“I hope so.” She slung a knapsack over her shoulder. “Ready, Grandfather? Until we get to the stable where we’ll pick up the donkey, rest one hand on my shoulder, shuffle along with your shoulders bent, and don’t speak. No one will ever suspect that you’re a foreign devil.”
He grinned. “Lay on, Macduff. Or rather, lay on, Montgomery.”
She gave a swift smile. “We’ll have no quotes from the Scottish play, Grandfather. It would be bad luck.”
She looked so enchanting that he raised her chin with one finger. “Then we should have a kiss to improve our luck.”
He meant the kiss to be light, but as soon as their lips met desire crackled between them. She made a choked sound and drew closer, her lithe frame touching him from chest to thighs. His obscured vision increased his awareness of how soft her mouth was, how erotic the small movements of her body against his.
He was equally conscious of her uncertainty—had she ever been kissed before? Probably not—and her yearning. So sweet, so welcoming…
Hell. Wanting to kiss her senseless was the wrong way to start. Breathing quickened, he stepped back. “An auspicious beginning to our journey.”
Slowly she raised her fingers to her lips, her eyes almost black as she stared at him. Then she gave a small shake of her head. “Bats would be more auspicious, Grandfather. Or cranes.”
When she turned toward the door, he set his right hand on her left shoulder and followed. With the cords digging into the soles of his feet, it was easy to shuffle like an old man with bad joints and no vision. It gave him more sympathy for his father, afflicted with gout and weak eyes.
They left the hong by the back gate. Moving at a pace suitable for an infirm old man, Troth led them to a street that ran from the Settlement to the city gate a few hundred yards away. All such roads were guarded and blocked with wickets every night so no Fan-qui could enter Canton.
They reached this one just as the guard was moving the wicket aside to open the street for the day’s traffic. The guard greeted Troth casually, waving them past with only a bored glance at Kyle.
The door into China had just opened.
Chapter 14
England
December 1832
“You don’t ride?” Dominic asked with surprise as he turned from a stall containing a magnificent dark bay horse.
Troth dropped her eyes, feeling as if she’d committed a faux pas. “I’m sorry, no. Only a donkey now and then. I lived in cities, you see.”
“Regrettable, but not incurable. That is, if you’d like to learn riding?” The last was an afterthought, uttered as if he couldn’t imagine that anyone wouldn’t want to ride.
“I should like to try it.” Nonetheless, Troth eyed the bay doubtfully. It was very large, and had a challenging gleam in its eyes.
“Don’t worry, I won’t put you on Pegasus. He’s a handful even for me.” Dominic stroked the horse’s handsome nose, his expression suddenly bleak. “He was my brother’s horse, you know. Kyle gave him to me the day before he left England.”
Troth had a swift mental image of Kyle galloping across the hills on the horse, his dark brown hair blowing in the wind. The pair of them would have been a magnificent sight. She swallowed hard. She and Kyle had had so little time….
Dominic touched her elbow, guiding her down the row of stalls until they reached a placid chestnut. “Cinnamon will do nicely for learning. Here, give her this.” He placed a chunk of carrot on Troth’s palm.
She nervously offered it to the chestnut, thinking that the beast could probably take her fingers off if so inclined. Horses might eat grass, but those teeth were large. Cinnamon took the carrot with the daintiness of a fine lady, her soft lips lightly tickling Troth’s palm. Charmed, she stroked the horse’s nose and received a friendly nuzzle in the ribs. “I think Cinnamon and I shall do well together.”
“I’m sure you will.” Dominic smiled, but his eyes held the haunted sadness that had been there since he’d learned of his twin’s death. He treated her with great gentleness, as if her relationship with his brother entitled her to special care. “Isn’t the dressmaker coming today? Have a riding habit made up so we can get you started.”
She made a face. “Madame Champier must be here by now. I’d better return to the house, or Meriel will be cross with me.”
