Norton, Andre - Novel 23 (8 page)

 
          
 
Saranna echoed her laughter. "Good
enough. You teach me Chinese and I'll teach you whatever I can. Is it a
bargain, Damaris?"

 
          
 
But the other was still wary.
"Maybe."

 
          
 
Having seen Damaris into bed, Saranna groped
her way back to her own room through the thick dark of the hall. She wished she
had brought a candle with her. There was something about this darkness—twice
she paused to listen. Was it only her skirts brushing against the wall as she
felt her way along which had evoked that faint whispering? She had to believe
that. But she found her heart beating faster and she whisked around her own
door and into her room as if some presence she did not care to meet had been following
her along.

 
          
 
Millie was there with a fresh copper jug of
hot water. She had pulled the trundle bed from its place beneath the
four-poster and spread it up, while Saranna's gown and nightcap were laid out
ready and waiting. Seeing those, the whole fatigue of the day settled upon the
girl and she willingly made ready and crawled into the bed, seeing Millie light
a small shielded night candle as if this need for some assurance against the
full power of the dark was accepted as a matter of course in Tiensin.

 
          
 
For the second time, Saranna had the dream
about the wall which was a living hedge. But this time, she thought she
recognized it for the one she had seen from her window, that which closed off
the hidden section of the Tiensin garden. Now, along the foot of those
somber-leaved bushes were pairs of eyes. Not as small as those which had caught
the lantern light on her entrance to Tiensin, but large, glowing, trying to
fasten and hold her own gaze. That she feared above all, that she would become
prisoner to the eyes.

 
          
 
She tried to run, yet her feet would not obey
her, rather they moved of themselves, carrying her nearer to the hedge and the
waiting eyes. Somewhere a voice imperiously uttered a command she could not
resist—called the strangely accented words Damaris had spoken:

 
          
 
“Kuei-Fu-Lu-Li —" And then added another.
"Mei— Mei—Mei—''

 
          
 
Saranna awoke. The dark was broken by shafts
of gray light from the two windows. The night candle had burned out. She could
hear the heavy breathing of Millie from the trundle bed. But somehow she could
also still hear that echoing "Mei— Mei — Mei —"

 
          
 
Slowly she repeated the strange word to
herself, trying to fix the alien accent. This was only a dream, of course, yet
she had a longing to know if she had carried out of it a strange word which did
have a meaning.

 
          
 
Saranna sat up in bed. Furniture looked out of
the shadows, the bulk of the pieces taking on an alien appearance in the early
hour. Not threatening—just strange. As if in the night hours, bed, dressing
table, wardrobe, all the rest, had played other roles.

 
          
 
She shook her head. Imagination—fancies—very
wild fancies— Perhaps this was the type of fancy which Damaris voiced, which
made Honora speak of her as being too nervously excitable.

 
          
 
Excited the child had certainly been last
night. But there had been nothing
really hysterical
nor fantastic in any of her talk. That she hated Honora was plain. And also
that she had had a strong tie with her grandfather. Perhaps Captain Whaley had
had little liking for his son's wife and had communicated that too frankly to
an impressionable child. Though Saranna tried to be neutral and just, she had
to admit that her sympathies lay, in any such dispute, with those opposed to
Honora. Her own dealings with Jethro's daughter had not been such as to foster
any close ties between them.

 
          
 
Then the light touched the small table beside
the lamp, and there Saranna saw again the Mountains of Peaceful Contemplation.
She slipped off the wide expanse of the bed, tiptoed past Millie and stood,
shivering a little in only her nightgown, fingering the piece.

 
          
 
Brown jade—a brush rest. She had always
thought jade was green. And writing with brushes instead of a pen—yes, others
had spoken of that. How odd it would seem. But this— this was truly a treasure.
She must ask Damaris—

 
          
 
Not wanting to light the lamp, Saranna carried
the piece to the window to study it more closely, but when she got there, she
stood instead looking down at the hedge. It was the one in her dream! She
almost found herself hunting the eyes which had shone so brightly along the
roots of those bushes.
Though those were not there.

 
          
 
But there was a flicker of movement. Saranna
leaned so close to the pane that her forehead touched the chill of the glass,
striving to see
better
.
Movement
indeed.
A small cloaked figure edging along the thick
brush.
Some servant's child—but why so early?
And Millie had said that they all feared a "haunt" having connection
with the closed-off space of the garden. Surely no black child would dare to go
so close.

 
          
 
Then—Damaris! But why— And—

 
          
 
Saranna blinked.

 
          
 
The figure was gone! But—surely she had seen
it! She was no longer dreaming. Damaris—if it
were
Damaris— where had she gone?
For the girl had vanished as
quickly as if she had been snuffed out like a candle flame.

 
          
 
Saranna turned back into the room and looked
about her for clothing. In her haste, buttons refused to slide easily into
their proper holes, tapes became exasperatingly tangled. But at length, she was
properly covered, though she did not stop to do more than bundle her hair
loosely into a net.

