Norton, Andre - Novel 23 Read online

  Saranna, herself, stumbled back, Rufe having flung her away to free himself. He swung up his arm again, the crop ready, as if she were about to share the beating that the fox had been enduring. Then that horrible glistening of pleasure faded from his eyes, his mouth twisted in the smile she had detested from the first time she had seen it.

  "You got a right hard grip for a little girl like you. Miss Saranna." He rubbed his arm with his other hand as if she had indeed been somehow able to bruise both flesh and muscle. "Fiery temper, too. Some men would be mighty put out at your interfering when they were handlin' such vermin like they ought to be handled. But me, I'm all soft with a pretty girl—"

  "You know,” she put as cold a note in her voice as she could summon, "that foxes are neither mistreated nor hunted at Tiensin."

  He still smiled. "That was what the Captain always said, yes. But the Captain, he's gone. Gone where he can't come back to give any more orders about pamperin' vermin and such. Mrs. Whaley, now she understands proper. You can't go coddlin' beasts, you got to keep 'em down—teach 'em to stay away and act proper—not like they own this here place. Mrs. Whaley, I guess she's the one to give the orders here now. The Captain's day—that's all over."

  Before she thought, Saranna blurted out a denial of that.

  "Mrs. Whaley does not own Tiensin—" she began, and then stopped short.

  "You mean it all belongs to Missie?" Rufe laughed. "Maybe the law says so. But no little girl's goin' to have her say about this here manor—that ain't the law. Them in charge of her, they do the talkin', seein' as how they know best.

  "Now then, I don't want to have you mad with me, Miss Saranna. I told you, me I like red hair, I rightly do. Seems like you kind of have a foxy look your own self. Not that I mean that in a bad way. You don't find me down-speakin’ a pretty girl like you. We're goin' to be good friends once you got over your stiff ways. I can show you a good time—"

  Saranna swung away and stalked off, fighting the desire to muffle his voice out of hearing with her own hands over her ears. But she would not give him any satisfaction of knowing that he made such an impression on her that she loathed every word he said.

  If Saranna had shrunk from Rufe before, she detested him twice as much now for the nasty scene she had interrupted. His pleasure in the pain he had caused the captive fox was so shocking. At least the poor creature had escaped. She only hoped that the treatment it had been accorded would warn it away.

  But the boldness of the foxes at Tiensin was a matter of fact. They had never been exposed to ill-treatment. Surely some of them would come to a painful death if Rufe was allowed, even encouraged, to continue as she had seen him in action today.

  In the meantime, she must not let Damaris know what had happened. Saranna was convinced of that. If the child exploded into open rage against either Honora or Rufus, her outburst would be held against her. Whether she wished or not, Saranna now knew she had somehow assumed responsibility for Damans' future—to the best of her ability.

  Her resolution was sadly tried when she re-entered the house. There were voices—raised—and one shrill one which could only be that of Damaris. The clamor guided Saranna to the best parlor where she found the child behind a table on which lay a pile of soft cloths. Another was wadded into Damaris' hand as she faced Mrs. Parton.

  "Get out!" Damaris' face was flushed, she fairly spat the order at the housekeeper. "You know I dust these, that Grandfather would not let you lay a finger on his treasures, everl"

  "It is you who had better go, Miss Damaris," the housekeeper answered stolidly. "Mrs. Whaley has given orders you are not to handle the porcelain. There is too great chance of it being broken by carelessness—"

  "Carelessness!" Damaris was fairly screaming now. "I know how to handle these. Grandfather taught me. He never allowed her to touch a single piece of it! You know that! And she has no right to say anything about it anyway. It belongs to me, not to her!”

  "Miss Damaris—you're upset." There was a faint curve to Mrs. Parton's lower lip.

  Saranna shuddered. Though the woman retained an almost masklike countenance, there was a faint hint now of that avid cruelty which had marked her son far more openly.

  "Damaris—"

  Saranna moved forward with the same speed she had shown when she had ended the torment of the fox. Her hand fell on the child's shoulder, not in restraint, but as an attempt at warning.

