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

7

Our canvas divider was still in place when I awoke in the morning. I thought perhaps Snowe might have already left the cabin, but I could hear a gentle snore from the other side. It occurred to me that my wedding night anticipation of sleeping in the same room as a man had now been dashed. The snores persuaded me that I had probably not missed anything.

I was grateful that I did not have to change clothes but supposed that I would be forced to spend every day and night in the same dress. No, that was unthinkable. It was not even a question of fashion but of nasal condition. A lady must consider such things.

I tiptoed from our room to the deck. The air was brisk, the sun not yet on the horizon, though traces of pink and orange lit the sky. I stood transfixed at the rail, out of the way, wrapping my arms around myself against the chill.

“Good morning, Miss Goodrich.”

“Mr. Gilpin!” I turned, smiling at the first mate.

He touched his cap. “I trust you slept well?”

“Very much so,” I said. “The sea has a peculiar lulling quality that I find most conducive to sleep.”

He smiled. “You may not say such when you have experienced a storm. It will make your early voyage seasickness seem quite mild by comparison.”

“I have no doubt. I felt certain I was near death’s door. But I suppose you have no difficulties with illness at sea anymore?”

“None to speak of. It is my life now. I find myself more sick when I am on land.”

“Heartsick for the sea, I suppose?”

He smiled. “You are perceptive, Miss Goodrich. But here, you are trembling. Let me find you a jacket.”

He disappeared and returned with a short blue sailor’s jacket. “I apologize for its unfashionable nature, but it serves our seamen well,” he said, holding it out to help me put it on.

“Oh dear.” I shrugged into the sleeves. “I hope I am not depriving someone else of their own warmth.”

“Not at all. And please keep this… I know you do not have any other clothes.”

The jacket now warm around me, I leaned against the rail and studied the horizon. Fingers of pink and orange reached into the sky and reflected over the blue of the ocean. Then a sliver of the sun itself appeared, like a shy actor showing only one foot, then a leg, then a torso on stage. At last he appeared, his presence filling the theater, and I wanted to applaud.

As I watched the display, I felt alone with nothing between me and the edge of the world. Indeed, all things seemed possible in the beauty of such light and plane. I did not intend it, but a sigh slipped past my lips.

“The sunrise is beautiful,” Gilpin said. “That is why I am usually on deck before my watch begins. I never tire of seeing a new day dawn.”

I inhaled the chill air, the smell of salt tickling my nose. “It is all very new to me,” I confessed. “I am certain I appear like a child.”

“Never,” he said, smiling. “I think it admirable that you embrace a new life. Most of our passengers complain the entire trip until we are once again on land. Speaking of passengers, I believe I heard the captain say that some of them are stirring today and feel up to partaking of meals in the cuddy.”

“I look forward to meeting them. Everyone else seems so busy going about the business of managing the ship that I find myself with no one to talk to.”

“There is always your brother, of course,” he said.

“Yes, of course.” No telling what I would learn from Snowe ere this voyage had concluded.

Gilpin put his hands behind his back and cleared his throat. “You and Miss Whipple have been congenial, I have noticed.”

I felt myself on guard. “Yes, we have.”

He rocked forward then stood motionless. “Miss Goodrich, I know you are a lady of character and breeding. It pains me to tell you this, but I would not want your own reputation sullied. Miss Whipple is not a fit companion for you.”

“Indeed?” I did not know whether to be flattered or angered.

He nodded. “Her character is not on par with yours. Mr. Snowe’s recommendation was enough to secure her passage, but all aboard know the limits of her character and have been warned against any association. Perhaps Mr. Snowe has already chastised you, but I can’t help but think that my mother would want me to protect the reputation of any sister of mine… if I had a sister, that is.”

“Thank you, Mr. Gilpin. I will take your words under advisement.”

“Mama would want me to warn you.”

The ship’s bell rang. “Eight o’clock,” he said, “and time for my watch. You will find breakfast in the cuddy. But if your teeth are of a delicate nature, beware the biscuits. They are usually extremely difficult to chew.”

