A Lesson in Secrets_ A Maisie Dobbs Novel - Jacqueline Winspear [86]
The spacious room was lined with bookshelves, and at one end, a man of average height stepped from behind a desk. About sixty years of age, he was slender of build and his movements were precise, measured. He wore an expensive suit—Maisie could tell by the cut and fabric—and his shoes shone. His black hair was threaded with gray, and his pallor and features revealed him to be Anglo-Chinese. His name was Clarence Chen.
“Mr. Clarence. How kind of you to see me.”
Chen approached Maisie, clasped her hand, and bowed.
“I was most grieved to hear of Dr. Blanche’s death. You have my condolences.”
Maisie nodded. “Thank you. I miss him very much.”
“Of course. He was your teacher, wasn’t he? Therefore he cannot be replaced. But he left you the legacy of his lessons.”
“Do you remember me, Mr. Clarence? It was a long time ago.”
“Of course—please sit down, Miss Dobbs.” He invited her to sit at the desk. A woman dressed in a cheongsam stepped from the shadows and poured tea. She bowed, then left. Chen went on. “Maurice brought you to see me—you must have been only fourteen, fifteen. He wanted you to be introduced to wushu. To the ways of defending the body from attack.”
“It was a brief introduction—I was simply a spectator.”
“You can always come back to learn more—I have a good teacher here.” His accent was such that, if blindfolded, a stranger might think him the son of a well-to-do English merchant, or a banker.
Maisie thanked Chen for the invitation, but came back to the business at hand. “I wonder if you could help me, Mr. Clarence?” Maurice had introduced Chen as “Mr. Clarence,” the name by which he was known throughout Limehouse and Pennyfields. She used the name now to honor their first meeting. “I want to know if a person knowledgeable in wushu, in the martial arts, could use his . . . his skills to break a person’s neck. I know that with sleight of hand much damage can be caused to the human body, but would twisting the head to break the neck be something that a wushu expert might do? And if a woman were a wushu master, would she have the strength to kill a man in this way?”
“The Chinese methods of combat use chi, the flow of energy within the body, in a way that provides great strength without effort. If a mouse were a wushu master, he could kill by taking a man’s head in his tiny paws and breaking his neck. The practice of wushu affords the student stealth, gives him cunning, a way of moving that expends only the energy required to move from one foot to another. It also provides mental acuity; and a cleared mind can accomplish anything—and leave anything in its wake.”
“Do you know of many women who have learned to kill in this way?”
Chen looked at the table and smiled. “You are a modern young woman, yet you ask if a woman can learn wushu? Of course she can—but do you mean a Chinese woman, or one of your kind?”
“A white woman.”
Chen shrugged. “She could study wushu, and could excel. But where would she learn? Even you would not come to Limehouse as many times as would be required to learn from a master.”
“True. But what if the woman were brought up in China?”
“Ah, then anything is possible. It depends upon the amount her father might pay. In fact, he would be a wise man to do such a thing; after all, a woman is never protected unless she can protect herself. And the principal purpose of any martial art is defense.”
Maisie gathered her bag, and stood; Chen came to his feet at the same time.
“Thank you, Mr. Clarence. I have been told by experts that a woman could not kill a grown man by twisting his neck.”
Chen nodded. “I would ask, Miss Dobbs, what gave the woman the chi, the force within, to murder a man in such