"The China Bride" - читать интересную книгу автора (Putney Mary Jo)Chapter 3 Chenqua looked up from his writing table, brush poised in his hand. "The new Troth tried to set her jumbled thoughts in order. Her master had no interest in Maxwell's handsome face, broad shoulders, or disturbing touch. "Maxwell is a decent and thoughtful man, I believe. Not a troublemaker, but… used to getting his own way." Chenqua's eyes narrowed. "Fortunate that he will be here only a month. Keep a close watch on him." He bent to his writing again, dismissing her. She limped from the room, using the cane Maxwell had found for her. He'd also walked her to the wharf after the binding of her ankle, though mercifully he had not touched her again. She'd tried to send him away, but he'd insisted on waiting until she was safely in a boat that would carry her to Chenqua's palace on Honam Island, across the water from Canton. Of course his solicitude had not been for Jin Kang as a person, but because of the service she had rendered. Like a faithful watchdog or a horse, she had done her duty and would be treated accordingly. Face impassive, she climbed the two flights of steps to her small room at the top of the house and locked the door behind her. Then she folded herself onto her low, narrow bed, shaking. Not from the pain of her twisted ankle-she had experienced her share of kung fu injuries and knew the hurt would heal quickly. But she would not soon recover from Maxwell. Not since her father's death had a man touched her in kindness, and she was shocked by her reaction. Perhaps if she hadn't gazed into those piercing blue eyes she would not have been so unsettled. Or if he hadn't touched her foot and ankle, which were very private and erotic to a Chinese lady. His touch had been quite impersonal-he would have done the same for anyone needing support. But she, foolish woman, had been left trembling with shock and yearning, her female yin energy aroused and seeking the balance of his male yang. She had wanted to press against him, feel the length of his body against hers. What would it be like to have such a man look at her with desire? She stared dry-eyed at the ceiling, not allowing tears. It was not her fate to be concubine, wife, or mother. She must be content with the comfort of her life. She had a full belly, a certain respect from her master, and blessed privacy in her small room. She even had a measure of freedom, more than any other female in the house. But that was because she was not considered truly female, any more than she was truly Chinese. Her gaze moved over her sanctuary. She had arranged it with painstaking care, using the principles of feng shui, harmonious placement. There was no clutter, only a handful of furnishings that she loved. The bed, a chair, a table that served as a desk. A soft carpet in shades of blue and cream, storage chests in several sizes. An embroidered wall hanging portrayed the world in Taoist symbols of water, earth, air, and fire. In one corner she had created a small family shrine where she could honor her father and mother, who had no one else to remember them and care for their ghosts. Her father had raised her to believe in the Lord Jesus, but in China, older gods also walked, and it would not be wise to neglect them. Opposite her bed was the lacquered chest that contained her most private possessions. Perhaps indulging her secret self would relieve her emptiness. Moving awkwardly because of her aching ankle, she knelt by the chest and fished out the key that hung on a silk cord around her neck. The scent of sandalwood wafted out when she unlocked the chest and lifted the lid. At the bottom of the chest were her father's Bible, other English books, and the padded silk box that held her jewelry. On top were her treasured female garments. It had taken years to accumulate her secret wardrobe. Chenqua made her a small allowance, and sometimes Since Chenqua forbade her to leave the house unless she was dressed as a man, she would pretend to be looking on behalf of a sister when she haunted the used-clothing stalls. She'd even walked to the far side of the sprawling city so no one would recognize her as she sought garments large enough to fit. Gently she removed the blue silk robe that was her special pride. Though worn and patched, it had once belonged to a grand lady, a tall Manchu woman from the north, perhaps. She removed her male garb and unbound her breasts, then pulled on undergarments and trousers. The silk was smooth and sensuous against her skin. She tossed her cap aside and undid the long queue that marked her as a male, raking fingers through her thick hair to loosen it. After a thorough brushing, she dressed it high on her head in the elaborate style of a court lady, securing the dark coils with long hairpins tipped in chased