“Another warning from Mama?” I could not help asking saucily.

He did not take my humor. “No, from me.” He touched his cap. “Good day, Miss Goodrich.”

“Good day, Mr. Gilpin.”

I made my way toward the cuddy, and whom should I find but Phineas Snowe. “Dear brother,” I said, taking his arm, “I wondered if you would eat breakfast.”

“I always try when I am aboard ship. And I, too, am delighted to escort you,” he said.

I allowed him to lead the way, but it occurred to me that perhaps he was not so much trying to protect me aboard ship, as he had said last night, as making sure I had little opportunity to divulge the truth about him. Nonetheless, we had a bargain, and he would have to learn to trust me. Though it pained me to think of Uncle Toby and his money, I would bide my time and abide by my agreement with Snowe.

Captain Malfort was already in the cuddy, speaking with two couples. One was close in age to Snowe and myself, deeply engrossed in a private conversation. The young lady’s dress looked twice made over, but she had added a bit of ribbon here, there, and in her hair. The effect was complementary, though it did little to ameliorate the sharp angles of her face.

The other couple were quite elderly and dressed exceedingly fine. The woman appeared to be near dozing as she sat with her head propped in her hand at the table. Her husband spoke animatedly with the captain, gesturing wildly and evidently relating a great storm at sea. As Snowe and I approached, I could hear his heated words.

“… rolling as though in a barrel, Captain. Really! Is there nothing that can be done?”

The captain was all patience. “I assure you, Mr. Harrison, that we had quite a calm night at sea. You have been with the East India Company for a number of years now. Have you not heard from other travelers that the seasickness will pass?”

“It is not I who was troubled so much as Martha,” Harrison said, gesturing at his wife. Her head bobbed in her hand, and I thought I heard a tiny snore emanate. She did not appear to have any difficulty sleeping now!

“All will be well, I am certain,” Captain Malfort said. “Ah, Mr. Snowe. Miss Goodrich. I trust you had a pleasant sleep?”

“Indeed we did,” Snowe said.

“Remarkably well,” I agreed cheerfully, the picture of innocence.

Captain Malfort introduced us to the Edward Harrisons, the elderly couple. I am sorry to say that poor Mrs. Harrison was rudely awakened by a curt jab in her shoulder from Mr. Harrison. “How d’ye do?” she said on cue, then promptly closed her eyes again. I could not tell if the burden of additional people in the room taxed her social graces or if she was merely trying to make up for the sleep she had apparently lost last night.

The other couple approached us, their shoulders barely touching, as decorum permitted. They tried not to stare at each other, but the furtive glances they shot in each other’s direction told me all I needed to know. They were newly wed.

“This will be a long voyage indeed,” I muttered.

“What’s that?” Snowe said, leaning closer.

I smiled. “Nothing of consequence, brother.”

The captain introduced the couple as Charles and Anne Akers, indeed newly married. “Brother and sister?” Mrs. Akers said, once Snowe and I had been introduced as well. “How very odd. I fail to see much of a family resemblance. It is always telling in the eyes, I say, but there is a distinct lack of similarity in yours.”

“We both have brown eyes,” Snowe pointed out, which surprised me. I could not have sworn that he noticed the color of mine, for I had made no particular notice of his.

Mrs. Akers continued to study us. “Yes, but the shape. Something is different.”

“We are only half related, after all,” Snowe said.

“Really?” Mrs. Akers seemed delighted by the new tack of the conversation. I could tell she preferred a good gossip -under the guise of conversation, of course. “Exactly how are you related?”

I decided to let Snowe answer, but the captain-bless his briny soul-called us to be seated. “Breakfast is ready to be served.”

