Norton, Andre - Novel 23 (10 page)

 
          
 
"Yes, ma'am."

 
          
 
So the company was not to arrive at once.
Which would give her, Saranna, time to reason with Damaris so that
the child would make no outburst.
She shifted uneasily in her seat. Her
present position seemed far too much like that of a captain who recognized
storm warnings ahead but could not alter his course.

 
          
 
"Oh, Saranna," Honora once more
addressed her, "my father was unhappy that you did not say good-bye to
him, but he understood your need to be quiet after your sad loss. He shall be
gone so long—" Honora's eyes were still on the fragile coffee cup she turned
about in her white hands, studying the design thereupon as if it were an
important letter she must read.
"Six months—perhaps a
year.
You may have made other plans by the time he returns—"

 
          
 
That there was a suggestion in that, Saranna
was sure. Honora meant her to be gone before Jethro's return, though she was
unable as yet to guess the reason. Very well, if she could, she would be, the
girl determined. Though as yet she had no idea how her escape from Tiensin and
all the crosscurrents under its roof might be managed. "Yes, John?"

 
          
 
It was as if Honora had eyes in the back of
her head, for she had not looked around when the door opened and a houseman
stood there. "Mr. Fowke, ma'am—*'

 
          
 
Honora put down her cup in a hurry, was out of
her chair with a rustle of skirt, to face the man who entered.

 
          
 
He, too, wore riding clothes, his boots shining,
with small silver spurs to jingle as he walked.

 
          
 
"Gerrad—" Honora held out both
hands, her face alight. "But you are early! Will you not have coffee then
before we go, and some of Mrs. Parton's biscuits? I vow she bests even your
Aunt Bet when it comes to biscuits! Naughty man, you have quite surprised me.
It is lucky that I was ready early, not playing the lie-abed city belle. Do sit
down. Mrs. Parton, send Elvira for the biscuits and some of our mint honey— And
fresh coffee—hot coffee!"

 
          
 
Mr. Fowke laughed. "Honora, your
hospitality over-whelms me. Very well, I shall judge Mrs. Parton's biscuits,
and I shall taste your coffee. I must confess that I should — serve it also,
since I am now an associate of the firm bringing it hither.
But
so far.
Aunt Bet refuses to try it, and one does not argue with the
genius who presides over the kitchen.”

            
"But you are master,"
Honora replied. "It is your wishes which should be carried out. You are
far too lenient with her, Gerrad. Sometimes she acts as if Queen's Pleasure is
her domain and not yours."

 
          
 
He laughed again. "Maybe in some ways it
is, Honora, she has certainly been within its walls, and trying to keep it
running, far longer than I have. I owe her much for those lost years. But I am
forgetting proper manners—Good morning, Miss Stowell, Miss Damaris—" He
had disengaged himself from Honora's hold on his hands, bowed in the direction
of Saranna and Damaris, giving the younger girl the same deference he would if
she were truly grown-up.

 
          
 
Saranna murmured something, feeling ill at
ease in the way Mr. Fowke always affected her when he noticed her in company.
On the fog-enshrouded boat, she had not this sense of being weighed, compared
to Honora. But Damaris, smiling, arose from her seat and went to him.

 
          
 
"There are lily buds in the pool
again," she said, her eyes alight, "and I think there are going to be
more. They do look like those in the water painting!"

 
          
 
"You must show me. Has Horace shown up
lately? Does he still look like Judge Pryde?"

 
          
 
"More like Fa Kuan Chiao Lao Te,"
Damaris answered. "Yes, he is back on his own special rock again. I think
he must really be one of the Honorable Old Ones—among toads—"

 
          
 
"Damaris," Honora still smiled, save
for her eyes,
"
do let Mr. Fowke have his coffee.
John is bringmg a fresh pot now. And I think you had better not chatter in that
heathen tongue. It is not at all polite when the rest of the company does not
understand you. I have spoken about this matter before."

 
          
 
Saranna expected the girl to flare up at
Honora's interruption. Instead, she regarded her stepmother calmly.

 
          
 
"I am sorry. I forgot you do not know
Chinese. Pray do excuse me." Her self-possession now was as unusual to
Saranna as her early outburst had been. But she returned to her seat sedately,
as if every point of good manners had been drilled into her.

 
          
 
Only, Saranna, watching her, caught that wink,
and a swift glance showed that Gerrad Fowke returned it, unseen by Honora who
was supervising the placing of fresh plates, a cup, saucer, and all else Mr.
Fowke might need to share their breakfast.

 
          
 
"And you, Miss Stowell, what do you think
of Tiensin?" he asked.

 
          
 
"What I have seen of it has been most
interesting." Under Honora's gaze, her answer could be nothing but formal
and remote.

 
          
 
"Has Damans shown you all the
treasures?" Mr. Fowke continued to turn his attention toward her, though
she wanted to escape his notice. Added to that self-consciousness she continued
to feel in his presence was the firm conviction that Honora was less and less
pleased when any of his interest strayed from her own person.

