"All the Tea in China" - читать интересную книгу автора (Orcutt Jane)

6

Miss Whipple and I admired her embroidery until it was time for dinner with the captain. Informed that this was normally at two o’clock, I proceeded shortly beforehand to my cabin to check my appearance. Dinner was as formal aboard ship as it was on shore, I had been told.

Though I possessed no mirror, I could tell that my hair was not at all to my liking. I supposed I must become accustomed to such since Flora would no longer be available to help me pin it up. Julia Whipple offered to help me, even loaning me several hairpins, but I vowed that I would learn to do it myself. A missionary should not be given to much vanity and should learn to care for herself.

However noble my efforts, I could not work the pins to my satisfaction. The lack of a mirror was one impediment, but the clumsiness of my hands was even more so. I would no more secure one strand of hair, and then another would come loose. Secure another, and the entire pile of hair tumbled loose into my hands. The pins clattered to the floor.

I sat down on the wooden crate, for I needed a moment to think. Flora. Where was she now? Had she made her way back to Oxford to report to Uncle Toby that I was gone? Surely he would not be cross with her for my decision.

The door opened, and Phineas Snowe entered. I rose quickly, startled. “I am sorry,” he said with a bow. “I did not mean to disturb you.”

“I think perhaps you have saved me,” I said, trying to smile as I gestured at the misbegotten pins scattered about the floor.

He gathered them in the palm of his hand. “Sit,” he said, gesturing at the crate.

“But I-”

One look from him, and I realized he would brook no argument. I sat.

“I do not fancy myself a hair styler, but I know that it can be difficult for a woman to accomplish this task with her own hands.” He paused. “I have a younger sister.”

“Indeed? Then you must realize my quandary. I want to appear presentable, since it is my first dinner with the captain, but I should learn to do it myself.” I chattered because he stood a bit too close for my comfort. When his hands touched my hair, I felt my heart beat faster. “I… I do not imagine that there will be many formal occasions in China.”

Snowe said nothing. He smoothed my hair then looped a section, deftly securing a tendril here, affixing another one there. Flora was the only person who had ever touched my hair before; certainly no man had ever done so. His hands, warm and smooth, brushed against my neck. I was aware that he stood just behind me. It was most unnerving…

He stepped back. “There. You may stand.”

I did so, touching my hair lightly, breathing a sigh of relief but feeling curiously bereft of his nearness. “It feels quite secure. Thank you.”

He stared at me-all of me-so critically that I paused. “Is something wrong?” I studied my dress, twisting about to see if I had acquired a spot or a tear.

“Your appearance is pleasing,” he said. “That brown dress…”

“It is certainly a suitable color for being a missionary but not, I confess, a color to which I am much accustomed.” I do not know why I sought Snowe’s approval, but in truth, I did. “Is my appearance suitable… for dinner with the captain, I mean.”

“Your appearance is pleasing,” he repeated, this time with a bit more gruffness. “Miss Goodrich, there is something I-”

“Yes?”

Somewhere a drumroll sounded. “That would be the announcement for dinner,” he said, sounding relieved. “If you are ready… sister, we should proceed. We would not want to keep Captain Malfort waiting.”

He took my arm and led me from the cabin. It was only then that I wondered how a missionary such as himself had acquired the experience of arranging ladies’ hair.

The cuddy seemed a different place from earlier, when Julia Whipple and I had strolled through. The table was laden with a fine linen cloth, silver candelabra, and the most attractive blue-and-white patterned place settings that must surely be Wedgwood. I remembered to keep my mouth closed and a pleasant smile on my face, though in truth my jaw longed to go slack and my eyes widen. I had never imagined such beauty and sumptuousness on a seagoing vessel.

An older officer-not one of the young midshipmen- seated Julia Whipple. She had changed into a lovely blue muslin with a floral print. As much as I tried to think Christian thoughts, I coveted that dress. Couldn’t a woman be a missionary and dress stylishly? Surely it would bring comfort to the poor and downtrodden to have an angel of mercy clothed in fine raiment! I tried not to picture how like a mouse I must appear in my brown frock.

