Norton, Andre - Novel 23 Read online

  "Oh, it's you, Rufe!"

  "Yes, it's me, Missie. And where’ve you been? Don't you remember about going off by yourself—what Miss Honora said would happen if you did?"

  Saranna moved out, to put her arm about Damaris' thin shoulders.

  "Damaris was not alone," she eyed the newcomer narrowly. "She was showing me the garden."

  5

  KO CHANGE

  He was, Saranna decided upon survey, not much older than herself—perhaps only by two or three years. Though he wore clothing with some pretense to fashion, it did not fit his stocky body well. And above a creased stock his round face, with its blubbery Hps and small eyes had, in her estimation, no claim to be even a mildly pleasant countenance. He was grinning now, his stare at her bold enough to make her uncomfortable, though she trusted she did not reveal any sign of her uneasiness.

  "Well, now, ain't you the spitfire!" The young man spoke with what Saranna found to be odious familiarity, such open rudeness as she had never met before in her life. As if—as if she were a serving maid in some tavern.

  If Mrs. Parton possessed an iron poker for a backbone, in that moment Saranna developed a steel rod along her own spine. She gazed back at this stranger with all the quelling hauteur she could summon.

  "Yes, now, a regular red-headed spitfire," the impossible young man continued. "Me, I like 'em with a bit of fire— makes it more fun like—"

  Was he out of his mind? Saranna could not believe that she really had heard his freedom of speech. No one in her whole life had ever so dared step across the boundaries of good manners. She thought of Mr. Fowke. Friendly, he had been, but always a gentleman. This—this creature was manifestly not!

  She would not answer him. To speak was to admit he was on a level which could even be noticed. Instead, she caught Damans' hand.

  "Come—"

  For an awful moment, she thought this fair-haired lout was actually going to step into their path, physically restrain them from escape, and her heart beat faster. However, instead he laughed slyly, and made an ill-formed bow.

  "See you again, spitfire. Miss Honora, she's a-waitin' up to the house. Best get along, she's a lady as doesn't like to be kept a-waitin'—"

  Honora—here? Saranna felt Damaris jerk back against her hold, as if the child would have willingly run back into the hidden garden. But Saranna looked down at her.

  "We must go," she said.

  Damaris nodded. "He better not go poking around where he isn't wanted," she glanced back over her shoulder at Rufe. "Or he'll find more than he knows."

  She had spoken in a voice hardly above a whisper, plainly meaning her threat to be heard by Saranna alone. While Saranna made up her mind firmly that she intended to demand Honora not allow her—or Damaris—to be again exposed to the insulting behavior of the housekeeper's son.

  As they hurried back to the house, she once more contrasted him in her mind with Mr. Fowke, even with the common seamen who had, in the not-too-distant past, sailed with her father. There had been rough, untutored men in that company, but never had one ever addressed her with such familiarity, as if he were fully her equal and intended making her aware of that and of himself.

  This Rufe was supposed to be away at school (though he looked well overgrown and certainly not a schoolboy), but what kind of a school? And how dared he use that tone of voice, such words, to her?

  It was as if Damaris could read the thoughts passing through the older girl's mind, for the child said suddenly:

  "No use you ever complaining about Rufe, you know. She likes him. He never talks that way around her. Just is always ready to do what she says. She doesn't ever believe people who try to tell her things she doesn't like to hear—"

  Saranna's anger was still well aroused, too much so to accept that warning.

  "She will hear what I have to say!"

  "Better not. If she gets mad at you—" Damaris looked very sober, "she can make you a lot of trouble. I always just listen. Then I plan how to do what I want in spite of what she says. The Captain always told me—'Let the storm rage, but just ride it out-—then go about your own business.' "

  Saranna had dropped Damaris' hand since they were now in the hall away from the bold gaze of that—that creature! She was trying to order her hair, draw on the net which confined it. But the wise comment Damaris had just uttered made her pause. That the child had been encouraged so to circumvent her stepmother was another inkling of how Honora had been regarded in this house while its master was still alive.

  Only that rancor he had encouraged now lived on, past his own demise, and might be a worse trouble for his beloved granddaughter than any help. Why had he not seen that? Saranna could well believe that Honora was one who would have her own way, either ignoring any obstacle, or disposing of it ruthlessly. And if Damaris were considered an obstacle to anything her stepmother truly wanted— Saranna tucked in a last wandering lock, more intent now on what might be the situation here than her own disheveled appearance.

