The most important of all these stories was Granddad’s own: the tale of why they had left the village to come to London. It was also the saddest of all his stories, Mei thought. Granddad had told it so many times that she could recall almost every word. As she went back down the stairs, she repeated it to herself, imagining that it was Granddad’s soft, quavering voice telling it.
‘The greatest treasure in our temple was the Moonbeam Diamond,’ the story began. ‘An oval-shaped stone, as silvery as the moonlight for which it was named. The diamond had divine powers: it brought us good fortune and prosperity. It was famous for hundreds of miles around. Pilgrims came to see it, and many stories were told about it. Some said that a real moonbeam was trapped within it, and that was why it shimmered so strangely.
‘The Lim family had been the guardians of the Moonbeam Diamond for generations: my father and my grandfather protected it before me. Legend has it that it was a gift to one of our ancestors from the Lady of the Moon herself. He was a noble warrior who had righted a terrible injustice: as a reward, she gave him the diamond, which was magically endowed with the power to protect him and his descendants from harm. Being a wise and good man, the warrior did not keep the diamond for himself, but bestowed it upon the monks so that all might share its good fortune. He remained with them in their temple to watch over it, and so he and his descendants prospered.
‘But it was also said that an ancient curse was laid upon the diamond. If ever it were stolen, any who possessed it would be destined to ill fortune. Their crops would fail, their families would fall ill, and every foul misfortune imaginable would visit them unless the diamond were returned. Stories were told about those who had foolishly tried to take it, who had come to the most fearful ends –’
‘Mei! Are you still half asleep? Run along now, and remember your brother’s boots from the cobbler’s.’
Mei took the basket a little reluctantly, still half-thinking about Granddad’s story. She didn’t really like going to the cobbler’s, which was some way off, down towards the river and the docks, beyond the familiar streets of China Town. She had always been a little shy – scaredy-cat, Song had said when they were both younger – and she found crowded places daunting. But Mum was looking at her expectantly, her arms folded, and for all she was jolly, Mum was not to be trifled with.
Outside, the streets were full of morning life. People were bustling in and out of the Eating House; carts and bicycles were clattering by on the road; and busy activity was going on behind the dusty windows of the sailmaker’s and the wheelwright’s.
She called at the baker’s first, and found the shop full of people: old women with baskets; younger ones gossiping while they waited for their turn; serious-faced little girls on errands; and two small, dirty ragamuffins, pressing their noses up against the counter and looking longingly at the hot currant buns coming out of the oven. As Mei entered, she noticed the woman who was being served turn and look at her, then nudge her companion and whisper something. The two women cast covert glances at her as they left the shop. Mei stared after them, disconcerted. She was used to nudging and pointing and even rude words, but not here, on the fringes of China Town, where faces like hers were hardly out of the ordinary.
She turned her attention to the baker’s wife, Mrs O’Leary, who greeted her pleasantly. She was always kind to Mei, and especially to her little brothers, and today even more so, insisting on tucking a paper bag with some broken biscuits into Mei’s basket alongside the two new loaves. Mei tried to protest, but Mrs O’Leary wouldn’t have it. ‘Take them, my dear,’ she insisted, pressing her hand, telling her to keep her pecker up and wishing her a good day with more than her usual warmth.
Mei wondered if Mrs O’Leary had overheard whatever the woman had said, and had felt sorry for her because of it. Thinking that made her feel uncomfortable, so as she went back out into the street, she turned her mind back to Granddad’s tale.
‘When your father was no more than the age that you are now, everything changed for our family,’ he would continue, an ominous note creeping into his voice. ‘A party of men came to our village. They told us they wished to learn about our lands, and mark it upon their maps.
‘Their leader was a young Englishman: a gentleman and a fine swordsman. We called him Waiguo Ren, which means “foreigner”. We welcomed Waiguo Ren and his men into our village, believing that they did us honour. They were taken to the temple, and shown the Moonbeam Diamond. Waiguo Ren himself had long talks with the monks, telling them he wished to learn what they could teach him.
‘But what we did not know was that Waiguo Ren was deceitful. He was in league with the Emperor, who was jealous of our temple and its wealth and prosperity. Waiguo Ren lied to the Emperor, telling him that the monks were secretly working against the Qing dynasty, plotting with foreign powers to rise up against them. Angry, the Qing sent many men, and with their help, Waiguo Ren and his men attacked us in the night when we were sleeping. They seized the riches of the temple and burned our village. Whilst we fought to save our homes and families, Waiguo Ren himself seized the Moonbeam Diamond and took it for his own.
‘It was a dark and terrible time. Many people were killed, and our village was destroyed. I knew that I had failed in my duty to watch over the Moonbeam Diamond, but Waiguo Ren had disappeared, and there was nothing to be done. Not long afterwards, your father, your uncle and I departed. The Emperor had ruined us: our home was gone, but we knew there was work to be found on the steamships. The long voyage across the sea was hard and full of danger, but at last we came to rest here, safe on these shores.’
At this point, Granddad had a way of opening his hands, as if he were releasing the story into the air, like a bird taking flight. ‘And the rest of this tale, you know for yourself,’ he always concluded.
‘And what happened to the diamond?’ Mei would ask eagerly, when she was small.
Granddad would smile, yet his eyes were cloudy with sadness. ‘That I do not know. But what I do know is that the Moonbeam Diamond has its own destiny.’
Then his expression would change into a beaming grin, and he would sweep her into a hug and say: ‘You and your brothers are more precious to me than any diamond, my dear one. You are the only jewels that an old man like me could ever need.’
But all the same, Mei knew that Granddad had often thought of the Moonbeam Diamond. Sometimes, after he had told her the story, he would sigh and say: ‘You know, often in my dreams, I see our temple. How I would love to see the diamond sparkling there again, where it belongs.’
Mei had heard Dad and Uncle Huan saying that Granddad lived too much in the past. They were young men when they arrived in London, and had made lives for themselves here. Father had Lim’s shop, and Mum, and the children, whilst Uncle Huan had taken a liking to a sailor’s life and now worked as First Mate on one of the great steamships that came in and out of West India Dock. He came home every few months, his pockets stuffed with packets of cinnamon or curious ornaments carved from ivory, or long ostrich feathers that he used to tickle Mei’s cheeks. Whenever he returned, there would be a family celebration, and he would take up his old room in the attic opposite Granddad’s for a few happy weeks. But this time, when Uncle Huan came back, Granddad would not be there.
Mei’s stomach felt hollow. She still missed him every day.
She had almost reached the river now. The air here had its own peculiar tang: a part-sour, part-spicy odour of smoke and turpentine, flavoured with rum from the West India Docks, and always the distinctive smell of the water. Everything started with the river: it was here that Granddad and Dad and Uncle Huan had first arrived in London, all those years ago. Mei could see the dark lines of its myriad cranes and masts sketched against the sky, as she picked her way carefully down towards it.
The streets were busier here: she had to weave her way between horses pulling carts stacked high with wooden crates; a boy selling papers for a ha’penny; clerks on their way to the Customs Office; a gaggle of barefoot children, chasing through the crowds; and men unloading cargo: sacks of grain, great coils