China

by Edward Rutherfurd

Not only was Charlie delighted for him, but he said something unexpected. “Aunt Harriet was right, then!” he exclaimed.

  “What do you mean?” Trader asked.

  “Just the other day she had a feeling—premonition, you might say—that you were going to be all right.” Charlie shook his head in wonderment. “Rum thing. Woman’s intuition, and all that.”

  “Well, God bless her,” said Trader with feeling. “Have you got anything to drink?”

  Charlie grinned and went across to a cabinet at the side of the room. “We have the water of life, Glenlivet Scotch,” he announced, and taking out a bottle and four glasses, he turned to his colleagues, “You’ll join us, gentlemen?”

  The two young merchants rose from their desks and, abandoning all pretense that they hadn’t heard every word, congratulated Trader warmly while Charlie poured.

  They were all happily toasting the hero of the hour when, from the street outside, came the sound of a band playing. Charlie went to the nearest window and glanced out. “We’ve even got a military band to celebrate the occasion,” he announced. And sure enough, the sound grew louder as the small parade approached. “Last marching band of the season, I should think,” remarked Charlie. “No parades in the summer monsoon.”

  “Take the salute, Trader!” cried the two young merchants.

  Trader moved to the window and glanced out. It was a small Indian troop. A couple of platoons and a band. Well turned out, playing well. Made one proud to be British. Some carriages were following patiently behind. No one was in much of a hurry that day.

  Charlie turned to fetch the bottle and refill their glasses. Trader continued idly to watch the band.

  Then he saw her.

  * * *

  —

  Agnes and her mother were in an open carriage, the third in the little cavalcade behind the marching band. Just the two of them, a coachman, and a groom. No sign of the colonel. They had their parasols up, but he could see their faces clearly. They were talking to each other, smiling. His eyes rested on Agnes. His heart missed a beat.

  And suddenly he knew. It was like a blinding flash of light. He’d asked for a sign. This must be it. Within an hour of his prayer, here she was, quite unexpectedly, right in front of him. Agnes was his destiny, the one he was meant to marry.

  He’d asked for a sign. But he decided to ask for just one more, a tiny confirmation. The great sash window was not open quite enough. He’d raise it up farther so that he could lean out, call to Agnes and her mother as they passed. Even with the band playing, they should still hear him. He’d wave. And Agnes must wave back. That was all he asked. If she waved, he’d marry her. He was sure she would.

  He grasped the bottom of the window and tugged it up. He heard Charlie ask if he needed help. The thing was damnably heavy. But he wanted to open it himself. That, it seemed to him, was part of the deal. He must pull it up himself. He heaved. It came up a little and stuck. He yanked the bottom to the left and right. It gave. He pulled. The big sash began to slide. Their carriage was almost level with him now. He heaved again. The heavy window shot up at last, with a crack he ignored.

  And then, with a second crack, it hurtled down. A great eight-foot-high screen of wood and glass, running down without even a rattle, falling free, like a castle portcullis whose ropes have been cut, catching his hands, both of them, before he knew what was happening, and smashing them onto the sill below with such a mighty bang that he did not even hear the bones of his hands breaking.

  Nor was he aware that the downward force on his hands had also thrust his head forward into the crashing window, shattering the glass so that shards and splinters flew into his handsome face.

  It took Charlie, his two companions, and several servants a full five minutes to lever the window up enough to pull back his broken hands and bloodied face. And John Trader had fainted long before that.

  Below, in the street, the band and the Lomond women had long since passed. Agnes had heard the crash, but had seen nothing, except that a sash window in a building had fallen.

  * * *

  —

  Aunt Harriet had been looking forward to going up to the hill station that summer. But she really couldn’t leave Trader in the bungalow. Charlie had brought him there, quite rightly of course. That’s what friends were for. And the fact was, John Trader was still in a very bad way.

  The surgeon had done a good job. Just how good remained to be seen when the bandages and casts were off.