“Only a fool would risk her displeasure,” he said gravely, but there was a twinkle in his eyes. Though he and his wife behaved with propriety in public, it was easy to see the powerful bond between them. Six years they’d been married, yet each still lit up like a candle when the other entered the room.
Troth thought wistfully of their marriage as she walked back to the house. Might she and Kyle have ever achieved such closeness? She doubted it, for his heart had been given elsewhere. But it made a sweet, melancholy dream.
The day was cold, with a stiff wind chasing clouds so sun and shadow changed continually. One of the first things Meriel had done was find a heavy cloak for her new sister-in-law. Properly garbed, Troth found the wintry conditions much less uncomfortable than on her original journey from London to Shropshire.
During her fortnight at Warfield Park, Troth had been accepted seamlessly into the household. The children, Philip and Gwyneth, rushed up to her when she entered the house. “Tarts!” Gwynne said excitedly.
“We’re going to the kitchen to help with the Christmas baking,” her older brother explained. “Would you like to come with us?”
“I’m sure that Lady Maxwell has other things to do.” Their nurse, Anna, came forward and took the children’s hands.
Troth brushed her fingers over Gwynne’s white-blond hair. “I’m afraid that’s so, but perhaps another time? I’m sure the baking will continue for days.”
Gwynne left with a melting glance over her shoulder as Anna led them off to the kitchen. Five and three, the children had blithely adopted Troth as an aunt from the beginning, though there had been an awkward moment at their first introduction when Gwynne had asked why Aunt Troth had strange eyes. While Anna blanched at her charge’s rudeness, Meriel had calmly said that Troth came from a part of the world where her eyes were normal, and Gwynne’s would look very strange. The child had accepted that with perfect composure, and they’d become fast friends.
Troth would have enjoyed the preparations for Christmas, if the holidays hadn’t meant that she would soon meet the other members of the Renbourne family. Though Dominic and Meriel had accepted her as if half-Chinese widows of dubious background were normal, Troth feared that others, especially the formidable Earl of Wrexham, would be less welcoming.
She reached Meriel’s sitting room to find her sister-in-law cross-legged in the middle of the floor, surrounded by bolts of fabric and trimmings as she chatted with the dressmaker. Delighted by the countess’s informality, Troth said, “I’m sorry I’m late.”
The dressmaker inhaled, her avid gaze going over Troth. “Oh, milady Grahame, you were right,” she said with a lilting French accent. “What a pleasure this will be!”
Troth blinked. “Excuse me?”
“I told Madame Champier that you have a unique beauty, and she is anticipating the pleasure of dressing you,” Meriel explained.
Troth felt heat flooding her face. “You mock me.”
Meriel rose lithely from the carpeted floor. “You truly don’t believe yourself beautiful, do you?” She took Troth’s arm and turned her toward a mirror. “Look at yourself, not as a woman who is neither Chinese nor Scottish, but as you are. Your graceful figure, your eyes, your beautiful bones. Even in the plainest of garments you are lovely. Dressed well at the Christmas ball, you will make men stop in their tracks and youths wilt over their poetry.”
Troth stared at the mirror, trying to imagine such a wild fantasy. True, her skin was good, her hair thick, and the auburn highlights did not seem odd in England. But she still looked strange, neither Oriental nor European. Of course, Kyle had claimed to admire her appearance. Perhaps the English simply lik
ed eccentric-looking women.
“If you say so,” she said doubtfully.
Meriel sighed, but made no further attempts to persuade Troth. Instead, she and Madame Champier began discussing what fabrics and styles would best suit her.
Troth endured the consultations and measuring patiently. What was the English expression—trying to make a silk purse from a pig’s ear? But Meriel was obviously enjoying herself, decorating her sister-in-law in the same spirit with which she created lavish arrangements with flowers from the glass houses. Troth owed her the amusement, for Meriel had been kindness personified.
