by Jade Lee
"How long did you hold out hope? For someone from England?"
"A long, long time." He shrugged. "My pride needed to believe that someone would look for me. I was the son of an earl. Surely I was important enough to come find."
"But what if Higgins had died? You couldn't have known he came back to England."
Jie Ke shook his head. "It didn't matter. Someone would need to talk to my father eventually. Matters of the tide, perhaps, or a simple demand that he come home. Whatever messenger came would look for a white man in China. He would have found me—or so I believed."
"So you waited at the temple?" She tried to imagine a decade spent waiting for a messenger that never came.
"After what happened to my family, I was too afraid to travel back on my own. Certainly not until I was much, much bigger. And by then, I didn't want to go."
He spoke so casually of the past, but it couldn't possibly have been that easy. Not after the slaughter of his entire family. Not for a ten-year-old boy in a foreign land. "What happened to that angry boy? How did he change?"
He smiled and readjusted the shoulder of his garment. "You will laugh when you hear. It was my robe."
She stopped walking, turning enough so that she could study his face. Was he teasing her?
"I was so angry at being sent to find rags that I found the worst pieces possible, horrible bits of cloth that the rats didn't even want. Half of them disintegrated when boiled. You should have seen the water! Gray scum clogged with string. Oh, it was terrible!"
"You boiled them yourself?"
"Zhi Min's mother watched to be sure I didn't boil myself alive by mistake."
"I thought you lived at the temple. Why would—"
"Zhi Min's father was our guide through that part of China. When the bandits came . . ." His voice trailed off and she saw a dark fury settle on his features. But then he noticed her watching, and he slowly tucked it away. For the first time, she realized that his anger was not gone, just merely pressed deep inside.
"The bandits killed both your fathers."
He nodded. "Zhi Min's mother had no way to survive except to attach herself to the temple. It is a large complex that needs many hands. She helps with the washing and cooking, played mother to the street children who would come and go."
"To you?"
He nodded, a soft smile playing about his lips. "And she loves watching the novitiates wash their own clothing. With me, she watched and pointed and laughed the whole time. It's a good thing I didn't understand the language very well. I don't think my pride could have withstood the humiliation."
"But she made you do everything yourself?"
"Every last bit. And when half the rags fell apart, I had to go out and get more. Oh, I was angry. Ordered about by a washing woman? The great son of the Earl of Warhaven?"
"Did you ever refuse?"
He laughed, the sound light and whole as it filled their tiny corner of the night. "Many times. But if I didn't do the work to her satisfaction, I would not get dinner. Nothing to eat until the next night."
"Night?"
He nodded. "The monks do not eat before sundown."
"But you must have been starving!"
"I certainly thought I was. But then I saw real starvation: beggars who had not eaten for days, girls abandoned because the family could not afford them."
Evelyn shuddered. How strange was this place he called home. "But that's horrible! How can families be so cruel?"
He paused, his face a dark shadow. "Have you seen the rookeries in London? Do you know of the children there?"
She bit her hp and looked away. "I was never allowed in such areas."
He nodded. When he spoke, there was no condemnation in his tone. "Of course not. But places like that exist the world over, even right here in England."
She didn't respond, her thoughts too caught up in what he was saying. In the end it became too much. A world of starving children was beyond her ability to help. The best she could do was care for the crofters who relied on her, and that alone took up the better part of her time. Everyone thought that the men cared for the people who tilled their land, but it was the women who watched the children and helped the ill. Few understood how much work went into women's days. And it was the responsibility of the lady of the manor to be sure that it all got done, or so she had been taught. But then perhaps here was a man who did know, who did understand the labors of women.
"We were speaking of you," she prompted. "Of the rags and the washing."
"In time, I had gathered and washed enough material. Fortunately for me, Zhi Min's mother made sure the rags were clean."
"What would have happened if they were not?" she asked, thinking of beatings or other fearsome reprisals.
"It would have been a disgusting, smelly mess when I began to sew. A worse disaster than what I already had."
"Had you ever even seen a needle and thread? Did you know the basics of what to do?"
He shook his head. "Not a thing. But I learned between cuffs to the head."
"No!" She knew it was ridiculous, but she couldn't shake her shock that anyone would dare cuff an earl or the son of an earl. But of course, no one in China would care who Jie Ke's parents were.
"She never hit hard and it certainly was no more than I deserved. I had a foul mouth on me then, and Wen Xia was not a woman to accept disrespect calmly."
"This is the laundry woman? Zhi Min's mother?"
He nodded, and his gaze grew abstract with a tender smile.
"You care for her," she said.
He grinned. "She was more of a mother to me than my own. But in truth, she was mother to all the orphan boys at the temple. I was simply more stubborn than the others, so I required more of her attention."
"I cannot imagine what you must have lived through."
He stopped, turning to face her completely, his expression sober and terrible. "Do you not understand? It is not what I faced at the temple that was so terrible. It is that I had been raised so ignorant in the first place."
She frowned. "But you were an earl's son. Of course you wouldn't be expected to know how to sew or boil clothing."
