The China Bride

by Mary Jo Putney

  Wu Chong chopped his hand down and barked a command.

  Into your hands, O Lord, I commend my soul.

  A crowd had gathered outside the walls, silently waiting for Feng-tang to be cleansed of the foreign devil. Troth stood apart from the others, so tense her bones might snap if someone spoke a hard word to her. Surely in the last day Wu Chong had realized the folly of killing a European. Even now he might be reconsidering his sentence.

  Inside the walls, a harsh voice shouted, “Fire!”

  A volley of gunshots shattered the morning air with thunder, echoing from the stone walls of the compound. As dark smoke wafted upward, Troth jammed her knuckles against her teeth to suppress her agonized cry.

  Kyle Renbourne, Viscount Maxwell and lord of her heart, was dead.

  Chapter 27

  England

  Christmas Eve 1832

  “‘And it came to pass in those days that there went out a decree from Caesar Augustus, that all the world should be taxed.’ ”

  As the vicar’s sonorous voice filled the small stone church, Troth closed her eyes and drank in the familiar words. When she was a child, her father would always return to Macao to spend the holidays with his family, and on Christmas Eve he read the nativity stories to his household in a voice not unlike that of the Warfield vicar.

  Seated in the family pew between Dominic and his sister Lucia restored the sense of belonging that had vanished with her father’s death. During her years in Canton she’d privately read the nativity stories from her father’s Bible at Christmas, but it hadn’t been the same. Tonight she felt like a Christian again. Her father would have been pleased.

  In true Chinese fashion, her reverence for Kuan Yin and the Buddha were undiminished by her joy in Christmas. Kyle had understood her need to honor both spiritual paths—in fact, he’d shared it—but she doubted that many other English people would. Perhaps Meriel might—Troth suspected that her sister-in-law was more pagan than Christian. Tonight, though, the countess was entirely proper, listening to the service and choir like a serene, silver-haired angel. She was even wearing shoes.

  The service ended. Voices softer and smiles warmer than usual, the worshipers left the church to return to their homes. Carriages waited for the Warfield party, but when Troth saw that a light snow was frosting the hills, she said, “I’ll walk back. It’s not far, and the night is so pretty.”

  To her surprise, Dominic said, “I’ll join you, if you don’t object.”

  “Of course not.” She took his arm, and they made their way to the footpath that led to the estate, traveling half the distance that the carriage road did. As always, she found bittersweet pleasure in Dominic’s company. Though she tried not to think of Kyle, in the snowy night it was impossible not to dream of what had never been.

  They were halfway to Warfield when Dominic said quietly, “The holiday makes everything worse. I keep thinking that last year at this time, Kyle was alive. He spent Christmas in India, and wrote me that he missed having a proper English celebration. He…he promised he’d be here for Christmas with the family this year.”

  “He was looking forward to coming home and seeing you all.” Troth’s fingers tightened on Dominic’s arm as she recognized why he’d wanted her company. As the only person at Warfield to have seen Kyle in seven years, her presence brought him a little closer to Dominic. “Strange to think that a year ago, I hadn’t even met Kyle. How could such a short acquaintanceship make such a difference?”

  Dominic smiled a little. “Meriel turned my world inside out in a matter of days. Love does that.” His smile faded. “In my heart, I still can’t quite believe Kyle is dead. Sometimes at night I feel like I could reach out and touch him. He doesn’t seem gone, but there’s an…an ache in my spirit when I try to find him.”

  She understood that ache well. “Perhaps that’s proof that the spirit survives death. Somewhere he still exists, feeling sadness for what he has left behind.”

  Dominic glanced at her. “Do you really believe that?”

  She sighed. “I want to.”

  They came to a stile. Dominic climbed over, then gave her his hand to help her across. Knowing him had helped her understand Kyle’s gentlemanly manners, and why it had chafed him not to treat her with the gallantry he thought a woman deserved. She’d loved those occasions when Kyle had cared for her as if she were precious porcelain. Such a lovely contrast to the masculine life she’d lived for too long.