gold. They had been a gift from her father to her mother. A touch of perfume at her throat, a brush of color on her lips. Then she donned the richly embroidered robe. Even the jade beads that slipped through loops to secure the garment felt luxurious against her fingertips. Last came her jewelry: jade bangles for her wrists, ropes of glass and carved wooden beads, the delicate handkerchief every lady carried. Straightening to her full height, she lifted her head high as if she were a great beauty. Her mother, Li-Yin, had been beautiful. Li-Yin had loved telling the story of how Hugh Montgomery bought her as his concubine as soon as he laid eyes on her. At first she'd been terrified of the huge barbarian, with his strange red hair and gray eyes! But he'd been kind to her, and soon she was grateful to have him as her master. Troth had listened to the story again and again, imagining that one day a She skimmed her hands down the coat, the embroidered roundels faintly rough against her palms. Peonies for spring, bats for good fortune. Feeling deliriously feminine, she slowly pirouetted, the heavy silk swinging away from her body. Would Maxwell find her pleasing if he could see her now? Her glance touched the mirror on the opposite wall, and her expression crumpled. East or West, she was ugly. Why did she torment herself by dressing up and pretending to be what she could never be? As a girl in Macao, she'd admired the beautiful A rap sounded on the door. "Jin Kang?" It was Ling-Ling. "Lovely Bell" was Chenqua's Fourth Lady, the youngest, prettiest, and liveliest of his wives, and Troth's closest friend in the household. Not wanting to be caught in her forbidden garments, she called out, "A moment, Ling-Ling." Swiftly she removed her finery and folded it back into the chest, then pulled on her trousers and tunic. There wasn't time to replait her hair, but as Ling-Ling called impatiently Troth yanked out the pins and shook it loose over her shoulders. Only then did she open the door. Ling-Ling entered, exquisitely made up and swaying gracefully on her tiny bound feet. Her "golden lilies" were only three inches long, a fact of great pride to her. She looked up at Troth, surprised. "What a lot of hair you have, and with that odd yellow color. Not properly black. Your Troth suppressed a sigh. Her friend was nothing if not forthright. Dressed in a queue, Troth's hair looked decently dark, but loose it showed rusty highlights. "We can't all be as fortunate as you, Ling-Ling." "Very true." Smiling mischievously, Ling-Ling perched on the only chair. "You've unbound your breasts, I see. You're so "More of that dreadful Ling-Ling nodded. "The barbarians are enormous, aren't they? And so hairy. The last time my lord entertained some at dinner, I watched from behind a screen. How horrible it would be to belong to one!" "A terrible thought. You might have ended up with a child like me." "It's not your fault you have tainted blood." Knowing her friend meant no insult, Troth settled on the bed, stretching out her injured ankle. "Did you come up here for some special reason? " Ling-Ling leaned forward in the chair, her eyes glowing. "I think I am with child!" "That's wonderful! Are you sure?" "Not quite yet, but I feel it in my bones. I will give my lord a son!" "It could be a girl." Ling-Ling shook her head. "I have prayed at the temple of Kuan Yin, and burned joss sticks to her daily. It will be a son. My lord wants that, too, or he would not have released his seed. He will be so pleased." Ling-Ling's frank chatter had taught Troth much about what happened between men and women in bed. She always listened with queasy interest, intensely curious but feeling that it was improper to hear about such private matters. She couldn't imagine Chenqua as a lover, though according to Ling-Ling, his kung fu strength was equaled by his amatory endurance. If he'd fathered another child at his age, he was fit indeed. "Boy or girl, I envy you, Ling-Ling." The girl tilted her head to one side. "Truly? I didn't think you were interested in a woman's life." "I've had no choice but to be Jin Kang." Troth's mouth twisted. "No man would have me." "No Chinese man would, of course, but a Troth had often secretly studied the European traders, wondering what it would be like to be with one of them. Gavin Elliott in particular appealed to her, for he reminded her of her father: tall and handsome, honorable and clever, courteous to all. But Lord Maxwell-Troth flushed when she thought of him. He had fired both her blood and her imagination, even though any such relationship was unthinkable. "Aiiee, is there one you fancy?" Ling-Ling asked eagerly. "Shall I ask my lord tonight when we lie together to give you to the "No!" Troth made herself shrug as if indifferent. "I may be half barbarian myself, but