"Do your crofters' boys know such things?"
She nodded. "Of course. They all have their tasks, but every child helps as they can."
"And why was I spared these basic skills in life? Because I had a tide? It did not help me survive. I was woefully unprepared, and too stupid to see that a name—Earl of Warhaven— did not make me any more or less worthy than anyone else. I was simply luckier."
She had no response except fascination. She had never heard anyone speak as he did. So she guided him to a bench in the garden near the house. He set the lantern on a sundial, and in the nickering light, his yellow robes seemed to glow.
"What happened then?" she asked.
He leaned back against the bench and laughed. "I sewed the most horrible, misshapen, threadbare, saddest-looking robe ever. Only to discover that I had been making my own clothing."
She blinked. "You didn't know they were to be your own robes?"
"The abbot hadn't told me, though if I had paid attention, if I had spoken to the other boys, I would have guessed. But I was too arrogant to speak to orphans, and too poor at the language to eavesdrop."
"So you made a terrible robe. Did you wear it?"
"Not at first. But my English clothing was in rags as well. One night Zhi Min stole them and told me he'd burned them. Oh, I was angrier at that moment than I'd ever been in my entire life. He'd been my only friend at the temple, and I called him horrible names. Thank God he was a better fighter or I might have killed him." He shook his head, his eyes focused on his memory. "I thought he had taken away my whole life."
"Of course you did! Those clothes were your last tie to England."
He shook his head. "That is what I thought, too. But they were only clothes, Evie. And I was no longer English."
"To yearn for the past, to plan for the
future . . ." she said, remembering his words. "But you were just a boy very far away from home. I am surprised you didn't walk around naked."
"I thought about it. Truly, I intended to. But do you know what? I had made those robes with my own hands. I climbed through garbage piles and sweated over boding water for them. I pricked my fingers a thousand times as I stitched and restitched that thing together. Then I sweated again as I dyed them."
She heard the pride in his voice and knew it was honest.
"I wore those robes with my head held high. It was the first thing I had ever done on my own, from beginning to end without servants, completely on my own. Except for the instruction, that is."
"What an amazing story," she breathed.
He looked at her a long moment, and it was as if all the joy leached from his face. "It's not a story, Evie," he said softly. "It happened."
She blinked. She had not meant to imply that the tale was a lie. Merely that it was almost too fantastical for her to comprehend. Like a tale from the colonies of Indians with face paint. Or of Australia and long wood tubes that played music. "I did not mean to imply differently," she said softly.
"I changed, Evelyn. I am not that arrogant little boy anymore."
"Of course not."
"I would not be here at all except it is the only way to become a full monk. If the abbot had not set me to this last ridiculous task—"
"You would never have returned to England? Never?"
"Never." Then he pushed up from the bench and readjusted his clothes so that they fell smoothly from shoulder to ground. "I learned the lesson of my robe very well. All the abbot's tasks have a purpose. I may not understand at first. Those purposes may be difficult—some are perhaps more terrible than I could possibly imagine—but I know that I have to try to fulfill them. And that one day I will understand."
She stood, rising up to face him though she was uncertain how to stem the anger she felt rolling off him. She thought perhaps that here was that lost boy again, that maybe Jie Ke had not quite buried Jacob as much as he believed.
"I did not mean to upset you," she said.
He was silent a long moment. She heard his respiration at first harsh and angry through his nose. But then his breaths lengthened, growing softer and more controlled. He was tucking away his fury, compressing it into a tiny part of his heart and then closing the door. His anger did not control his actions, she realized, but it also wasn't truly gone.
"Jie Ke," she said. She had only his name. She tried to touch him. She lifted her hand and extended it toward him, but he remained too aloof for her to reach. She let her hand fall back to her side.
"Your sister will be waiting for you. I can escort you inside."
She nodded because she had no words. They fell into step beside one another. Within moments they had entered the house and mounted the stairs. A light shone beneath her bedroom door, and she knew that Maddie waited there for her.
Back now in the close atmosphere of the house, Evelyn's thoughts turned more toward propriety and convention. Without her willing the change, she became excruciatingly aware of how improper his presence was in her wing of the manor. So she stopped at the top of the stairs.
"Thank you," she whispered. "Thank you for. . ." How to finish that sentence? "For sharing this evening with me."
He pressed his right fist against his open left palm and bowed to her in the way of his fellow monks. She hesitated, but then gave him a quick curtsy in return. It seemed the only thing to do. Then she reluctandy turned and headed toward her room.
He waited without moving as she stepped through pools of light cast by the candles in the hall. She didn't hear another sound until she placed her hand on her door.
"I never wanted to come back here, Evie," he whispered. "I'm so sorry for all the problems I have brought you. I will leave as soon as I can."
It was like a slap across the face, a repudiation of all that she had lived and breathed for her entire life. Even understanding what he meant—even knowing that he had found a life in China and had no wish to leave it—it was still a horrible insult.