We took our seats, Mrs. Harrison being prevailed upon to wake up enough to move to a different chair. We were a small group this morning, Mr. Gilpin being on watch, of course, and the midshipmen not present. I wondered why Julia Whipple was not among our group but thought it best not to ask. We were joined for this meal, however, by the ship’s surgeon, Jonathan Mortimer. Mr. Mortimer had little regard for his general appearance, with unkempt clothes and stringy gray hair, and he spoke little. Yet somehow he carried himself with dignity and had the demeanor of a man well acquainted with his business. I did not remember his attending me while I recovered, and I hoped not to need his skills again during this voyage.

Misfortune prevailed, as I found myself seated next to Mrs. Akers. She immediately dominated the conversation, but thankfully her subject matter did not involve Snowe or me. I tried to feign attentiveness, but she spoke of such trivial matters that I instead contemplated the meal-which I must add was shockingly not up to the standards of yesterday’s dinner. We were served corned beef and tongue, questionable butter, curry (which Captain Malfort claimed was popular with those who had spent time in India), and the biscuits about which Mr. Gilpin had warned me. I regret to report that I took childish delight in the hardness of a biscuit forcing Mrs. Akers to cease all conversation for a moment.

“Why, these are as hard as a sea chest,” she said after extricating the biscuit from between her teeth. She all but spit out the offending morsel. “Captain Malfort, are there none other available?”

“I am afraid this is all we have to offer,” he said, and I could have sworn I saw a twinkle in his eyes. “You are not obliged to partake of breakfast, of course. Many passengers prefer to dip into their own provisions during this time.”

“Nonsense!” Mr. Akers said, quelling his wife with a loving expression. “We are Englishmen, and we will eat what the company has seen fit to provide us.” He gnawed on the biscuit with long, yellow teeth, which put me in mind of a rat. “Quite tasty, my dear. It gives the ol’ incisors quite a go.”

Mrs. Akers smiled lovingly, but while Mr. Akers was occupied, she set her biscuit to the side.

I tried not to smile behind a cup of tea. Mrs. Akers caught my gaze and frowned. I cast about for a topic of conversation to avert further questions about eyes. “Do you look forward to living in China, Mrs. Akers?”

“Goodness, no,” she exclaimed, loudly enough for all to hear. “I understand it to be a dreadful place, full of yellow people who chatter in a strange language. In truth, when Mr. Akers informed me that the company was sending him on this voyage, I contented myself with the notion that at least I would see monkeys for the first time.”

A polite pall settled over the table. “Surely you do not mean the Chinese themselves, do you?” I said quietly.

“But of course!” She laughed, glancing around the table for approval. “I have heard that they do not care for we Englishmen in their country, and I am happy to oblige. I look forward to living in Macao-a Portuguese colony, after all-during the trading season in Canton. Once Mr. Akers’s business is tended to, we shall be on the first boat back to Britain. Were we not newly wed, I would be content to stay home. However, I consider myself a woman of the world and one entirely devoted to her husband and my new situation as his wife. I am sure I shall be as fine a traveler as any Englishwoman who has gone before me and a credit not only to my gender but to my country as well.”

Such a speech might have been met with applause in her imaginary version of Parliament, but our little group sat quite shocked. Snowe, I noticed, sitting beside me, seemed almost livid. He showed no outward displeasure while he calmly buttered a biscuit with some of the dubious butter, but I could tell by the tightness in his jaw that he seethed inwardly.

What bothered me more-that Mrs. Akers believed as she did or that I was learning to read Snowe’s expressions and moods so easily?

“I am certain that the fairer sex will indeed be well represented in the Orient by all ladies present,” Captain Malfort said, smoothing over the silence.

“Hear hear,” Harrison said, holding up his teacup. Mrs. Harrison leaned against his shoulder.

“Miss Goodrich, I have not heard your impression about the Far East.” Mrs. Akers buttered her biscuit and attempted another bite.

“I would prefer to save my opinion until I have actually seen it,” I said, demurring.

“Isabella will disembark in Cape Town,” Snowe said. “Perhaps, Mrs. Akers, you could do likewise.”

She set down her biscuit. “What? I? Did you not hear me, Mr. Snowe? I have a duty in Macao, no matter how odious it may be. How could you disregard me in such a manner?”