  Her skirts brushed snow from the stile as she stepped down to the ground. Only a fluffy inch or so had fallen—just enough to change the wintry hills to fairyland. “Kyle said that if you didn’t believe I was his wife, I should ask you about the time you were trapped in the Dornleigh priest hole. You never doubted. Surely it must have occurred to you that I was an impostor.”

  “Never.” Dominic took her arm again as they approached an icy stretch of path. “Your love for him was unmistakable. No impostor could have shown that.”

  Troth blinked against stinging eyes. Had she been so transparent? She wondered if Kyle had known how she felt about him. At the time she had tried desperately to conceal her unseemly emotions. He’d wanted a guide and a mistress, not a lovesick woman. She’d used all her carefully honed skills of deception to show him the face he wanted to see.

  Now that it was too late, she bitterly wished she had told the truth.

  BOOK II

  Long Road Home

  Chapter 28

  Macao, China

  Spring 1832

  Bleakly Troth slipped unchallenged from Feng-tang and made her way across country, keeping to narrow roads and the smallest villages, sleeping rough to avoid attention. Her one ambition was not to be identified as the Fan-qui’s accomplice; imprisonment would prevent her from fulfilling the charges Kyle had laid upon her.

  Not daring to travel through Canton, where she might be recognized, she circled west and walked the extra eighty miles to Macao, using fatigue to numb her grief. It was a blessed relief when finally a fishing boat carried her the last stretch across the channel to the island city that was the only place in China where Europeans could live.

  She felt a poignant sense of homecoming as she walked along the Praya Grande. Macao was home in a way that Canton had never been. On the streets were people of every race known to man, and mixed-blood faces that resembled her own. Her life would have been very different if she’d been taken in by a Macanese merchant rather than Chenqua after her father’s death. Perhaps she’d be married and have children now.

  But she never would have known Kyle, and instead of a happy marriage, she might have been forced into prostitution and an early death. Best not to question fate. She found a quiet corner and took Kyle’s ring from the money belt, sliding it onto her left hand and clenching her fingers to ensure that it wouldn’t slip off. Her wedding ring.

  A few inquiries took her up the hill to Gavin Elliott’s residence. It was close to the house she’d been born in, with a similar wide veranda and spectacular views over the city and the Pearl River. Praying that Elliott hadn’t left Macao on a trading voyage, she rang the bell.

  The porter who answered took one look at her ragged, filthy garments and said, “Begone, boy. We’ll have no beggars here.”

  She caught her breath as she recognized the old man who had been her father’s porter. Since he had some understanding of English and Portuguese, it wasn’t surprising to find him in another European household. Taking off her tattered straw hat, she said, “That’s a poor sort of greeting, old Peng.”

  His jaw dropped. “Miss Mei-Lian?”

  “Indeed.” She moved past him into the house as if she were still the young mistress. “Is the Honorable Elliott in residence? I must speak to him.”

  Peng bobbed his head. “Aye, you’re in luck. Another two days and he’ll be off to Singapore. I’ll tell him you’re here.”

  “Announce me as Jin Kang. That is how he knows me.”

  Peng raised his brows at the masculine na
me, but went off obediently. Within a minute Gavin Elliott raced down the steps three at a time. “Thank God you’re back, Jin! You’re weeks overdue. Where is Maxwell?”

  Throat tight, Troth gestured him into the drawing room and shut the door so they had privacy. “Lord Maxwell is dead.”

  Elliott’s face paled. “Dear God in heaven. I had a bad feeling about the trip, but I’d convinced myself I was worrying unnecessarily.” He stalked to a window and stared out, his hands clenched tightly behind him. “What happened?”

  Voice faltering, she described how Kyle’s identity had been accidentally revealed, and his arrest and execution. Saying the words out loud for the first time made his death seem real in a way it hadn’t before. This was not a bad dream she would wake from.

  “At least…it was quick.” Elliott muttered a blistering oath. “So bloody unnecessary! I don’t think Maxwell understood how much he could be hated because of the color of his skin and the shape of his eyes.”

