For My Good Customer

In old New York, there were still secret places to be found. Speakeasies, showrooms of exquisite vintage clothing, brothels and gambling dens. Whatever your vice, there was a place, and if you had none, then let your passion lead the way. Passion is what brought Agnes Thistle to a dusty antique furniture showroom on a Tuesday afternoon. It would also be her undoing.

A tightly wound woman, she had an unusually straight spine, which, despite her short stature, gave her a commanding presence in the world. Regal, some might say, and to be honest, that fitted her behaviour. By the time Agnes was 54, she had a very comfortable life indeed and enjoyed many of the rare pleasures afforded to the very rich in the 1930s, including travel, weekly bridge salons and the best hats at church.

She was not popular per se, but Agnes was widely admired and rarely excluded from a social occasion. The admiration came largely because of her wealth. She had inherited her father's confectionery empire and managed it to greater profits. Shrewd by nature, she had inherited her father's nose for a good deal and, from her mother, a desire to skew it in her favour as much as possible. Whether that required a little flexibility with the truth or more blatant manipulation, she had no issue doing what was needed to ensure a favourable outcome for herself. More difficult to prove, however, was her talent for clandestine dealings. Agnes was a connoisseur of other people's secrets and highly skilled at wielding information to her advantage.

Despite this, another part of her appeal was that she was renowned for having a meticulous home. Not only was it tidy, thanks in part to a dedicated staff, but she also spent her money well, furnishing rooms with silk rugs, embroidered wall throws and mother-of-pearl inlaid mirrors. It was a preferred venue for afternoon tea among society ladies and so afforded her another grace. Décor was a joy she had come to later in life, through the acquisition of antiques, and nowhere was her sense of needing a deal more evident than in this recreational shopping.

It was this curiosity that brought Agnes to Wei Ling Wu's furnishings in Chinatown. Alice Correll, an acquaintance from church, had mentioned a fabulous screen she had acquired to a friend, and Agnes had overheard this and then set about finding the source for herself.

Wei Ling Wu's place was unassuming, and Agnes was initially concerned she had found the wrong place. But after meeting with him, he sized her up and led her through the showroom and behind a curtain. Once her eyes adjusted to the dim light, she had to clasp a hand to her mouth to stop herself exclaiming. The room was packed with treasures: Ming vases, lacquered screens, silk lampshades, framed embroideries and cabinets with gold hinges embossed with willow trees.

Agnes was a quick study and alighted on a table with inlaid marquetry in a far corner. Careful not to express too much interest, she toured the room, enquiring about a few pieces until she came to the one she liked. She shivered inwardly as she stroked the smooth surface — it was flawless! She must have it. But ever one for the long game, she began to look around lest her interest become too evident.

She puttered amongst the aisles until she found a small box with beautiful marquetry and focused on that. It was a tactic of Agnes's to choose a small piece to start with so as not to appear comfortable with a larger purchase and to use this as leverage later on. She crossed to Wei Ling Wu and pointed tentatively behind her at the box.

"How much is this?"

Wei Ling Wu clasped his hands and proceeded to the box, cradling it in his hands.

"This is $115, madam," he said. "Very rare, Tang dynasty and all handmade."

"I see," said Agnes, tilting her head. She then began to walk the room, gesturing to a few more items, nodding and digesting their prices. After a fashion, she raised a hand to her brow and dabbed at it.

"I'm feeling a little faint," she said. "I think I might need to go and sit for a tea. Could you point me in the direction of a tea house?"

Wei Ling Wu smiled graciously.

"Of course, but I could also bring you a tea here?"

Agnes had calculated this but was still thrilled to see she was on the right track. Wei Ling Wu gave a little bow and nod and left the room. As soon as he ducked behind the curtain, Agnes glided across the room to the table that had caught her eye and examined it. It was flawless.

For a moment she considered simply paying the asking price. It was, after all, a magnificent piece, and she could afford it a hundred times over. But the thought of paying full price when there might be an opportunity to pay less was so disagreeable that she dismissed it almost immediately.

She ran her hand over the surface and caressed the smooth varnished wood. Then, in a flash, she turned her hand over and ran the back of it into one of the ornate legs, dragging her diamond ring across the surface, leaving a ragged little seam.

She licked her finger and traced the scar, then glided across the room to examine a painting that had taken her fancy.

Shortly afterwards, Wei Ling Wu returned with the tea, and she composed herself, taking a seat on a silk banquette, sipping tea, asking polite questions and learning that most of this furniture had come from Wei Ling Wu's own family, who had been making furniture for three centuries.