  "My dear, of course Tiensin's treasures are yours." As she spoke through a sudden silence, she eyed Mrs. Parton over Damaris' shoulder. "And, Mrs. Parton, I think since Damaris has been handling these pieces for years and very cautiously, there can be no reason for suggesting that she has suddenly grown careless. Perhaps Mrs. Whaley does not understand the very great interest Damaris has in her grandfather's collection and her concern for it. Damaris," she now spoke to the child, "no one would presume to deny your ownership. Since everyone knows the truth of that, it is not necessary to stress such a truth so vehemently." Her hand, still resting on the girl's shoulder, pressed gently. She hoped that Damaris would understand and heed what she meant as a warning.

  If Mrs. Parton would have pursued that matter had she not come in, Saranna did not know. Now the housekeeper shrugged and turned away, moving with her usual silent walk, going out of the room as one who has performed her duty in giving an order, but would leave to others the consequences of that order not being obeyed.

  "She—" Damaris once more scowled, her eyes watching the door, "she does everything that one tells her. I want her to leave, Saranna. Maybe—" The scowl lightened; there was a strange expression taking its place. "Maybe there is a way to get rid of them both!"

  "Damaris." Tightening her grip on the child's shoulder, Saranna urged her around so that she could look straight into her face. For a long moment, it was as if Damaris was so lost in some secret thought of her own that she was not even aware of Saranna's presence.

  "Damaris!" the older girl repeated with force enough to make the other at least return her gaze. "You must be careful. You are only a little girl as far as Honora and most others are concerned. Everyone considers it perfectly proper for her to give orders in this house. With her father away, she is, in several respects, your guardian. I am afraid with such outbursts you will only make trouble for yourself—“

  "You mean she'll send for the doctor. That he'll say I don't know my own mind—"

  Saraima was startled. She had not guessed that Honora's estimate of her stepdaughter was known to the child herself.

  Damaris laughed, a harsh sound with no lightness in it. "Oh, I know what she says. I told you—I listen. Last winter she had a doctor here. They did not tell me he was a doctor even, but he talked to me a lot. I knew what she was trying to do, make him believe I didn't know enough to own Tiensin. But that time, it didn't work. I showed him some of the treasures. And I told him about Grandfather and all. He didn't give her any satisfaction. She was mad, I could tell that.

  "And—" again that shadow of a strange look crossed the girl's face. "I have something—something you—no one knows about. Something I can use if I really need help."

  Saranna had a sudden suspicion. "Damaris—the I Ching! Is that what you mean? But, child, you cannot depend upon anything like that! It isn't true, you know. You can't foretell the future, or use any—any kind of magic. That is all a falsehood."

  Damaris twisted out of her grasp.

  "I don't know what you mean, I am sure," she said stolidly. "What kind of magic would I know? That's all foolishness—“ Her quick agreement puzzled Saranna. She had been so sure that Damaris, after her solemn play with the wands earlier that day, had really shown herself a believer in some strange knowledge. Yet she now denied the fact as firmly as if that scene in her bedroom had never occurred.

  Instead, she was busy folding together her store of soft dust cloths with the air of one who had successfully finished a morning's labors.

  "I'm finished in here anyway," she announced. "And I won't touch
the library pieces until after lunch. You—" she nodded toward Saranna, "better get ready. Mrs. Parton won't hold back dishes for anyone. And if you're not there on time, the food gets cold—"

  As if no scene had ever occurred, Damaris marched out of the drawing room, leaving Saranna to meekly follow, not quite sure of either the situation or her designed part in it. Damaris now was no child to be protected; she had the air of someone far older than her years who was in complete charge of affairs.

  7

  KOU-MEETING

  If Rufe was a favorite of Honora's, at least he did not presume to attend family meals as Saranna had half-feared that he might do. She faced Damaris across the table they had shared with Honora and Mr. Fowke that morning, eating, in some state, a very good meal. No matter what Mrs. Parton's shortcomings might be in the field of manners, no one could deny that the house of Tiensin ran smoothly and well under her direction.