Half a world from her birthplace, she was finally Troth Montgomery, a female and a member of the Renbourne family. She had not felt such a sense of belonging since her father died. It would be hard to leave. Dominic and Meriel had said she could spend the rest of her life at Warfield if she chose, but of course she could not accept their offer. Unlike Meriel’s two sweet old aunts, who lived in the dower house and were part of the family, Troth was not blood kin, and she didn’t want to wear out her welcome.
Besides, she must go to Scotland. She’d stay at Warfield through the winter, then travel north. Not to find her father’s relatives—she doubted they would receive her as kindly as Dominic and Meriel had. But she must see her father’s homeland—the compulsion was as strong as Kyle’s desire to visit Hoshan. Perhaps she would look for a cottage that could become her home.
She had so much freedom now. She just hadn’t realized how lonely freedom could be.
Chapter 15
Canton, China
Spring 1832
The back of Troth’s neck prickled as she and her “grandfather” walked through the Dragon Gate into the city of Canton. Though she hadn’t said as much to Maxwell, she thought of their passage through the city as a test. She would cancel the journey if his appearance attracted potentially dangerous attention.
If he was discovered in Canton it would be a scandal, but a minor one. The viceroy would express outrage, Chenqua would have to kowtow and apologize, a fine would be paid—but no real damage would be done. Fan-qui traders often chafed at the Eight Regulations, and Maxwell’s transgression would be considered a childish prank. Being found in the countryside could not be passed off as a prank, and the consequences would be far more severe.
Still, they were off to a good start. She’d worried that Maxwell might not be serious enough about his disguise, so she was pleasantly surprised at how well he performed as a feeble old man. His slumped shoulders made his height less noticeable, and he kept his head down, though she was sure that behind the layer of gauze his eyes were eagerly scanning the teeming, noisy streets. The less that was visible of his face the better. Even with the bandages, a careful observer might realize that his covered nose was too large, his chin and mouth wrong for a Han Chinese.
His mouth…
Heat washed through her at the memory of his kiss. What a devil he was, to stir her senses so casually! Yet he had not been unaffected himself. She took comfort in that.
She glanced at him over her shoulder, as she had done regularly since they left the hong. Luckily, anyone who noticed would think her merely concerned for her aged companion. She was pleased to see that the swirling crowds were respectful of his gray hair, with people swinging wide to avoid jostling him. Though reverence for age was a foundation of Chinese society, she hadn’t fully appreciated how his disguise would spare him from being constantly buffeted by strangers.
Knowing that Maxwell wanted to see as much of Canton as possible, Troth chose a route that took them by a number of the city’s most interesting structures. Many were too filled with people to make exploration wise, but when they passed the Examination Hall, she paid the porter a few coins so they could go inside.
She led him into a long, narrow lane flanked by hundreds of tiny brick cells. When she was sure no one was within earshot, she said, “This is where scholars take the exams in literature and philosophy so they might qualify for the Civil Service.”
Maxwell straightened and walked into one of the cubicles. “Are these cells for those who fail? They look as if they’re meant for punishment.”
“No, these rooms are where the exams are taken. Candidates must spend two days and nights inside as they write their essays. They are watched from that tower.”
“How many examination cells are there?”
“About twelve thousand, I think.”
He gave a soft, un-Chinese whistle. “Twelve thousand poor, suffering students, desperate to prove they’ve learned enough to qualify for a government job. No wonder the atmosphere is so oppressive. The bricks must be saturated with the misery of young men who know that their entire futures depend on how well they do.”
“Suicide is not uncommon among students preparing for the exam, or those who fail.” Though her male identity had given her the freedom to roam the city, she’d visited the Examination Hall only once years earlier, when she hadn’t fully appreciated the significance. “It’s rather…frightening, isn’t it? Yet grand at the same time.”
“Grand?”