“I beg your pardon, Mrs. Akers, but I was thinking of you. Perhaps you and my sister could be companions and travel back to England together.”

Dear friend, I could not help myself. I am not given to violence unless it is of a fencing nature, but I planted my heel smartly but quietly against Snowe’s instep. To his credit, he did not even flinch. I knew, however, that my message had been received from his manner of blinking.

Mrs. Akers waved her hands in protest. “Out of the question, Mr. Snowe. I am certain that Mr. Akers will hear none of it, as well.”

“On the contrary,” Snowe said. “Though he may agree with you now, I suspect that by the time we reach the Cape, he will see the wisdom of my suggestion.”

“You are kindness itself to be concerned with a newly married couple,” Mrs. Akers said. “But I am afraid that we cannot be parted. Why ever are you on this voyage, Miss Goodrich, if you are only to disembark at Cape Town?”

Without so much as a sidelong glance at me, Snowe launched into an explanation of how I was determined to become a missionary, but he, as a loving brother, would not countenance it. Out of deference to me, I suppose, neither the captain nor Snowe mentioned that I had stowed aboard ship. Fortunately, Mrs. Akers was not quick-minded enough to ask why Snowe allowed me aboard in the first place.

When he finished, I marveled at Snowe’s ease in concealing the truth, all around. I did not care for liars, but he seemed to have a certain skill.

“A missionary? Mr. Akers, did you hear that?” Mrs. Akers nudged her husband’s arm, jostling the corned beef from his fork.

“Quite admirable, I must say.” He calmly reclaimed the meat.

“Admirable? Why, I am all astonishment at your lack of propriety,” she said. “For whoever heard of an unmarried lady missionary? In the Far East, no less!”

“Whoever indeed?” Snowe muttered, casting me an exceedingly penetrating sidelong glance.

Later Snowe, Harrison, and Akers met together to discuss East India Company business. It occurred to me that I did not even know what Snowe did for the company, other than to procure tea. How, exactly, did he do this? Did he send men out to pick the leaves? Did he lead an expedition himself? I resolved to ask him later.

I saw Mr. Gilpin on deck and mentioned that I already regretted the lack of books to read. I could not imagine the entire voyage without reading material.

“But I have the very thing,” he said, smiling. “Mama sends me off on each voyage with a fresh armload of books. I have not the heart to inform her that my interest lies in navigation not in novels. I would be delighted to share from my personal library.”

“Thank you, Mr. Gilpin, that would be wonderful. I am interested in any books you have available and certainly novels. I enjoy a good story as well as textbooks.”

“Perhaps a book on navigation then?” he said, his lips curling in a smile.

“Why, yes. Mr. Calow and I discussed latitude and longitude recently, and I’d like to learn more. I confess to only understanding the rudimentaries.”

“Don’t tell me that you are thinking about applying to be a midshipman!”

I smiled at his earnest expression. “Nothing as serious as that. In truth, I would like to learn not only for my own knowledge but for Mr. Calow’s as well. Everyone is so busy that I thought I might be able to tutor him if I had a chance to learn and understand the material.”

For a moment his face looked inexplicably crestfallen. “You are well educated then?”

“I grew up at Oxford. My uncle is a dean, and I was tutored by others at the university.”

“Oh.” He cleared his throat. “I will have those books brought to your cabin as soon as possible.” He cleared his throat again. “The pea jacket ensures your warmth?”

“Yes. Thank you again for procuring it for me.”

“It will only be needed for the beginning of our journey. As we travel farther south, you’ll notice that everyone sheds their outer clothing.”

“I look forward to the warmth, as I look forward to many new adventures,” I said.

He smiled, touched his cap, and left. I did not quite know what to make of Mr. Gilpin.