that doesn't mean that I want to mate with one." Ling-Ling nodded approval. It was a very proper sentiment. A lie, of course. Though marrying a Gavin poured a cup of steaming tea into a handle-less Chinese cup and offered it to Kyle. "What do you think?" Kyle tasted it thoughtfully. Under his friend's tutelage, he'd become something of an expert at evaluating teas. "Rather bland." "You're being charitable. It's dead boring. But… offered at a very attractive price…? I wonder if it's worth shipping all the way to Boston." Kyle took another sip. "What if you add some kind of flavoring? The basic tea taste is fairly strong. Blending in something else will add interest." Gavin looked intrigued. "Any suggestions?" "I've had tea flavored with cardamom in India. It has a lovely taste and scent. Or you might try some kind of citrus. Either lemon or orange." His friend nodded thoughtfully. "I'll order a goodly amount of the tea, and we can start experimenting with flavors. I'll make a merchant of you yet. Care to help establish a London branch of Elliott House?" "You're expanding your trade into England?" "It's the logical next step. Britain has many more customers than the United States." Gavin grinned. "When I was a lad in Aberdeen, I quite fancied myself as the master of one of the world's great trading companies." "You're well on your way." Kyle hadn't done badly himself. He'd started dabbling in trade to learn whether he was capable of success unrelated to his rank, and he'd found satisfaction and profit in his ventures. Though he was returning to the staid life of an English gentleman, he wanted to maintain his connection with the East, and that was probably a factor in Gavin's decision to expand Elliott House's operations. "I think a London office is an excellent idea-it will save me from respectability." It would also give Kyle an excuse for future travel, though not until he'd done his duty by marrying and getting an heir or two. It was a dull prospect, but no longer unbearable, as it had been when he'd left England. Surely he could find a good-tempered young woman who would make him a comfortable, undemanding wife. He did not expect great love. That came only once in a lifetime. Gavin added some figures to a sheet of paper he produced from an inside pocket. "I'm late for a meeting at Consoo House. Will you ask Jin Kang to write this letter to Pao Tien, the merchant who sent me this tea sample? I need to place an order." "Can Jin read English?" Kyle asked, surprised. "I doubt it. Just read the letter out loud. He'll translate it into Chinese and add all the right flowery phrases." "I'll take care of it right away." Kyle was glad of an excuse to seek Jin Kang out. Perhaps he could learn why the young man had made such an impression on him at their first meeting. He was turning to leave when Gavin said, "Don't forget that tonight is the grand dinner in your honor at the English Factory." Kyle groaned. "I've been doing my best to forget it. Why do the East India Company fellows feel the need to give me an official welcome? I've already met every Western trader in Canton, I think." "Because there's damned little to do in Canton. No wives or mistresses allowed, all of us confined to a piece of land not much bigger than a cricket pitch- any excuse for diversion will do. Entertaining a visiting viscount is a good reason to break out the best silver." That made sense. Though Kyle was intrigued by China, he'd go mad if he had to spend half a year living such a restricted life. After only three days, he was already longing for a good gallop through open country. That would have to wait until he went home to Dornleigh. As he threaded his way through the crowded warehouse, he could almost feel a cool English wind on his face. Yes, it was time to return home. But he still had a month in Canton. Even if he couldn't arrange to visit the Temple of Hoshan, he must learn as much as possible about the China trade. When he inherited the earldom and took his seat in the House of Lords, he'd have to deal with issues of trade and foreign policy, and there was no substitute for firsthand knowledge. Opium was an integral part of the China trade, and public sentiment back home disapproved of the fact that British merchants were purveyors of drugs. Kyle agreed. A major reason he'd saved Elliott House from bankruptcy was because the American firm was one of the few companies that didn't deal in opium. Of course, America had furs and ginseng and other products the Chinese wanted. Traders from other nations weren't so lucky. China wasn't interested in European manufactured goods-but opium from Turkey or British India was quite another matter. He entered the office. Half a dozen clerks were there, most of them Portuguese. Jin Kang sat at a corner desk working the odd collection