  That was true. Despite his aristocratic upbringing, Kyle had taken a rare and unbigoted pleasure in the world’s diversity.

  Elliott turned away from the window and regarded her with bleak eyes. “What of you, Jin? Maxwell told me that your father was a Scottish trader, Hugh Montgomery, and that you were born here in Macao. Do you still want to go to England?”

  “I must. I promised Kyle to personally take the news of his death to his family.”

  Elliott’s brows rose a little at her use of the familiar name. In a burst of defiance, she untied her queue and shook her hair loose the way her husband had liked it. “Kyle said you hadn’t known Hugh Montgomery left a son. That’s because he didn’t. My father left only a weak, worthless daughter named Troth.”

  “Sweet Jesus.” Elliott stared at her. “All of these years, you were disguised as a man? Unbelievable—and yet now that I look at you, I wonder why I was ever fooled.”

  “People see what they expect to see.” Except those like Kyle, who looked closer. “I was of no use to Chenqua as a female, so Troth Montgomery vanished.”

  “Just as today, Jin Kang vanishes.”

  She relaxed a little, grateful for how quickly he’d grasped the dilemma that had ruled her life for so many years. “There’s more, Mr. Elliott.”

  She raised her left hand to reveal the Celtic ring. “Kyle married me in prison the day before he died. I thought he was mad, but he said that a mutual pledge was all that was required in Scotland. I don’t know if it was legal, but it was what he wanted.”

  “And what you wanted also, I think?” Elliott said gently.

  His perception crumbled the willpower that had held her together in the weeks since Kyle’s death. She began to cry, great, agonized tears that racked her body. She spun away, humiliated at her complete loss of control, but unable to check her wrenching sobs.

  Warm arms encircled her as if she were a child. “You’ve had a damnable time of it, lass,” Elliott murmured. “But you’re safe now.”

  Strange how much differently he treated her now that he knew she was a woman and half-Scottish. Though he’d always been courteous and respectful of Jin Kang, to Troth Montgomery he gave the kindness of a big brother. She burrowed into his arms, crying for the loss of a rich, vital life that had so much to offer the world. For the loss of the man she’d loved, and had hardly begun to know.

  When her tears finally ran out and she drew away, she saw that Elliott’s eyes were damp. He’d lost not only a partner, but a friend.

  Turning practical, he said, “I’ll order refreshments—you look as if you haven’t eaten for a week. Tea, or something stronger?”

  “Tea. And any kind of food.” Wearily she sank into a deep chair as he rang for a servant and ordered a quick meal for his guest.

  He took the chair opposite. “Forgive me for the impertinence, but might you be carrying a child that could be Maxwell’s heir?”

  “No.” She closed her eyes. The night she’d discovered that, she’d curled up in an anguished ball and wept until dawn. “Unfortunately.”

  “I’m sorry—but it makes your situation easier,” he said pragmatically. “Maxwell’s family is unlikely to challenge the marriage if you aren’t a threat to them. Even if they do prove difficult…well, I’m willing to accept you as his heir, which means you own a quarter of Elliott House.”

  Her eyes snapped open. “I…I never thought of that.”

  “You’ve had more important things on your mind. Even if the Renbournes refuse to acknowledge you as Lady Maxwell, your share of Elliott House should provide you with enough income to live comfortably. More than comfortably, if I have my way.”

  “It…it seems too much when we were married for less than a day.”

  “Maxwell married you to insure your future. Don’t feel that it’s wrong to accept what he wanted to give.” Elliott eyed her speculatively. “I’m planning on opening a London office. If you’re a partner and living in England, you can have a strong voice in running it. You know things about China no Fan-qui ever will.”

  She covered her eyes with her hands, not prepared for this new world opening in front of her. It was hard to grasp that she, who had been a minor hong employee, was now a partner in a powerful American trading company.

  Guessing her thoughts, Elliott said, “This must all be a shock, but you’ll have five or six months to prepare yourself for the role of the widowed Lady Maxwell. Just take everything one step at a time.”

  One step at a time. “I…I must have European clothing made. All I have is what I’m wearing.”