  However, Saranna made a point of joining Damaris after the meal while the child carefully dusted those pieces of her grandfather's collection which were on display in the library. She persuaded the child to discuss the "treasures" while she worked. Once more Damaris was completely lost in the realm into which Captain Whaley had so carefully initiated her. For whole long moments of time, Saranna, herself, could forget the unpleasant scenes of the morning, charmed by Damaris' explanations concerning this or that piece she was handling.

  When she had done and wadded her used cloths into a bag for washing, she smiled straight at Saranna.

  "You like these, don't you?"

  "Very much indeed."

  "Wait!" Damaris turned around to survey the shelf where she had just finished replacing the last piece. "This!"

  Her hand closed upon the figure of a cat wrought in pottery, the whole a delicate yellow shade, the eyes open holes —a night lantern Damaris had told her. "For you—" She held it out to Saranna. "Take it!" she ordered abruptly. "I want you to have it, truly I do. You can use it tonight—put a candle in it—"

  Saranna hesitated. Damaris' gift was impulsive. She did not doubt in the least that the child meant it, but it was an act which could be questioned. If she took it though, she could always return it later. And Saranna had no wish to arouse Damaris' opposition to the state of affairs now at Tiensin by pointing out that she might not be allowed to give away any of Captain Whaley's collection.

  "Thank you—very much." She put all the warmth she could summon into her voice. "Indeed, I will do just that tonight."

  Damaris nodded eagerly. "A night light is good, you know. I have one. She tried to say once I was afraid of the dark! I'm not, truly I'm not. But it makes one sleepy to lie and watch the candle glow. This is old. And it's yellow. That was a color only the Emperor or the Empress could use. Maybe this came from a palace a long time ago. When I'm older, I guess I'm going to China and see—"

  Again she broke off sharply, as if she were about to say something which must not be mentioned. Her quick glance at Saranna underlined her suspicion that she might have said too much. But the older girl asked no questions.

  "That would be wonderful," she commented. "To see such pieces in their own surroundings would be even better than looking at them here. And I shall feel very grand watching the candle flame tonight burning in a lantern which might have once belonged to the Emperor himself!"

  She carried the cat lantern to her chamber unobserved by any save Millie who was bringing in an armload of newly washed clothing. The maid's eyes grew round as she eyed the piece Saranna placed with care on the table near the bed. "That's a haunt thing!" She made a wide circle about the table. "Why for you bring it here, Miss Saranna?" "Miss Damaris wants me to use it for a night light." Millie shook her head determinedly. "Me, I don't want no haunt thing near me, no, I don't—'*

  She cast such a look of aversion at the yellow cat that Saranna was troubled. Millie would certainly talk below stairs and that talk would be picked up by Mrs. Parton, and relayed to Honora. Yet the girl felt sure if she returned the cat to the library secretly, as she had intended, Damaris would speedily discover the rejection of her gift Then the sympathy between them would vanish and Saranna might not be able to influence the young girl again.

  "Move your bed to the other side tonight, Millie,” Saranna suggested. "Then you won't be near it."

  "Better I sleep in with Rose. She's been after me to come—"

  Millie glanced at Saranna and then away quickly, as if she were suggesting something she felt would be instantly refused. But Saranna was relieved. She had never welcomed the idea of Millie sharing her chamber, for she felt that unwittingly Millie would relay to the servants every small action of her new mistress. She had a suspicion that that was what Millie had been set to do, though not perhaps with the girl's own knowledge.

  "Of course you may go with Rose," she answered at once. Millie beamed. "No need to tell Old Miss?" she added.

  "Old Miss?"

  "Mrs. Parton. She don't never come where the gals sleep. Never know I ain't here—'less you say so."

  "There is no reason for me to do that," Saranna replied.