Revived by the tea, not that she had needed it, she softened her voice and said, "Now, the least I can do after all this kindness is to repay you by purchasing some things."

Wei Ling Wu nodded calmly. He was not one to rush a sale and gave a gracious bow before sweeping his hand in a gesture taking in the showroom, as if to say, it is all here for your choosing.

Agnes got to her feet and selected a pair of red china bookends shaped like dragons, an intricately carved wooden box and a silk screen. Then she made a great show of inspecting the side tables.

Finally, she paused next to the marquetry table.

"Now this is a beauty," she said.

Then she pulled her glasses forward, removed her gloves and "discovered" the gouge.

"What a shame about this dent."

If he knew what she'd done, Wei Ling Wu gave no sign of it.

She turned to him and said, "Now I see this is $500. What if I were to give you $350?"

"As you wish, madam," said Wei Ling Wu, and bowed again. "Will that be all?"

She nodded, and he summoned an assistant to begin wrapping her purchases.

"Excuse me one moment," he said, and then disappeared behind a dusty pink velvet curtain to an area out of sight.

When he returned, he was carrying the most vivid little turquoise statuette of a dragon with a wide mouth and tiny flickering tongue. Agnes's eyes grew wide. This she must have.

Wei Ling Wu gripped the statue a little more firmly, eyeing Agnes and then casting a sideways glance towards the marquetry table before reaching towards her, a small, tight smile playing across his lips.

"A gift," he said, "for my good customer."

Agnes raised her hands to her mouth and exclaimed in joy.

"Now this one I must take with me. My driver can come for the rest," she said.

She removed her scarf and carefully wrapped the statue in it before placing it gently in her purse. Then she produced a series of notes and carefully peeled off the sum she owed Wei Ling Wu for her purchases.

"My driver Oswald will come by tomorrow at noon," she said.

"As you wish, madam," said Wei Ling Wu.

He escorted her to the door and opened it for her.

"Now do be careful, Madam Thistle," he said, "and sleep well."

Agnes thought this was an odd way to say goodbye but shrugged it off and stepped outside, where her driver was already opening the door to her car.

Once she was home, Agnes carefully took the statuette from her purse and began wandering the house, deciding where to place it. She felt almost compelled to go to the top of the house and her bedroom, as though the figurine knew the best home for itself. She placed it on the mantel opposite her bed.

That night, after vigorously brushing her hair and teeth and applying cold cream, she got into bed. Before she turned off her lamp, she looked at the statue and swore she saw its little porcelain tongue flicker. Dismissing it as a trick of the light, she pulled down her silk eye mask and began to sleep.

Agnes slept incredibly peacefully, more so than usual, in fact. Not even the chimes from the clock in the hallway caused her to stir. Then, around 3:14 a.m., something unusual happened.

In the room, the statuette's eyes blinked and glowed a faint luminous green. Then, with the lightest hissing sound, a curl of smoke began to wind from its mouth, curling in tendrils towards Agnes as she slept. Initially, it looked like a beam of light carrying dust, but there was no light in the room, and it had a faint purplish glow. Agnes did not stir, and as she inhaled, the pale lavender smoke disappeared silently into her nostrils. The whole process took perhaps two minutes and then stopped. Agnes remained sound asleep.

The next morning, Agnes's maid Lottie entered the room. She was a small, plain girl, and Agnes was fond of her, though she felt she could make more of herself. As Lottie opened the heavy drapes, Agnes stretched and yawned, not noticing the small, pale stream of smoke that escaped as she did so.

Lottie turned to her and said, "Will it be two eggs and toast this morning, ma'am?"

Agnes nodded and then said, "Yes, Lottie, but would it be too much to ask you to serve them with a smile today? Your plain face is much prettier then."

Lottie's face dropped. Though she found Agnes brusque, she was never outright rude. When she looked towards her mistress, Agnes was clasping a hand across her mouth.

"I'm sorry," Agnes managed, but Lottie had bowed her head, biting her lip to keep back tears, and left the room.

Agnes felt puzzled for a second but reasoned that she had slept so deeply that perhaps she was only half awake when she spoke to Lottie. She dressed and headed downstairs to breakfast, where Lottie meekly brought her eggs and quickly retreated.

After breakfast, Agnes was cheerful. Her house manager, Hilde, arrived to say the furniture would be delivered in an hour. Agnes rubbed her hands together, picturing the delight on her fellow bridge players' faces when she shared her new purchases.