“In a way, this hall represents the very heart of China. For two thousand years this nation has been civilized, creating poetry and philosophy and planting gardens.” She felt a piercing sense of loss. “Periodically conquerors swept in from the barbarian northwest and declared themselves the rulers, but always they adopted Chinese ways.
“Our system of government goes all the way back to Confucius, who believed that the wisdom and temperance of scholars would provide a just and virtuous state. Every government official at every level has proved himself knowledgeable in the classics of our literature and philosophy. Is there another nation on earth that can say as much?”
“None that I’ve heard of. Two thousand years ago, the inhabitants of Britain were wearing blue paint and Jesus had yet to be born,” he agreed. “But the stability of the Confucian system has also created stagnation and rigidity, along with far too many petty rules and even pettier officials.”
“True, yet there is great good in allowing any peasant boy with ability to take the exams. If he does well he can end up a provincial governor or imperial censor. Sometimes a village will band together and sponsor a local candidate, hiring tutors to prepare him in hopes he will bring honor to the village.”
“A system based on merit has much to commend it. There is nothing so comprehensive in Britain.” His bandaged face swung toward her, eerily featureless. “This is the first time I’ve heard you say ‘we’ and ‘our’ when talking about China.”
She realized that was probably true. “Perhaps I am feeling more Chinese now that I am preparing to leave.”
“You don’t have to make your final decision until later,” he said quietly. “You can return to Chenqua’s household if you choose, or stay in Macao.”
She was tempted to seize on the comfort he offered, but couldn’t. Though her secure iron rice bowl waited at Chenqua’s, she had changed too much in the last weeks to ever be content with that again.
And it was all Maxwell’s fault.
As they left the grounds of the Examination Hall, Kyle wondered how he would have done under such a system. He’d always excelled at his studies, but only because they interested him. He’d never had his whole life weighing in the balance. He had been born shod and hosed, as the saying went. Never had he been truly tested, not the way Dominic had been during his time in the army.
The clamor and color of the streets were a refreshing contrast to the stone solemnity of the Examination Hall. After weeks trapped in the narrow confines of the Settlement, Kyle found Canton exhilarating. Luckily, the discomfort of the cord rubbing his feet with every step kept him in his role of creaky old man.
Several times they passed temples, most of them small neighborhood places of worship, but one a grand and gaudy structure lushly decorated with statues and carvings. He studied the structures wistfully as he and Troth shuffled past. Before they reached Hoshan, he must get her to t
each him the proper forms of worship so he could visit the temple without calling attention to his ignorance.
The crowds thinned as they passed a dismal, official-looking compound. On the pretext of steering him around broken paving stones, Troth took his elbow and said quietly, “This is the magistrate’s yamen—his office and court, and a prison as well.”
Kyle’s mouth tightened as he saw prisoners chained to the iron bars outside, prey to the insults and harassment of passersby. Most of them crouched against the bars, heads bent and shoulders bowed. He watched as an old lady spit on one of the malefactors. In a society where “face” was considered vital, this public humiliation was a formidable punishment.
A man stumbled from the yamen, a massive square of wood locked around his neck and wrists. Kyle had heard of the device, called a cangue. It was rather like a personal and portable version of the stocks that had once been used to punish minor offenders in England.
The wearer of the cangue was a short man who might have been a street vendor. He staggered under the weight of the wooden slab, jerking his head about in a futile attempt to avoid the tormenting flies that buzzed around his face. Kyle slowed at the sight, but Troth gave a sharp jerk of her shoulder to get him moving again. Outside the magistrate’s prison was no place to linger.
By the time they reached the stable that housed their donkeys, he was so saturated with images and sounds that he looked forward to the quiet of the countryside. Troth stationed him at the entrance and walked into the back, calling out in Chinese.
He would have liked to explore the establishment, but supposed that a decrepit blind man wouldn’t. A pair of skinny dogs came up to sniff around his ankles, then growled. Could they tell from his scent that he was a foreigner, or were they just bad-tempered? He stood very still until the dogs moved on.