 
          
 
"Not yet." She knew that her answers
sounded almost rude in their brevity, but she longed for nothing more now than
to escape from this room.

 
          
 
"But she must. Captain Whaley knew
perhaps more about Chinese art than anyone now in this country. He was a
remarkable man in many ways," Gerrad Fowke continued. "When I was a
boy, hardly older than Damaris here, I came once when ashore to visit at
Queen's Pleasure and chanced to meet the Captain. When he discovered I was
interested, he brought me here for a grand tour. But I was too young and
ignorant then to know just what I was seeing, except that it was wonderful. It
is indeed just what the Captain declared it—a treasure past price."

 
          
 
Now Honora was regarding him intently.
"Heathen idols and the like?
Why, who would want such
things?" she asked.

 
          
 
"A good many
collectors, nowadays, Honora.
Merchants in the
Indies
trade are beginning to know the difference
between the bright trash the Chinese make for the foreign trade and that which
they cherish for themselves. Yes, I think the Captain did leave a real treasure
at Tiensin. I hear you have invited Henry Walsworth here, Honora. You'll find
it hard to get rid of him again once he sees a little of what the Captain
gathered together."

 
          
 
"Mr. Walsworth—" Honora repeated the
name as if to fix it more firmly in her mind.

 
          
 
"Now—" Mr. Fowke pushed back his
plate a little, took a last sip from his coffee. "I freely admit that Mrs.
Parton's biscuits match Aunt Bet's best. But don't you tell her so. She will
then try to outdo her record, and I shall be inundated with biscuits for weeks
to come. If you are ready, Honora, we had best be on our way. I want to be sure
that the new mantles are carefully handled, and you must tell me what you have
decided concerning the Great Room draperies—“

 
          
 
"Oh, I will. And I have a surprise,
Gerrad. Mrs. Parton has packed a hamper—we can picnic by the river—"

 
          
 
She rested her hand on his arm as they went
toward the door. A moment later it closed behind them, but not before Mr. Fowke
had looked back and said good-bye to each, a gesture which Honora completely
neglected.

 
          
 
"He shouldn't have said that,"
Damaris glanced about as if to be sure that both Mrs. Parton and John had left
them alone.

 
          
 
"Said what?"

 
          
 
"About the treasure.
She listened, didn't you see it? Now she'll be thinking about it—
And
it belongs to Tiensin!"

 
          
 
"Of course it does." Saranna was
ready to agree. "Will you show it to me, Damaris?"

 
          
 
For a long moment, the child regarded her in
silence. As if she were weighing Saranna in some balance of her own. Then she
nodded.

 
          
 
"You understood—about the Mountains. Come
on then—"

 
          
 
For the next two hours Saranna wandered,
amazed. Here Damaris was no child. She spoke with authority about screen, bowl,
carvings, vase,
lacquer
work, jade, bronze. She
pointed out this or that quality which made the piece in question unique of its
kind. And Saranna grew more and more in awe of all Damaris had absorbed and was
able to recall. Nor did she parrot these facts as one who had learned it all by
rote; rather she spoke as one who knew exactly what each disclosure meant. Now and
then she used a Chinese word or expression, which she would translate when she
realized Saranna's complete bewilderment.

 
          
 
The older girl believed that her own education
well exceeded that of those girls her own age
whom
she
had known in
Boston
and
Sussex
. She had taken to book knowledge eagerly from the time she had learned
to read at four. But at least in this one subject Damaris far outstripped her,
and spoke with the authority of a collector of many years standing.

 
          
 
"Captain Whaley taught you all
this?" she asked at last, her amazement leading her once more to
questions.

 
          
 
"He and the Princess—she knows—"
Damaris flushed. Her hand flew to cover her own mouth, as if to smother the
words. But she had already uttered them. Now she looked frightened, almost as
if she were ready to burst into tears. All her authority was stripped from her.
Again, she was only
a
Httle girl, suddenly fearful.
"I—you must not ask me! Please, don't ask me!" The face she turned to
Saranna was piteous, and Saranna restrained her curiosity.

 
          
 
"It's all right, Damaris. I won't ask you
anything you do not want to tell me," she said quietly, soothingly.

 
          
 
"I—I remember things very well.
Grandfather always said

 
          
 
I did," Damans obviously was trying to
regain her self-confidence. "He said I had a quick mind. And he taught me
how to learn with my fingers. He would tie his handkerchief around my eyes and
give me something to hold—a piece of jade, or a bowl, or one of the bronze
horses. Then he would tell me to feel it all over, so my fingers would learn
how it should be. Afterward, he would bring out things—things like Mr. Fowke
called trash—those the Chinese make to sell to foreigners who don't know about
the real treasures. And he would have me feel those, too. So I would get to
know the difference. It was a game we played. I was good at doing it.
Grandfather said."

 
          
 
"Do you still do it?"

 
          
 
Damaris' eyes slid away hurriedly.
"Sometimes.
Maybe I can show you—but you have to be
real careful."