“Mr. Snowe, Miss Goodrich.” Captain Malfort beckoned us to the table, bestowing us with seats of honor next to him. Snowe sat at his left hand, and I at the captain’s right. The officer who had seated Miss Whipple sat to my immediate right, and she sat across the table. The midshipmen sat at the end of the table, removed, ostensibly, from the main conversation. I surmised from their schoolboy awkwardness and efforts to avoid fidgeting that they did not normally dine at the captain’s table.

The captain made the proper introductions, and I learned that my companion was the chief mate, Thomas Gilpin. He seemed serious and proper and several years older than I. The same could be said of the second mate, whom Captain Malfort introduced as Joseph Baggott. Perhaps one or both of these gentlemen were already married, but I wondered fleetingly whether an introduction to naval personnel years ago might have secured me a husband. It was most peculiar that Flora had not thought of this and dragged me to a port city long ago to introduce me into their society…

No matter. I was duty bound and determined in my current course. It was, after all, ordained by God. The Chinese translation, the slippers, and the tea had proven that to be true.

“Are you feeling better, Miss Goodrich?” Mr. Gilpin said.

“Yes, thank you. I believe that I am.” I hoped that the evening’s conversation would not center around my antics. I had already caused enough embarrassment. No need to rewarm it like second-day gruel.

Fortunately, the servants set the courses before us. What a feast! The sumptuousness of the table setting was far outweighed by the food on which we dined. I had suspected our fare for the entire voyage would be some sort of salted meat (and I worried that that was, indeed, the average sailors’ meal), but we were served pea soup, mutton, chicken, ham, duck, and cabbages and potatoes. I was certain to be the most rotund missionary in China ere we arrived.

I tried not to smack my lips, but I still had hunger pangs from the time spent in the cattle stall. While Snowe conversed with Captain Malfort, and Miss Whipple apparently charmed Mr. Baggott, I tried to engage Mr. Gilpin in conversation between mouthfuls of meat and vegetables. This, I hoped, would force me to eat more slowly. “Have you made more than one voyage with this ship, Mr. Gilpin?”

“This is my fourth,” he said. “The Dignity is the most solid East Indiaman I have had the pleasure to serve on.”

“Really?” Oh, fiddle, the peas! I wanted to shovel them into my mouth but was forced to pick them out carefully, as a lady should.

Mr. Gilpin sliced his ham with grave precision. I could not help admiring his attention to detail. It was plain to see why he had been considered officer material! “It may interest you to know that the Dignity was built in Bombay nearly seven years ago,” he said.

At that moment, I am ashamed to say I was more interested in filling my stomach. “I should think all the East India Company’s ships would be British built.” I forked some of the stewed cabbage. Oh, heavenly leaf!

“Ships built with British oak are often eaten through by sea worms. The teak found in India is a better hardwood not only for construction but durability.”

I was certainly in favor of a ship’s durability. Particularly the Dignity. “Then she is not only beautiful but solid,” I said.

It suddenly occurred to me why sailors spoke lovingly of ships in female terms. Men desired to have both ships and wives with the admirable traits of beauty and solidness. And an absence of worms, of course.

Mr. Gilpin laid down his fork and smiled. “She is a fine ship, Miss Goodrich. Steady and dependable.”

There. I was right. “Miss Whipple and I strolled aboard deck this morning. I have never been away from land before.”

“How did you find the Dignity?”

“I am certain she is as fine as the Victory,” I said.

“Oh, have you seen Nelson’s ship?”

I shook my head, chewing thoughtfully (and somewhat greedily, I am afraid) on a portion of duck.

“It is moored at Portsmouth,” Mr. Gilpin said, his voice lowering to a sad pitch. “My father was killed during the Battle of Trafalgar aboard ship. I visit the Victory whenever I am home in England.”

I ceased chewing and sipped my wine. My appetite fled as I thought of poor Mr. Gilpin’s loss. “How dreadful.”

He smiled. “I am at peace with his sacrifice. After all, it is what prompted me to seek a naval career myself. I considered joining the Royal Navy but could not bear the thought of my mother losing another family member to battle.”

“Yet merchant ships are not without danger too,” I said, then winced. When would I learn to put thought before speech?

Mr. Gilpin’s smile broadened. “Your honesty is refreshing, Miss Goodrich. Yes, that is true. There is always the danger of privateers, particularly in Eastern waters, but nothing for you to worry about. Come, let us speak of happier matters.”