 
          
 
Snatching up her shawl, she ran out of the
room. The hall was dark, but up the stairwell came not only light but faint
sounds as if, early as it was, some members of the household were already awake
and about their duties. Saranna had no desire to be seen or questioned. Until
she knew more about Damans' activities she had no idea of destroying any
possible friendly relationship by such betrayal of the child's actions. Somehow,
without realizing it, she had crossed a line of neutrality in spite of her
wishes and found herself allied with Damans. At least until she learned that
the little girl might have been drawn into some folly.

 
          
 
The sounds came from what Saranna decided must
be the kitchen, but that she avoided, reaching the door through which she had
been ushered the night before. The latch gave easily, and then she was out in
the open, though away from the hedge.

 
          
 
She must round the comer of the house to see
that. Dew soaked the hem of her
skirt,
wet the
stockings above her low-heeled slippers. Saranna gathered up her skirt and ran,
seeking the place where she had seen Damans disappear.

 
          
 
Only when she reached the hedge, she
discovered it was another matter to locate the exact spot. Seen from ground
level the growth had a different appearance than it did from the second story
window. She could not even be quite sure at this moment, looking back at the
house itself, just which window was hers.

 
          
 
Thus she had to go slowly, studying the hedge
and the ground. There was light enough now to show some tracks— small smudges
in the dew-dampened soil and grass. Heartened by that sight, she trailed along,
watching as carefully as might a woods hunter.

 
          
 
The tracks ended abruptly, and Saranna could
discover no other indication that the one she tracked had gone beyond this
spot. But neither, she was almost certain, had the child returned to the house.
Then—where had Damaris gone?

 
          
 
There was only left the hedge wall itself!

 
          
 
With that answer, Saranna began to study the
growth with care. She allowed her shawl to flap free, using her hands as well
as her eyes to explore. A portion of bough gave. Now Saranna faced a break in
what had earlier appeared an impenetrable wall. Low and narrow—meant much more
for the passage of a child.
Could she, in her full skirt and
petticoats, her bigger body, squeeze.
through
?
Saranna was determined to try.

 
          
 
Branches raked at her, her hair net caught,
and, when she tugged to free herself, it was scraped off so that long strands
fell free across her shoulders. But, somehow, she wriggled and pushed until she
did reach the clear space beyond.

 
          
 
Straightening once more to her full height,
Saranna swept her hair from her eyes to look around. At first glance, it would
seem that she had entered a tangled wilderness which bore no relation at all to
the well-tended, mown, and pruned section about the Manor House. Then she saw
that she stood, not on a gravel path such as she might have expected to find,
but a curving walk made up of small pieces of stone set in no pattern but
roughly together. This wound and turned so that, within only a few feet, it
rounded a stand of trees and disappeared.

 
          
 
Saranna was tempted to call Damaris, yet there
was such a quiet in this place that she shrank from breaking it. The longer she
gazed at what lay about her, the more strange this world beyond the hedge
seemed. As if she had passed through a door into a country unlike that she had
always known.

 
          
 
Hesitatingly, the girl moved along the path,
rounding the growth of small willows which veiled the further section from the
hedge. Again she paused with a deep drawn breath. Before her now was a perfect round
gate buttressed on either side by rough rocks and beyond that was—

 
          
 
Saranna might have been looking once more at
the Mountains of Peaceful Contemplation. For here, on a much larger scale, but
still in miniature, more rocks had been set up in such an uneven design as the
artist had carved in the jade. The water of a pool reflected them in part, and
the pool, in turn, fed a stream over which was a narrow, humpbacked bridge.
This gave on a small terrace of dull red stone on which stood a very small building.
In the wall of that, facing her, was a window fashioned in the form of a
four-petaled flower which was filled with a lattice tracery of oddly angled
branches and a bird all of stone, yet as delicately worked as might be a piece
of fine embroidery.

 
          
 
The roof of the building had sharply slanted
sides falling from a center ridge quite highly raised.
And
the eaves up-curved at the four comers.
As a breeze stirred the early
morning air, Saranna heard a faint chime of bells, as if they had been set
a-ringing by the wind itself.

 
          
 
Just as she was about to move forward to the
bridge, drawn by a need to see more of this fantastic place, Damaris appeared
around the side of the flower-windowed building. Catching sight of Saranna, she
stopped, and there was no mistaking an utter dismay, which speedily became
fear, on her face.

 
          
 
"No!" Again she flung up her hand in
much the same gesture she had used the night before when she believed that
Saranna threatened the brown jade carving. "No!"

 
          
 
She ran over the bridge, coming straight to
the older girl.

 
          
 
"You spy!" she cried out. "I'll
tell the Princess. She'll make you sorry—sorry—sorry!"

 
          
 
She flung herself at Saranna, her face
flushed, striking at the older girl with both fists.

 
          
 
Saranna was nearly thrust off balance and had
to struggle to catch those small fists while Damaris kicked at her in
a frenzy
.