Miss Whipple appeared on deck later, vowing cheerfully that she only wanted to breathe some fresh air. I considered inviting her to my cabin, which at least had a porthole for fresh air, but then remembered Mr. Gilpin’s warning. Snowe worked with Mr. Harrison and Mr. Akers, after all, and I did not want to bring criticism to him by my presence with Miss Whipple. I did not know if her reputation was known among the other passengers, but no doubt it soon would be. Being seen with Miss Whipple on deck could be accounted to coincidence, but a game of whist in the cabin clearly involved an invitation and willingness toward friendship.

Miss Whipple took one look at my navy blue sailor’s jacket and wrapped her own stylish black pelisse closer. “I cannot believe you selected that out of choice,” she teased.

“It may not be all the crack, but it is quite warm,” I said. “Mr. Gilpin gave it to me only this morning.”

“Ah, Gilpin,” she said, smiling. “Now there is a naval man for you.”

“I do not take your meaning.”

She leaned against the rail, her eyes fixed on the ocean’s gentle waves. “He is all that is right and good about the sailing profession. Duty, honor, charity. I suppose he has even mentioned his mother?”

“Why, yes, he has.”

She smiled. “I would lay you odds that he cannot break free of her grasp,” she said. “Why, he is probably interested in you, Miss Goodrich, but has no doubt already found something about your nature-or will find something-that would be troubling to dear Mama. And so he shall never approach you in anything more than a brotherly fashion.” She paused. “Like Phineas Snowe.”

I was not certain I cared for the turn of the conversation. “I am not after any man, Miss Whipple,” I said. “Nor do I want them to approach me in anything other than friendship.” And that, with Snowe, is dubious indeed! “I want only to complete my task, which is to get to China.”

“And what does Phineas say about that?”

How much should I divulge about our agreement? How much did she know, anyway? “He does not want me to go,” I said, choosing my words carefully. “He does not think it advisable, nor do the other passengers, apparently. Have you met them?”

She shook her head. “I have seen them from a distance. I avoided breakfast for that express purpose, though we are bound to meet at some point during this voyage.”

“What do you think they will say about you?” I said without thinking and, naturally, instantly regretted it.

She smiled. “I would hope they would comment on my fashionable dress or curly hair,” she said. “What would you have them say about me?”

“I only wondered if they knew about your rep-that is, your life, your, er…” I trailed off, certain my face was three shades of red.

“I do not think it is stamped across my forehead,” she said mildly. “If you choose to tell them, then of course I cannot stop you.”

“I have no intention of such!”

“Then… why must we speak of it?” She smiled as if to say that I was forgiven.

Snowe joined us later, and Miss Whipple made some excuse to depart. I had the distinct impression that neither of them cared to be present together in my company, and I wondered if they were at odds. “Is your company business settled?” I said as Snowe and I strolled about the deck.

“For now.” He said no more.

“Mr. Snowe, have you found-”

He stopped short. “Can you not refer to me as Phineas? It is my Christian name.”

I glanced down. “That would be unseemly.”

“We share a cabin. We pretend to be brother and sister. Would it not be better for our ruse to stay in character at all times? Suppose someone should overhear you call me Mr. Snowe?”

“I had not thought of that.” It did make a certain amount of sense. “I suppose you will want to call me Isabella?”

“If I may,” he said. His polite tone did not fool me; he would call me what he willed.

I pretended to agree. “Very well, then. As I was saying… Phineas. Have you found a sword for me?”

He sighed. “These things take time. I cannot simply conjure one out of the air.”

“Of course not. I would not want you to.”

We strolled side by side along the deck. The ship rolled gently along the water, and the sun warmed my unprotected head. Yet the touch of Phineas’s fingers on the arm of my new jacket gave me a chill. Who is this man?

I cleared my throat. “Mr. Snowe-”

“Phineas.”

“It occurs to me that I know little of either your background or your current affairs with the East India Company. You have the obvious advantage in that you know a great deal more about me-where I was raised, my family, for example.”

“Very well, what would you like to know?”

“Tell me about your family. Are they alive?”

“I grew up in the north country, near York. My father was an East India naval man and is no longer living.” He paused. “My mother, however, is still alive.”