If it was nothing for me to worry about, why did he make mention? Must men always feel compelled to protect the fairer sex? I daresay we ladies would be better off by half if they would but tell us of worldly dangers and allow us to have a voice or hand in our own defense.

Captain Malfort turned to me. “Forgive me, Miss Goodrich. I have spent far too much time talking to Mr. Snowe and not you.”

“Mr. Gilpin has been kind enough to discuss ships with me,” I said. “I find them fascinating and would like to learn more.”

“Then you are more interested in vessels than the cargo they carry?” He took a large sip of wine.

In an awkward moment, all conversation at the table ceased, and I found myself the center of attention. I smiled. “In truth, I had not given much regard to what would return with the Dignity, for I shall disembark at Canton.”

“Ah, yes. Your missionary duties. So you have no desire to follow your brother and his work?”

The smile froze on my face. “Why, yes, of course. That is why I wish to serve in China. With, er, Phineas.”

I could not see Snowe, blocked as he was by Captain Malfort’s large frame, but I could sense his discomfort two chairs away. I could not understand the silence at the table. Bewildered, I glanced from one person to another. Their benign expressions betrayed nothing.

Except one. Julia Whipple looked at me with something akin to pity.

Captain Malfort smiled indulgently. “How do you expect to serve as a missionary alongside your brother when he will be about the business of the East India Company?”

My mouth went dry. “I beg your pardon?”

Phineas Snowe leaned forward just enough so that I could see his eyes, which warned me into further silence. “I have told you all along that your plan was foolhardy, dear Isabella. We should not discuss it again… particularly in the presence of others.”

For a moment I considered pressing the matter then quickly discarded the notion. Estimation must be preserved at all cost, though I longed to know the entire truth of the situation. Without delay. Now.

What transpired the rest of the dinner is a blur in my memory. I am sure that I said the right things and responded with the correct remarks, particularly to Mr. Gilpin, who continued to be attentive throughout the meal. The plum pudding held no taste for me, however, and when Miss Whipple and I excused ourselves so that the gentlemen might indulge in glasses of port, I somehow made my way from the cuddy without, I hope, making a further fool of myself.

Once on deck, I turned to Miss Whipple. “You have known all along, haven’t you?”

“Yes,” she said, with no hint of pride in her voice. “I’m sorry.”

I tried to gather my thoughts. What question did I want to ask first? Before I could speak, she leaned toward me. “I don’t feel it’s my place to say anything. You should speak to Phineas. He should be the one to explain himself.”

“As well as your actions in Oxford? Both of you acting as missionaries for my benefit?”

She flinched then straightened. “Yes,” she said firmly. “He should answer for even that. I admit to being a participant, but the deception was his idea.”

I wanted to be angry at her. Her pretense reminded me of Cathy Ransom and every woman like her who presented one face to her acquaintances in private and another to society at large. As I studied Miss Whipple, though, I could see that she begged no forgiveness, yet she also took no joy in her deception. I could never have applied the latter sentiment to Cathy. Miss Whipple also had apparently not had the benefit of upbringing or society to correct her. At least that is what I had been led to believe. Who knew what was truth?

“Is it true what Mr. Snowe says about your reason to travel to China?” I said.

“What does he say about me?”

Ah. Meeting directness with directness. None of the fawning or double-dealing to which I was accustomed from other women. “He says that you are a Cyprian and you seek new business in the Far East.”

“That is true.”

I had known it all along, of course, but I felt a sickness to my stomach. “Why?”

“London held no charms for me,” she said. “It is a foul city. I thought perhaps that Canton might prove more advantageous for a woman in my position.”

I wanted to know more, so much more, but delicacy prevented me from speaking further.

She studied my face. “You have no comment?”

“I hardly know what to say, Miss Whipple. I have much to digest this evening.” Certainly more than the meal I had gluttonously eaten in the cuddy.

“Miss Goodrich, I understand if you don’t wish to speak to me further. We are of two different worlds, and-”

“And yet we are both bound for a new one,” I said, noticing the surprise on her face at my words. “We each have much to think about on this ship for many months. I see no need to impose a restriction on our conversation. Within boundaries, of course.”

“Of course,” she said gravely. Was that a smile I detected her trying to suppress?