  “And the sooner that’s burned, the better. I know a seamstress who specializes in clothing for European women. She’ll take care of you.”

  A servant arrived with a tray of food and a pot of tea. Elliott sipped a cup while Troth ate. She hadn’t realized how hungry she was. When she finished, she said, “Peng mentioned that you’re off for Singapore in two days.”

  Elliott frowned. “I’m afraid so. I can delay perhaps another day, but no longer.”

  “There’s no need for you to change your plans on my account.” She gave a wintry smile. “I’m used to managing for myself.”

  “But you don’t have to now. That’s why Kyle married you.”

  Close to tears again, she poured more tea. “The most important thing for you is to arrange for his body to be retrieved so he can be buried in England. I think it’s best to go to Mr. Boynton, since he’s head of the East India Company’s Chinese operations.”

  “A good idea—he has more influence with the viceroy in Canton than any other European. I’ll go this afternoon and tell him the whole story. Since Maxwell was a British nobleman, the Company will cooperate fully.” Elliott frowned. “Does Chenqua know what happened?” When she shook her head, he said, “You’ll have to tell him.”

  He was right, of course. She’d mentally tried to compose a letter during the long walk from Feng-tang. Though she hadn’t liked the role Chenqua chose for her, he’d acted honorably as head of his household and her guardian. She owed him gratitude for all he’d done. And, though she’d always feared him a little, she also felt respect and affection. “I will write him before I leave Macao.”

  “You’ll stay here, of course, even after I’m gone.” Elliott frowned thoughtfully. “There’s an English ship in port now. It will be sailing for London early next week. Just long enough for you to take care of necessary business and acquire a wardrobe.”

  The sooner, the better. She yearned to escape China and its ghosts. Rising, she asked, “Is there a guest room ready? I’m very tired.”

  “Of course.” He rang for the comprador, who ran the household, then escorted her to the drawing room door. “Anything you want, you have only to ask.”

  She gave him an uneven smile. “You’re very kind. Kyle provided for me well when he married me out of pity.”

  Elliott raised her chin with one hand and studied her face, surprising warmth in his eyes. “He didn’t marry you from pity, Troth Montgomery.”
<
br />   After that cryptic remark, he turned her over to the comprador, then left for the Company’s headquarters. Grateful that Kyle’s death was no longer her burden alone, Troth went to her room and fell onto the bed without stripping off her filthy garments.

  She slept for twenty hours.

  Though Troth had lived in the household of a powerful man for fifteen years, she’d never had that power exercised on her behalf. Over the next days, Elliott organized her life with dizzying speed and efficiency. By the time he left for Singapore, a day later than planned, her voyage to London had been booked and her wardrobe was well under way. He also arranged a letter of credit on his London bank, explaining that the money was simply profits due to Kyle. She felt well cared for indeed.

  The seamstress clucked disapprovingly when Troth insisted on dark colors and sober styles for her Fanqui wardrobe. Though she was a bastard who had lived a highly irregular life, she would look respectable when she visited Kyle’s family.

  Her private obligations were the hardest. The first was to compose a letter to Chenqua in which she explained her actions and Lord Maxwell’s death. Though she begged his forgiveness for her disobedience, she did not suggest returning to Canton and her old life. She’d paid too high a price for freedom to relinquish it now.

  Then she visited the Protestant cemetery where her parents were buried side by side. A peaceful, walled enclave, it was as much garden as burial ground. Her father had helped buy the land and establish the cemetery, which had been badly needed since the only other Christian burial ground was Catholic, and neither the Catholics nor the Chinese had wanted to accept Protestant bodies.

  Hugh Montgomery hadn’t expected to be buried here himself, though. He’d spoken sometimes of the lowland kirk his family attended, and the fine view it had of the Scottish hills. Nonetheless, she sensed that he was content to lie in the exotic land where he’d spent most of his adult life. “Good-bye, Papa,” she whispered as she laid flowers on his grave. “In your honor, I swear to visit Scotland. I…I wish you were going with me.”