“It ended our marriage, you know. Robert and I went to England, but he had to come back here. I wouldn’t go. It had all been too much, and I was afraid they’d take Bobby away from me. We divorced a few years later. My second husband, Ed, was such a fine man. He adored Bobby. He, too, thought he was my son. Bobby took after his mother’s side of the family, and therefore he looked like Robert. He has his uncle’s hands and talent. No one thought anything of it. You could get away with those kinds of things if you knew the right people in Bangkok in those days. I left with papers that said he was my son.
“I’ve worried about the other boy, you know, over the years. Robert sent money when he could. He stopped painting for a while, though, so it was tight. He didn’t start again for ten years, and then he painted those awful things—grotesque, I thought they were. But at least he started to make money again. There are people who like to have horrifying art in their living rooms, I suppose. Perhaps it’s the shock value. Who knows? My interpretation of them was that Robert had something to do with what happened to Ford, the body being carved up and everything, although if he did, he never told me about it.
“I don’t know if Robert continued to send money to the family in Chiang Mai. By this time, we were divorced, I’d remarried, and in addition to Bobby had a little girl. I live with my daughter and her family now. I see I needn’t have worried about the boy, though. He seems to be doing just fine. The Chaiwong talent for making money, I expect, runs in his veins.”
“How do you know this?” I said.
“I saw him in the paper, didn’t I? The Bangkok Herald. Christening some big ship or other. Wichai Promthip,” she said. “That’s his name now.”
My God, I thought. “And Helen?” I said. “Do you know what became of her?”
“She changed her name, her identity, and went back to the States,” she said. “She vowed never to see the children again. She thought to do so might put them at risk, and anyway, how could she ever explain what happened? She created some kind of life for herself. She was that kind of determined, but I’m not sure she was ever really happy.”
“How did she avoid being—”
“Executed? I’m not sure. She appealed, of course. I’m sure Thaksin and the rest of the Chaiwongs would have been thrilled if she’d died, but she hired a very aggressive lawyer for her appeal, and I expect she made sure the Chaiwongs knew that she’d drag the family down with her if she didn’t get off. Thaksin thought it was better just to get her out of the country. I have often wondered if in the end he helped her get a reduced sentence and then disappear. She was the kind of person who would have demanded it. In many ways she was fearless. Perhaps this was the price of her silence, I don’t know. I hear Thaksin has died. I suppose we’ll never know. She did spend time in jail, and it was horrible, I’m sure, but I’d left by this time. All I know is that there was a lot going on behind the scenes.”
“Are you going to tell me where she is and what her new name is?”
“No,” she said.
“Please,” I said. “Chat Chaiwong has been murdered. He was a very good person, and engaged to my niece. I keep wondering if it has something to do with this.”
“If you’re thinking she did it, taking revenge on the Chaiwongs, then you’ll have to think again. I’m not saying she wouldn’t be capable of it. Maybe she was, and maybe she wasn’t. But she’s dead. I think it should all die with her.”
“Would you tell me she was dead even if she wasn’t?”
“Yes, I would,” she said. “There have been a lot of people looking for her over the years, reporters and the like. Even that man William Beauchamp. He had the details, everything except the children, but I wasn’t helping with that. He just wanted to know where Helen went. I didn’t tell him, and I won’t tell you. In over fifty years, I’ve never told anyone where she went. I’m not about to start now.”
Chapter 12
What agony I have endured. I cannot find words to express the rage and self-loathing I felt at the young king’s death, emotions so strong that I thought I would die. I had betrayed my mother, my king, and indeed Ayutthaya.
My horror at what had happened was made worse by a fear about my personal situation. Terrified, I presented myself at Ratchapraditsathan Monastery where, prostrating myself before the chief abbott, I begged to be accepted for training as a monk. H, refused my request, but perhaps seeing my distress, granted me few days’ sanctuary at the temple. My fear and guilt soon manifested themselves as an illness. Racked with fever, I tossed a turned, at times delirious, I am certain.
My illness did not respond to the care and treatment of the mon and eventually the abbot came and sat with me. “Your though, are like a poison in your body,” he said. “I have seen you rack with despair. I have heard you cry out in the night. What is this poison that destroys you?”
It was several days before I was able to tell him what I had seen that night by torchlight, as the dancers performed, and what I thought it had meant. He was right, however. The next day, though still weak, I was able to take some food for the first time in many days.
The next evening the abbot led me to a room guarded by monks. In the room were four men and another priest. To my surprise, it was the priest who spoke.
“Do you know who I am?” he said.
“I do not,” I replied.
“Look more closely,” he said. “Beyond the robe and the shaved head.”
I gasped. “You are Prince Thianracha, the dead prince’s uncle, brother to his father, King Chairacha.” I prostrated myself before him.
“That is so. Please, rise. Do you know these men?” he said, gesturing to four who were with him.
“I have seen them in the palace,” I said. I was trembling in the presence of such power. My life, it seemed to me, hung in the balance.
“Do not be afraid,” the prince said. “This is Khun Phirenthbrep.” The man looked straight at me, and I had to look away. “And this is Khun Inthbrep,” the prince went on. “Mun Rachasena, and Luang Si Yot. These good men have come to tell me about the state of affairs in the royal court of Ayutthaya, and the abbot has suggested you have information that would be of use to me.”
At the prompting of the abbot, I told my story again, brought to tears with the retelling of the death of my god-king and friend.
“You see, it is as we told you,” Khun Phirenthbrep said. “Something must be done about this usurper and his deadly queen.”
“We are agreed,” the prince said. “Let us retire to Pa Kaeo Monastery to practice candle divination before an image of Lord Buddha to ascertain our chances of success in these endeavors.”
We, all of us, went to Pa Kaeo to make obeisance to the image of Lord Buddha and to light two candles, one for the prince, the other for Khun Worawongsa. For a time it looked to be that the prince’s candle would be the first to die, thus indicating that Khun Worawongsa’s cause was more just, but then, most extraordinarily, the usurper’s candle was suddenly extinguished.