Snowe avoided me the rest of the day. I strolled on deck with Miss Whipple, neither of us speaking of anything of particular consequence save our current environment. At six o’clock we took tea, and at nine o’clock a supper of soup, cheese, and cold meat. By regulation, candles in the cabins had to be extinguished by ten o’clock, so I was well abed soon after supper.

I had anguished over dressing back into the nightgown that Miss Whipple had procured. It was certainly preferable to sleeping in the cotton dress when I would only have to wear it again the next day. Modesty, however, prevented me from donning bedclothes. Though I knew Snowe would not be able to see me in the dark, I knew I would feel unclothed all the same.

I had hoped to fall asleep before he entered the cabin, preferring to save all my questions for the morning than to launch them in the privacy of our cabin. Yet curiosity prevented my falling into a deep sleep, and I lay awake swaying in my hammock, my heart beating a quickened rhythm.

The door to the cabin opened. Snowe entered, candle in hand. Before I had the presence of mind to feign sleep, I said, “It must be near ten o’clock. You should douse the flame.”

Snowe stood still. “I did not think I would find you awake. Can you not sleep? Is the hammock uncomfortable?”

I raised up on my elbows as best I could. “The hammock is a tolerable bed and not at fault for my restlessness.”

He shut the door behind him and set the candle on the trunk by his own hammock. “I suppose you want an accounting for the conversation at dinner.”

“Yes. Please explain why Captain Malfort and everyone else believes that you are working for the East India Company.”

He took a step closer to my hammock, and the candle cast his shadow against the far wall. “Because I do. I buy tea to import to England.”

I closed my eyes, almost losing my desire to learn anything further. What a fool I had been, starting with the Ransoms’ party and ending with dinner tonight. I had squandered my life on a dream that was not just smoke, but soot.

“You no doubt want to know why I misled you,” he prompted.

“Would you even tell me at this juncture? Could I believe you?”

The ship’s bells announced ten o’clock. Snowe sighed. “Miss Goodrich, allow me to provide a bit of modesty for our living arrangements. I have taken the liberty of rigging a torn sail between our beds, which we can raise and lower at our convenience.” He pulled a rope and, indeed, a sturdy length of canvas raised between our hammocks. In keeping with the lateness of the hour, he blew out his candle, and our room was plunged into darkness save for the sparse moonlight through the porthole.

I heard him undress, whether fully or partially I had no notion. I trembled with anxiety, however, remembering that I now no longer shared a cabin with a man of the cloth but a man of the purse. He was a merchant and therefore under no obligation to observe societal norms beyond that of his own class.

The rings securing his hammock clinked as he lay down. “The Dignity, like other East Indiamen, shortens its sails at night,” he said. “We should have calm waters and a good night’s sleep.”

“At least one of us will have such,” I said into the darkness. “You, no doubt, sleep with a clear conscience.”

“For the most part, yes,” he said. “But if I do not, it is because you are on board this ship.”

“Am I an impediment to your plans? The ones that included fleecing my uncle out of his money in the guise of bringing the gospel to the heathens?”

He said nothing for a moment. “I am more concerned with your welfare at this point. You will be put ashore at Cape Town and returned to your uncle on the next England-bound ship. If at all possible, I will even return your uncle’s money with you.”

“Aren’t you afraid that I will sully your name when I relate around Oxford what you have done?” I paused, giving vent to the cry of my heart. “Why did you seek money from my uncle? Were you given funds by others as well?”

“No,” he said quietly. “Only your uncle was charitable enough to contribute. Though I said as much, I truly did not seek funds, but he was so taken with my work that he insisted no matter how strong my protest. I had heard of his interest in missionary work, particularly among the Orient. I managed an invitation to Sir Ransom’s party with the express purpose of meeting your uncle, to spread the truth about China… I did not plan on meeting you.”

“Nor I, you,” I said, refusing to squelch the bitterness in my voice. “I had been forewarned that there would be an eligible man in attendance, but I had no notion…”

I trailed off, thinking back. Flora had labored so diligently on my new dress. She had been so pleased to find the perfect pink slippers to match. Slippers with Chinese writing. I had been so certain…

“Why?” I said in a low voice.

“Why did I pose as a missionary?”

My eyes filled with tears. Uncle Toby and I had both been duped. Dear Uncle Toby…

Snowe let out a long sigh. “Do you remember that I was to attend the party with a husband and wife who sought to become missionaries? The Tippetts?”

I nodded.