  Honora's tales of an unhealthy inheritance, her hint of mental instability where Damaris was concerned— Was there some dreadful purpose about that, not just reaction to perhaps some such outburst as Saranna had faced in her chamber? If so—then how could she herself warn the child—?

  "Good morning, Saranna, Damaris. What have the two of you been doing—grubbing about in the garden?"

  There was amusement and distaste blended in that voice. Once more Saranna met the lady of the house (and her complete ease here established her in a role which poor Damaris was as yet too young to play) descending the staircase. This time Honora did not wear her mauve silks and laces, but was dressed for riding, the long skirt of her habit held up in one hand as she descended. Her fair curls were displayed to the best advantage under the brim of a leghorn hat with the rim looped up on both sides, and from that a feather drooped nearly to her shoulder. The habit was of lavender cashmere (it seemed even in such matters Honora kept to her half-mourning), but it was enriched by needlework in black of vines, flowers, and arabesques, its bordered sleeves slashed to reveal under ones of black net, the same material forming her chemisette.

  "You had better wash—thoroughly—“ Now the distaste had the upper hand in her tone. "Breakfast is on the table. Have the goodness to remember that Mrs. Parton has many duties and do not delay over long—"

  She waited for no reply, having set them on an equal basis, as naughty children. Saranna, to her own inner anger, found herself obediently climbing the stairs to make a hurried correction of the many faults of her morning toilet. When she issued forth from her chamber again, Damaris was waiting at the head of the stairs. "You won't tell?"

  Saranna shook her head. "I promised,” she returned.

  Honora was seated behind the coffee service with the same accustomed ease of manner as she had displayed in the Baltimore house. And Mrs. Parton stood before her replying to searching questions concerning provisions.

  "I, of course, shall have supplies sent from the city,” Honora was saying. "After all, country fare is hardly what we would wish to place before such guests. When Mr. Fowke settles in at Queen's Pleasure, we may expect more select society here. I have promised him to ride over today and give my opinion of what is necessary to enhance the great parlor. Ah, there you are, Saranna, Damaris."

  She nodded to them as they slipped into their chairs, managing to convey that they were both lacking in manners, burdens which she must bear.

  "Who is coming here?" Damaris demanded bluntly.

  Honora smiled. "Friends, my dear. There will be a party of ladies and gentlemen out from Baltimore. You must strive to make a good impression. Though of course, you will not be seen very much. Little girls do not enter into company—"

  "I did not invite theml” Damaris’ thin face was flushed.

  Honora paused in filling a cup from the silver coffeepot. Her smile was not in the least diminished by the interruption.

  "Of course not, Damaris. You are hardly of an age to in
vite company to Tiensin—“

  "And this is not your house!" Damaris concluded as if her words were meant to drown out any answer from Honora.

  "Little girls," Honora accented the little, "who are rude are also punished. I fear that your nervous health is not very good, my dear. We shall have to have Dr. Meade come down and see you—“

  Saranna could hear the gulp Damaris gave. The child's eyes, fiercely bright, were centered on Honora who made no attempt to meet that steady gaze, but continued to center her attention on her cup, the waiting pot, as if the graceful transference of hot liquid from one container to the other was all that mattered in the world.

  Danger! Saranna was as aware of that troubling the atmosphere of this sunny morning room, which should be so tranquil and restful, as if someone shouted a word of warning. Damaris must remember to follow her own advice—not give Honora the least chance to prove that she was excitable, perhaps unstable.

  "Now, Saranna." Having silenced her stepdaughter, Honora turned to the older girl. "Naturally, being in deep mourning, social festivities will not appeal to you. We shall aU understand that, and Millie will serve your meals in your room while we have company. But there is a pleasant surprise. Rufus Parton is here. He will be very glad to take you boating on the river if you wish, or escort you riding—"

  Saranna only just managed to suppress an outburst of indignant anger. Rufus Parton—to take her boating—riding —that—that lout—that insulting lout! But with Mrs. Parton standing still at Honora's side, she discovered she could not protest.

  There was an odd look on Mrs. Parton's face, a kind of gloating smugness. Saranna could not be sure of that entirely, but she was sure that the housekeeper was pleased.

  She was able to contain her protests. The advice which Captain Whaley had given his granddaughter could also be applied to her own present situation.

  "We shall plan it then, Mrs. Parton," now Honora had dismissed Saranna from notice as well, "for the twentieth. The wisteria will surely be in bloom by then. And Parton must have the garden room well cleaned out for dancing. The food will be down from Baltimore by the fifteenth. See that it is kept on ice. We will need all the strawberries which are in the orangery— and any other fruit which can be forced there—"

  "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 bet
ween 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.