“You mentioned before that you have a sister. Is that right?”

“Yes. My mother remarried, and I have one sister, as I mentioned earlier.”

“And your involvement with the East India Company? How did that come about?”

He shrugged. “I have long been interested in tea.” He stopped again and turned to face me. “Tell me, Isabella. Over the no doubt many cups of tea you have drunk in your lifetime, did you ever chance to think about where the precious leaves came from? Or did you, like so many, never think of them as traveling any farther than from your servants’ hands?”

Had I said or done anything to deserve such a rude tone? And did he think me so dull and uninquisitive as to never imagine life beyond Oxford? “Indeed, I often have thought on such. I have wondered about the hands that grew the leaves, nurtured them to fruition, picked them, carried them to who knows where to be purchased or traded then shipped to England.”

“I-”

I had read about tea and was just warming to the subject. “You are right when you say it is our lifeblood. I know the history of tea in our country is varied. For example, did you know that green tea was the popular type imported at first, then gradually black tea became more popular?”

“Yes, of course,” he said. “Have you ever had green tea?”

I shook my head. “I do not believe so, but I am interested in trying some.”

“Tea has been popular much longer in China than in England.”

“Indeed,” I said. “How many voyages have you made to the Orient?”

He shrugged. “I cannot recall.”

“But you speak the language well?”

“Fluently.”

He proceeded to walk aft, and I was forced to rush to keep up with him. I could hear the chickens squawking up on the poop deck, and I wondered if Mr. Swinney, the poulterer, were tending them. I also wondered how Bossy and the other milk cow were faring and resolved to check on them later. “Mr. Snowe?”

“Phineas,” he corrected.

“Phineas, then.” I sighed. “I know this will be a voyage of great length. Mr. Gilpin has graciously offered to loan me some of his books so that I may read to pass the time. As well as to improve my knowledge.”

“Really? I should think that you were quite near the end of your learning experiences.”

“One can never learn all there is in the world. I am always anxious to improve myself. Which reminds me that I have another request for our agreement.” I held my breath. “I would like for you to teach me to speak and read Chinese.”

“We have already set our bargain and the terms upon which it is based.”

“Nevertheless, I would like to learn Chinese.”

He burst into laughter. “You are jesting, of course. Chinese is a particularly difficult language to acquire. I told you and your uncle that back in Oxford.”

I did not so much as smile. “But I am in earnest. It is a long voyage, and I have a skill for languages. I would particularly like to know Chinese so that I can better communicate with the people I hope to serve once we reach our destination.”

“Your destination is Cape Town!” His eyes snapped fire.

Two seamen stopped their work in coiling a rope and turned to stare. I sighed. I might have known that Snowe would fight me. I lowered my voice. “Then think of it as a way for me to pass the time. And perhaps you as well. You must find these voyages tedious. I am sure that you would find me an eager, as well as capable, student.”

He said nothing.

“Can you fault one Englishwoman for attempting to learn about another culture?” I paused. “We could even begin with the Gospel According to St. Luke that you gave me.”

He looked at me with surprise. “Do you still have it?”

“Unless someone has moved it, it is probably still in the straw with the cattle.”

He thought for a moment. “In truth, Isabella, I do find these voyages somewhat tedious. One can only discuss company business for so long.”

“Then… shall we retrieve the Gospel from the cattle area?”

He sighed with resignation, evidently realizing that I was dead set on achieving my purpose. “Very well. Let us fetch the tract.”

We made our way below deck. No man was present, only beast. I preferred to believe that the cattle recognized me, but that would be mere fancy, of course. I recognized my favorite cow right away. “Bossy,” I said sweetly and patted her gently on the broad, smooth skin between her eyes. Snowe waited while I entered the stall and retrieved the book, which was lying just where I had left it, hidden in the straw. Thankfully, it was tucked away near the railing and out of range of the cattle.

“Shall we read it right here or take it above deck?”