“In truth, they are interested in further tea exploration, as am I. I believed that posing as missionaries would ameliorate our acquaintanceship. Mr. Tippett does not work for the East India Company, and I did not want to appear to be in collusion with any competition.”

“But you are! You work for Britain’s finest trading company, Mr. Snowe!”

“I have not forgotten,” he said in a low voice. “But I seek new tea to sell and new methods of its purchase. The East India Company needs silver for trade. The Chinese are not interested in anything else.” He paused. “Not much, anyway.”

“Tea! You would deceive a lovely old Oxford dean, me, and all the people at the Ransoms’ party for tea?”

“It is the lifeblood of the English,” he said quietly. “Can you deny it? Do you know how much tea is imported on a yearly basis? The latest figures I have seen are over two hundred million pounds.”

I pictured Uncle Toby’s dear face. Did he linger, heartbroken, in his study at night? It was one thing to know that I had left him for a great calling, quite another when I realized what a sham it had all been. “You said you were with the London Missionary Society. You asked me if I had heard of Robert Morrison, the famous missionary to China.”

“And you said that you had. I did not say that I knew nor worked with him or the Society directly. You believed only what you wanted to hear, Isabella Goodrich. For that, do not fault me.”

“I can fault you for deception. I can fault you for playing the part only too well,” I said. “I have not noticed you wearing your spectacles since we have been aboard ship. I suppose they were part of your charade?”

“Yes, I borrowed them from a friend. They were devilishly difficult to see through.”

I could not believe what I heard. Not only did he seem to have no remorse for his scheme, but he was letting me in on his secrets as though I should be sympathetic. Or worse yet, impressed!

“Miss Goodrich, I will do everything within my power to make your stay aboard ship as pleasant as possible until we reach the Cape. That is all I can offer at this point.”

Why was he being so congenial? Oh foolish girl, he had selfish motive indeed. His smooth talk had slowed me from realization, but I could comprehend it now. “You are afraid I will tell Captain Malfort about your deception, aren’t you?”

“The thought had occurred to me, yes.”

I shifted in my hammock, feeling a strange sense of power. “He could have you dismissed from the Company, I suppose, or at least send word to the proper persons in authority.”

Snowe hesitated. “Yes.”

I crossed my arms over my stomach, pleased. I could not believe my good fortune. “What, exactly, do you think you can do for me?”

“I have promised to see to your safety and comfort. Is that not enough?”

“And I have already informed you that I can care for myself.”

He laughed. “With a sword, I suppose.”

“If need be. I should like to have one, since that is the one possession I had the most difficulty leaving in England.”

“Where would you find one here at sea?”

“Oh, come, Mr. Snowe, you are a man of many designs and persuasions. Surely you could procure such an insignificant item.”

“Insignificant?” I heard him raise up in his hammock. He sighed then lay back down. “Very well. It is certainly an odd request from a woman, but I will try. If I find you a sword, will it barter your silence?”

“That and your assistance in proceeding to China beyond the Cape.” I smiled into the darkness.

“What? No! It is unconscionable. Why do you desire to travel that far when you know that I work with no mission?”

“I have every confidence that I can find one. Robert Morrison himself is there with the London Missionary Society. They must need assistance.”

Snowe sputtered. “China is not the size of Oxfordshire nor even the whole of England, for that matter, Miss Goodrich. We could not find him.”

“You are no doubt a man of influence and intelligence. I am certain that you can help me.”

He groaned. “I should never have taken Tobias Fitzwater’s money,” he muttered.

“But you did, Mr. Snowe. That is my offer.”

There was silence on the other side of the canvas. Surely he could not have fallen asleep!

“I will match your offer with one of my own,” he said at last.

“Proceed. I am listening.”

“I will find you a sword. I will protect you for this leg of the journey. When we reach the Cape, we will revisit our agreement. Frankly, I am of the opinion that a few months at sea may change your mind.”

“I do not think so,” I said cheerfully, “but I can as easily inform the captain of your treachery in Cape Town as I can in the middle of the Atlantic.”

“Then we have a pact?”

I settled into my hammock, suddenly weary. I had no choice. He had no choice. We were bound to each other’s word to fulfill our individual plans.

“We have a pact, Mr. Snowe,” I said grimly, wondering if I had just bound myself to the devil himself.