of beads known as an abacus. The thing looked like a child's toy, but was supposed to be useful for calculations. Making a mental note to get someone to explain it to him later, Kyle silently approached Jin. "How is your ankle, Jin Kang?" Jin gave a swift, startled glance before dropping his gaze to the abacus again. His eyes were indeed a warm brown rather than black. "It is well, sir." His voice was so soft it was almost inaudible. Kyle drew up an empty chair and sat beside the desk. "Mr. Elliott gave me a letter that he'd like you to write for him." "Of course, sir." Jin set the abacus aside and pulled paper and other writing equipment from a desk drawer. Kyle watched with interest as the young man ground part of a black cake on a stone, then mixed in water to make black ink. When Jin was ready, Kyle slowly read the letter aloud. Using a brush instead of a quill or a pen, the young man painted a column of complex symbols down the page, starting on the right side of the paper and working toward the left. Occasionally he would pause and ask for clarification of a word or phrase. Though his English was slow and awkward, he was conscientious. When the letter was finished, Kyle remarked, "Chinese writing is very different from European writing. Elegant." "Calligraphy is a great art. My writing is crude. Fit only for trade." "It looks fine to me. So many different letters. Can you teach me the alphabet?" "It is forbidden to teach Chinese to a "Good Lord, why?" "It is not for me to try to guess the reasons of the Celestial Emperor." No doubt the prohibition was based on the general distaste of the Chinese for foreigners. Three days in Canton had taught Kyle that even the poorest Chinese looked down on the foreign devils. It was amusing to imagine how enraged a stiff-necked, bigoted English aristocrat would be to realize that a shabby Chinese boatman considered himself superior. Paradoxically, the Chinese Kyle had dealt with personally were the soul of courtesy, and he'd seen what seemed like genuine respect between Cantonese merchants and the Jin shook his head, his thick queue swaying. "We have no alphabet." "No alphabet? Then what does this mean?" Kyle pointed at a character. "It begs the honor of the merchant's attention." Jin set his brush on a porcelain rest, his brow furrowing as he sought the words to explain. "In your language, each letter stands for a sound. Putting them together shows the sounds for a whole word. In Chinese each character is an… an idea. Combining them produces a new idea. It is… subtle." "Fascinating, and very different. How many characters are there?" "Many, many." Jin touched the abacus. "Tens of thousands." Kyle whistled softly. "It seems like a clumsy system. Surely it takes years of study to learn how to read and write." "It is not to be expected that everyone would excel at such a high art," Jin said stiffly. "Writing, poetry, and painting are the Three Perfections. Skill in all three is the mark of scholars and poets." "Since you can write, does that make you a scholar?" "Oh, no. My learning is not fit to take a scholar exam. I have only the skill of a clerk." His tone implied that Kyle's question had been absurd. "Can you show me how to write a single character? Surely that is not the same as teaching me how to write." The corner of Jin's mouth twitched slightly. A repressed smile? "You are very persistent, sir." "Indeed." Kyle examined the ink cake. It was octagonal, with a dragon embossed on one side. " Better to yield now, since I will pester you until you show me." Yes, Jin was definitely trying not to smile. "A humble clerk cannot resist such force, my lord." He placed a blank sheet of paper on the table. "Watch as I draw the character for Even to the most casual eye, Kyle's attempt was not a success. "This is harder than it looks." He tried again, getting closer to the shape of the character but creating nothing like the elegance of Jin's writing. "You hold the brush wrong. Not like an English pen. More straight. Like this." Jin put his hand over Kyle's, changing the angle of the brush. A strange tingle went through Kyle. Could this boy be a holy man like the one in India? Sri Anshu's gaze could melt lead, and perhaps Jin Kang concealed similar inner fires. Or was the basis of that inexplicable reaction rooted in something that didn't bear thinking about? Though disturbed, Kyle forced himself to act as if nothing had happened. "The brush should be more upright?" "Yes." Jin swallowed. "And held more loosely." Kyle painted the character several more times. Holding the brush differently did produce a more delicate stroke, but he still had a long way to go. And he had made no progress toward understanding his baffling response to Jin Kang. Quite the contrary. |
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