile on his dirty, haggard face. He brushed aside a strand of stringy hair.

"Which woman?" Lee demanded, pushing past Maximilian to go toward the scene.

"It was me." Lee's sister-in-law appeared suddenly at the top of the staircase. Every man turned to face her. "I... I told him."

"Why?" Lee's voice rose as his words changed into angry Cantonese too fast for Max to follow. But he heard phrases full of curse words and strings of profanity.

"What do you want with the boy? He is my employee," Lee's father demanded. "You cannot simply abduct him. I do not know how you conduct your business in England, but we do not treat the lives of others with such nonchalance."

The policeman added a few words in Cantonese that sounded to have a similar effect.

"I only want him to return what he stole from my employer," the man said. "Once he does that, I shall not bother him anymore."

"But I haven't stolen anything from him or Edgar Sterling!" Maximilian cried. "Why do you insist on parroting such absurd lies?"

The man threw back his head and laughed, a dark chuckle that foreboded nothing good. "Mr. Walker, I shall return. And next time, I won't be so polite."

As they watched, the policeman escorted him out. Maximilian turned to Lee's sister-in-law, feeling a deep sense of betrayal. Why would a woman he had never exchanged one word with sell him out so easily and so quickly? Was it mere dislike of him because he was a foreigner? Or was it something more sinister and deep-rooted?

"All of you to bed, now," Lee's father commanded. Relieved, he allowed his shoulders to slump as he followed the other two. Just as Maximilian was about to slink off to his borrowed bedchamber, he paused. "Not you, Mr. Walker. You, I would like to exchange some words with."

"What is it that you wished to say to me, Mr. Lee?" he asked, feeling like a child being disciplined by a schoolmaster as he took a seat on a rosewood chair.

"Did you steal something from this man?" Mr. Lee asked, his baritone voice and stern expression making him all the more intimidating despite his diminutive stature.

"No, never," Maximilian promised. He had a sudden memory of the orphanage where mistress Masterson had sent him to bed without supper for a false accusation of theft. Was he doomed to be the scapegoat of every villain's crime? "I have never seen that man before until six months ago."

"Then can you explain how or why he would end up in this house?" the older man challenged.

With a deep sigh, Maximilian explained. How Edgar had tried to sell him to the ship's captain, how he had narrowly escaped being press-ganged, how he had fled to Hong Kong on the RMS Etruria, and now, how Edgar was likely hunting him down. The thing that Maximilian had stolen from him was... himself.

When he finished, Mr. Lee's eyes were filled with tears that he quickly dabbed away, clearing his throat. "You are dismissed. I shall see what I can do to resolve this matter."

"Truly? Thank you so much, sir!" He hopped up from his seat. "Good night!"