When the driver brought them in, she spent a great deal of time deliberating over where each piece should go, eventually settling on the screen in the sunroom and the inlaid table to the left of her chair. Once the room was arranged, she moved to the table and gently stroked the gouge on its leg, as if fondly remembering her handiwork.

Her reverie was interrupted by the doorbell. Her guests had begun to arrive. First was Jillian Mountbatten, Colonel Mountbatten's daughter; next, Flora de Relais, the French diplomat's wife; Alice Correll, wife to Thomas the financier; and finally Susan Armitage, the rector's wife.

Agnes's salons were always expertly curated, not just for status but for moral superiority. Agnes had caught Flora and Thomas in a clinch at a Christmas party three months prior, not that they knew she had, and she had seen Jillian's son outside a known brothel on several occasions.

The ladies were all seated, and so far conversation had been largely small talk about the exquisite cakes Agnes was serving and the smokiness of the Lapsang Souchong tea. She was mildly peeved that no one had yet commented on her new pieces. Heaven knows they had all been there regularly enough to notice.

In fact, Alice had noticed, and she was perturbed to see Agnes had purchased the exact screen she had hoped to acquire as a twin for hers. Alice remained quiet and seethed inwardly whilst smiling pleasantly.

Eventually, Flora, with the expert insouciance of the French, tilted her head and said, "Is this a new table, Agnes?"

Agnes beamed.

"Why yes, it is, Flora. An exquisite piece from a special showroom I found. Quite the bargain too."

"Oh, really?" Alice asked.

For some reason, she was emboldened today. She remembered the table had been over $500, and though quite beautiful, that was an enormous amount of money.

Agnes was taken aback, almost choking on her tea. As she coughed, a tiny puff of purple smoke escaped.

"Yes, Alice, I found a flaw, and so we negotiated."

Expecting that to be that, she was surprised when Alice countered, "But Wei Ling Wu told me that piece was flawless, carved by his father Ying Ji, and he was especially proud of it."

Agnes blinked aggressively and swallowed another sip of tea. She was suddenly compelled to insult Alice but paused.

"I'm sure it was not the same table, Alice. He had many that looked alike."

Alice paused. She looked puzzled.

"No, that one with the marquetry was quite unique, and I remember the cherry blossom on the two side panels and the fish on the other two."

By the time she'd finished, Agnes was momentarily speechless. She looked at Alice and gritted her teeth.

Her face fixed in a rictus grin, she said again, "I'm sure you were mistaken." She pressed her lips together, suddenly terrified that if she opened them again, something even worse might emerge.

"Actually, I can prove it. If we look underneath, there's a blue insignia and Wei Ling Wu's father's initials, YJW.”

This was too much for Agnes. She coughed again, a dusting of smoke escaping before she said, "Now, Alice, if only you paid so much attention to your own life, you'd know Thomas is sleeping with Flora."

Alice and Flora both blanched. They were seated adjacent to one another, and neither could move.

Jillian, ever the colonel's daughter, snapped into action.

"Well," she said, "this was lovely. Thank you, Agnes, but I think we'll be going. Hilde, can you send for our drivers and fetch our coats?"

Agnes sat motionless, her cheeks flushed, with one hand clasped across her mouth. She nodded mutely, still in shock. She had meant to save that information, and now she'd let the cat out of the bag.

Flora was the first to leave, breezing out of the house in a mêlée of scarves and wool coats swaddling her.

Alice looked like a wounded bird, her shoulders curving forward. Jillian kept a hand at the small of her back by way of comfort.

Agnes moved towards the door to say goodbye, almost on autopilot.

Jillian hung back slightly.

"Agnes, dear, are you okay?" she said. "That was awfully sharp for you."

Agnes nodded, then, without thinking, said, "And who are you to critique me, when your son is out at all hours at the whorehouse?"

Jillian opened her mouth, closed it and turned swiftly from Agnes in a gesture that exuded finality.

Agnes returned inside and sat in her chair, the magnitude of what had happened beginning to sink in. In a single afternoon, she had squandered years of carefully cultivated relationships and, worse still, secrets she had been saving for a rainy day. She opened her mouth to summon Hilde, opened her mouth then thought better of it.

Outside, Hilde and Lottie watched through a gap in the door, then turned to one another.

"Serves her right, really. That's been a long time coming."

Across town, Wei Ling Wu sat in his showroom, a pot of tea to one side with steam curling from its spout. In his lap he cradled a dragon statuette identical to the one he had given Agnes. He raised it to his mouth and whispered into its open jaws before returning it to his lap, a sly grin spreading across his face.