The calligrapher's daughter_ a novel - Eugenia Kim [67]
The princess climbed on the back of her strong maid, the ladies-in-waiting gathered the baskets of flowers and empty food containers, and the eunuch and servants cleared the pavilion of mats, pillows, dishes and cups, leaving it as serene as before we came. I walked close behind the princess and thus avoided the rear guard, whose red eye, I noticed, had calmed somewhat. I wondered what would become of my handkerchief, which was most likely tucked into his breast pocket. The image of my hand-stitched linen lying close to his heart made me flush with pleasure and shame.
I SPENT THAT night, a Saturday, in Sugang Hall. On most Sundays, Imo and I attended the Methodist church southeast of the palace, near Ewha, but the princess’s requests to keep her company on Saturday nights took precedence. I worried what my mother would say upon learning how infrequently I went to church, but Imo said I’d be fine as long as I kept up with Bible reading and prayers. By then I was reading the boring Acts, skimming, and my prayers had grown rote and hasty. I also regularly invoked Heaven and Ancestors with the princess, but not for a second did I think I was any less Christian than before.
Sunday morning, as usual, I woke at dawn to the sound of guards marching on the palace grounds. I snuggled in the blankets for a few minutes, warmed by thoughts of yesterday’s declarations of friendship from Princess Deokhye. As I washed and dressed, I ashamedly wondered if I’d see the young guard today before going home to Imo.
Keening cries swelled in the dawning morning, and I wondered how roosters could have entered the palace. Then I heard commotion and Princess Deokhye cry out. I quickly tied my blouse and hurried toward her rooms. Her eunuch was prostrate and several maids were crowded around her door. Exaggerated cries of mourning came from the ladies who surrounded her so thickly that I couldn’t see her. The breakfast tray and bowls were scattered on the floor and steam spiraled from spilled porridge. Fear struck and I shouted “No!” Then came tears of relief to see the princess sit up, and fear again when I saw her face contorted in pain. The strong maid pulled me into the room and pushed me to the princess. Sinking to the floor beside her, I instinctively opened my arms, and she clung to me, her body shaking with sobs.
“The emperor—my brother—is dead!”
I remembered Queen Min and felt cold. The princess cried and I held her close.
“They—they—tell her!” she cried.
One of the ladies said, “They found him dead early this morning. The doctor said he died in his sleep.”
Someone else said softly through tears, “ChoongHo was also found dead this morning, laid out in bed still in her clothes.” A woman wailed the quivering song of mourning. ChoongHo was the emperor’s tasting servant. I remembered Imo’s stories about Gyeongbuk Palace, and the eunuch and then–Crown Prince Sunjong, who both had nearly died in the coffee-poisoning plot.
I held the princess and rocked her. “Oh, my poor dear sister.” The pulsing laments filled the room, seeped into our souls and poured out the windows, sending our grief to the heavens. The cries were met by others coming from Nakson Hall, and I said, “You must go to the empress.” And by uttering this last word, knowing that Crown Prince Uimin lived in Tokyo, I truly understood that the emperor, and thus, the empire, had died.
This enormity and grief for the princess weakened my legs, but I helped her stand and, with the others following, walked toward the passageway that connected Sugang Hall to the empress’s house. Four guards stood in the passage entrance, shoulders stiff, feet spread, hands on their sabers. “For your protection and that of the grand princess, you must remain here,” said the guard with a stripe on his sleeve.
Outrage erased my fear. “It’s Her Highness! Sister to the grand prince and princess, she must—”
“It is forbidden!” The guards seemed to expand with severity. I saw the red-eyed