  When that afternoon Honora returned from her visit to Queen's Pleasure she was in an excellent mood, well pleased with herself. Her constant flow of talk throughout dinner was of her own perfect suggestions as to the furnishings and decoration of the derelict Manor House which Mr. Fowke was fast bringing back into repair, and of how grateful he was for her interest and aid. She was so intent upon her own affairs that Saranna did not believe Honora noticed that Damaris was entirely silent during the meal, or that Saranna herself, made only short murmurs of assent at long intervals.

  When the meal was finished, Honora did speak directly to her two listeners:

  "Gerrad needs me again tomorrow, so I must get a good rest. It is so necessary that no mistakes be made now by the workmen. And, of course, I have the time free now, which will not be true when our guests arrive. So I shall be gone most of the day."

  If she expected either of them to show dismay at her promised absence, she would be disappointed, Saranna thought. By all the signs, Honora apparently cared for nothing now but her friendship with Gerrad Fowke, which was certainly approaching the culmination she desired—what appeared to be her forthcoming marriage.

  Saranna, on her way upstairs a little later (she had borrowed a book from the library and maintained she intended to read in her room), considered that marriage. To her mind, Gerrad Fowke was not only a sensible man, but one of some authority. Though he had chosen Honora, there might be a hope that he was not altogether under the dominance of the widowed Mrs. Whaley. His politeness to both Saranna and Damaris at their breakfast that morning, when Honora had clearly expected all his interest to be centered only on her, was a promising sign for Damaris' sake. It might be that in Mr. Fowke, the child would find the protection from Honora's schemes—

  To go directly to him with hints and suspicions—no, Saranna could not do that. He might well question her own motives, decide that she was only a malicious troublemaker.

  She must wait upon chance, or a greater understanding, to approach Mr. Fowke. Yet the thought of him provided her with a vague comfort for Damaris' sake. He was not a man easily fooled. And, though his connection with Honora was still a matter for Saranna's private wonder, she did not believe that he would be a party to any threat against the very young mistress of Tiensin.

  Her thoughts turned and twisted, and she could find no easy answer to many of them. Suddenly she remembered Damaris' remedy for sleeplessness, watching the candle night light in the cat lantern. Saranna arose, made her preparations for bed. When she was ready, she struck a match and lighted the candle.

  The round spots of radiance which at once marked the figure's eyes made her think once again of the fox eyes which had lined the hedge on the night she had arrived at Tiensin. That fox which had suffered at Rufe's hands, at least the beast had escaped! And she hoped it was far away by now, also that its fellows took warning.

  Had t
he cat she still eyed as she lay back now upon her pillows really been once the property of an Emperor; had it lighted some palace chamber half the world away? Saranna wished there were some way one could learn of all that cat had seen as it crouched for centuries, ready to beam out light from its hollow eyes.

  The slight flickering of the flame within the cat made those eyes seem to change—to watch first her and then another corner of the room. No longer did it seem just a piece of exquisitely wrought pottery; rather more like a living creature—on guard—

  Her own eyes closed, her tangled thoughts seemed smoothed, were fading, as if nothing that had alarmed her during this day could now trouble her night—not with the Emperor's cat watching—

  Saranna must have slept, for she awoke as if from a slumber so deep that her mind was a little bemused. She realized that she was sitting up in bed, listening. Listening as intently as if she expected to hear the footfall of some intruder creeping close.

  But it was no footfall that she heard now. No—it was— musicl But such strange, uncanny music. The sounds were like nothing she had ever heard before, shrill, with a scale of notes totally unfamiliar—weird—

  Yet—

  She must follow it, discover who—or what—made that sound! Saranna was being drawn to it as surely as if some leash lay on her, governing her freedom.

  Slipping from her high bed, the girl found her slippers and thrust her bare feet into them. Then she caught up her shawl which lay across the chair. In the Emperor's cat, the candle had burned low, its eyes were not as bright as they had been. Now they rested upon her as if in imperious order. Yes, she had no choice—she must go!

  Though the hall was dark and she had no lamp, Saranna sped down it unerringly, hardly knowing where she went. All that really mattered was what lay ahead—Now the stairs. The garden door, but that was bolted! She tore at the stiff bolt in a kind of frenzy until she shot it back to be free on the garden path.