“As kindly as the cattle treated me when I was their unwelcome guest, I do not fancy staying here any longer,” I said blandly. Bossy looked at me with her enormous bovine eyes and-I tell no falsehoods here-licked me as a lady’s lap dog would show affection.

“It would seem the cattle, however, would have you visit,” Snowe said, his voice tinged with amusement. He wrinkled his nose. “I admire the sight of pastoral scenes, but I am afraid the stench is somewhat overwhelming. Perhaps we could find a quiet place on deck or, barring that, our cabin.”

Our cabin. I could not become accustomed to that phrase. Somehow it was easier under cover of bedtime darkness to acknowledge that we shared a room. I shivered a little at what would happen to my reputation were the truth known. “Perhaps we could use the cuddy,” I suggested. “We would be out of the way of the crew.”

“Very well.” Phineas helped me back through the gate then latched it securely. He wrinkled his nose once more. “You stayed in here with these beasts for as long as you did?”

I nodded, raising my chin. I did not want him to think me some missish society woman. “I am not someone to trifle with, Phineas Snowe. I can live with one beast or another if it is required.”

He smiled at me and stepped back to allow me first access to the steps leading above deck.

Snowe appropriated a shallow pan from Mr. Gilpin. At his further request, Mr. Gilpin also ordered a midshipman to relieve a sandbag from enough of its contents to cover the bottom of the pan. “Thank you,” Snowe said, leading the way to the cuddy.

Hurrying to keep up with him, I was mystified. “I thought we were to study Chinese,” I said.

“We are,” he said over his shoulder. “Have I disappointed you in any way yet?”

Yet! Yet? Did he mean to make a future with me?

Snowe set the pan on the table and smoothed the sand flat with his hand. From his coat pocket, he withdrew a smooth black stick. I laughed. “Do you always carry that with you?” I looked closer. It was not only smooth but painted with tiny flowers and birds and was more pointed at one end and rounder at the other. Intrigued, I pressed closer. “What is that?”

“It is a chopstick,” he said, holding it up for my inspection. “It is an eating utensil in China.”

I laughed. “How does one use it to eat? It would seem difficult indeed to spear a pea.”

He ignored my mirth and withdrew another stick. “You eat with two of these, held between the fingers like this.” He held them in his right hand so that they looked like natural extensions of his fingers, clacking them together to show me how they could grab and pinch. I was not certain how one could cut roasted beef, but perhaps he had something similar to a knife in his jacket as well.

He put away one of the chopsticks. “For purposes of our lessons, we will only require one.”

“But I thought we would practice speaking first. Why do we need this sand in a box?”

“Paper is scarce aboard ship, and we must make do. As for writing instead of speaking, there are a multitude of dialects in China but the same written language. It has been the only way that people from different areas could communicate. I thought it would be the easiest for you to learn first.”

With the thick end of the chopstick, he drew a character with three smooth strokes. “Chinese does not have an alphabet like English or other languages,” he said. “It is based on pictures to represent ideas.”

“And what is that?” I gestured at the symbol he had drawn in the box.

“Do you not recognize it? It was the symbol that was on your slippers the night we met.”

I leaned closer. “I see it now.” I glanced up at him, cocking my head. “You told me that night that the symbol meant love.”

He stared at me for a moment, his dark eyes studying my own. I felt a peculiar pull between us, something foreign to my nature, something warm and enticing.

Abruptly, he turned and wiped the character away with his hand until the sand was smooth again. “I did not speak the truth that night, Isabella.”

“Then what does it-” No! I would not ask. He heard me voice the beginning of the question, yet he ignored me while he drew figures in the sand. Which Phineas Snowe was I to believe? Had he lied the night of the Ransoms’ party or was he lying now?

Snowe drew a short line, apparently prepared to attend to the business at hand with no other false starts. Well and good. At some point I would learn the meaning of the mysterious symbol.

He cleared his throat. “Isabella, are you paying attention? As I was saying, there are eight basic strokes. You must be careful to make them in the proper order for each character to appear correct…”