She spun around, meaning to tell him that she had no wish for him to be here either. That everything had been perfect before he walked down the aisle at her wedding. And why didn't he just leave now, if England was such a trial? But by the time she had formed the words, there was no one behind her at whom to throw them. He was gone, and that made her feel even worse.
Chapter Eleven
Jie Ke did not appear for his normal morning sparring. Evelyn didn't care. She was too busy sorting out her emotions from the previous night to want to face him again so soon. Except his grandmother had obviously been hoping to see him, and the elderly woman's disappointment exuded a quiet grayness that echoed through all the guests. If nothing else, the Chinamen certainly added color—and fodder for gossip—to all their lives. At least half her guests had risen early to watch.
Evelyn was staring morosely down at her morning tea when Christopher joined her at the table. She gave him a polite smile, saw that he had adequate food to break his fast, and then returned to idly stirring cream into her tepid tea. Then he spoke in an undertone audible only to her.
"I think I have discovered what our mysterious Chinamen do on their wanderings."
She counted it a success that she did not spill her tea. "Truly?" she asked sotto voce. Or at least she tried. Her voice came out high and strained, and Lord Greenfield lifted his head to look directly at her.
Christopher pushed up from his breakfast. "I believe I shall go for a walk," he said to the table at large. "If you will please excuse me." Then, with a dashing kiss on the back of her hand, he bowed and left.
She smiled blandly at the other four people in the room, all eying her curiously. She prayed that they could not see how her heart beat painfully in her throat. Then, when she judged it an appropriate amount of time, she pushed aside food that she'd barely touched. "If you will all excuse me, I have to meet with Cook about the menu." With a nod, she made her escape through the kitchen.
Fortunately, she'd already done the meal planning for the day. Not quite so fortunate, Cook's assistant—another huge gossip—waylaid her. "Begging your pardon, miss. I didn't want to bother you as such a time...." The woman's round face beamed hopefully up at her.
"Of course, Gladys, is there something I need to know?" Gladys was a robust woman with a sister and a score of nieces and nephews who were all in service to one house or another. She was a shrewd buyer of market goods, and better yet, knew all the servants' gossip this side of London. She was an invaluable asset to Evelyn, and not a woman to ignore.
"Aye, miss. It's Ben Brown. He cut himself real bad yesterday. Gashed his palm all the way up his arm. Nan is beside herself with worry."
"Has a doctor been called?"
"Yes, miss. I already sent for the surgeon in your name. I knew you'd want it."
"Excellent work. Thank you." As she tried to edge past the woman, Gladys slipped sideways to block her. "Was there more?"
"Well, miss, like I said. Nan's beside herself with worry, what with the baby coming an' all."
"Do you think a basket is in order?"
"Actually, miss, I was thinking of a basket and money for a cradle. Ben . .. well, he hurt himself while he was trying to make one. There ain't no way he could do it now. Not in time."
Evelyn mentally calculated the kitchen money. They had set aside extra for the wedding guests. "Has all of the food been purchased for tomorrow night?"
Gladys shook her head. "No, miss, I was going to market this afternoon."
"Fine. Take some of that and ..." She grimaced and pulled out the purse that she always carried in case Gladys found her. She counted out coins. "Here. That should be enough to pay Mr. Daniels for a proper cradle. Tell them it is my gift to the new baby."
Gladys beamed. "Oh thank ye, miss. I know they'll be right grateful." But when Evelyn tried to move, the woman remained solidly in her
way.
"Was there more?" she asked, wondering just how long Christopher would wait. And worse, exactly what he would say once she got there.
"Aye, miss. Ben won't be able to work for a few weeks at least. An' with the surgeon's bill.. ."
"Oh yes," she said with a sigh. She'd forgotten that part of the story. "Yes, well, you can tell Ben and Nan that I'll take care of that. Will you arrange that with the good doctor?"
Gladys beamed even brighter, dropping another curtsy before stepping aside.
Evelyn didn't waste any time as she rushed outside. She found Christopher quickly, thank Heaven. He was pacing in the near garden right by the sundial. She paused a moment, flashing on last night and the way an entirely different man had stood there with her. Oh, her life was becoming excruciatingly complicated. Here she was with Christopher by day and Jie Ke by night. This could not continue. But she couldn't focus on that right now.
She rushed over to his side. "I am so sorry. Gladys stopped me."
He frowned. "Someone hurt?"
She smiled. Of course Christopher would instantly understand Glady's function in the household. "Ben Brown cut himself making a cradle for the baby. I've sent over a basket and . . . things."
"Excellent," he said, his attention already back on his own matters. "So it's taken care of."
Well, no it wasn't. She still needed to visit to make sure both the man and the cradle were coming along as they ought. And the entire family would need more support with the husband out of work. But that was a care for another day. Today's problem was something else entirely.
"Come take a turn with me," Chris suggested.
She took his arm and they began a companionable stroll. The ease with which she slipped into stride with him was both reassuring and disturbing. Easy camaraderie was wonderful. But she'd also noticed that during their whole exchange, he never once looked directly at her. Or perhaps he had, but he never truly saw her. Certainly not in that direct, focused way that Jie Ke—