  “There will be pain, of course,” the doctor said. “If it gets too much, give him a little laudanum. Above all, he must rest.”

  “Will he make a full recovery?” Aunt Harriet wanted to know.

  “With luck,” the doctor replied, “he’ll be able to use his hands again. His face is not as bad as we’d feared. There’ll be a few little scars. But he’s lost one of his eyes…” He shook his head.

  “He’ll be blind?”

  “Just in one eye. He can wear an eye patch. Like Admiral Nelson.”

  “I wonder if he’ll like doing that,” Harriet said.

  “He’d better,” the doctor replied bluntly. “The surgeon did his best, but I’m afraid it’s not a pretty sight. Never will be.”

  More alarming, however, was his general state. “Infection’s always the greatest fear,” the doctor said. “Normally I’d recommend you get him out of the monsoon season and up into the hills as fast as you can. But for the moment, I want to keep an eye on him, and he’s not ready to make the journey. I know I can rely on you for that.”

  When Aunt Harriet apologized to her husband for their delay in going to the hills, he waved it aside. “Trader once saved Charlie’s life,” he said cheerfully. “He counts as family.”

  John had been installed in the bungalow for only an hour when Benjamin Odstock appeared. The merchant was more than grateful, begged them to let him know if they needed anything, returned the next day with presents for both of them, and called promptly every afternoon thereafter to check on the patient.

  More surprising, however, the second morning after Trader’s arrival, was the appearance at the bungalow of a carriage containing Mrs. Lomond and her daughter.

  “Charlie told us about the accident,” Mrs. Lomond explained, “so we thought we’d look in to find out how Trader was—before we go up to the hill station, you know.”

  The patient was asleep when they entered the room.

  “I can hardly see his face,” observed Mrs. Lomond.

  “His hands are bandaged, too,” said Agnes.

  “Will he be all right?” Mrs. Lomond asked.

  Aunt Harriet told her what the doctor had said, though she glossed over the grimmer details about Trader’s eye.

  “I think you’re wonderful,” said Mrs. Lomond warmly. “A real friend in need.” She seemed to hesitate. “I wonder,” she went on, “as long as we’re still in Calcutta, if Agnes and I couldn’t come over each day and give you a bit of time off.”

  * * *

  —

  The colonel wasn’t very pleased. “I don’t see why it’s our business,” he grumbled. “And I’m not having Agnes left alone with that fella without a chaperone.”

  “Of course not,” his wife replied. “I shall be with Agnes all the time. Harriet doesn’t really have to look after Trader, either, you know. She’s doing it because Charlie’s her nephew and Trader’s his friend. Everyone in Calcutta says she’s behaving awfully well. So I just think that since people know that you and Charlie’s father went to school together, and we like Charlie very much, if we don’t rally round and help Harriet before we go up to the hill station…” She didn’t complete the sentence. “I’d just like people to say that the Lomonds had behaved awfully well, too.”

  “You’re quite right, my dear,” the colonel had to concede. “Just don’t leave Agnes alone with Trader, that’s all.”


  * * *

  —

  It was clear, from the first afternoon, that they had done the right thing. “It’s our Christian duty, Agnes, don’t you think?” her mother had said. And indeed it was. “You must do these things even if you’re bored,” her mother continued. “It’s very good training for later life.” But Agnes was hardly bored at all.

  They weren’t really there to nurse the patient, of course. Aunt Harriet had two particularly reliable servants to do the actual nursing, when she wasn’t doing it herself. The two Lomonds were there to give Trader a bit of company—and indeed, to provide some conversation and moral support for Harriet, too.

  For part of the afternoon, Aunt Harriet took a little nap or walked in the garden. A couple of times she called for the carriage and went on social errands in the town. Meanwhile, the Lomonds chatted with John, if he was awake, or played a game of cards, if Aunt Harriet’s husband came in to join them.

  When they played cards, Agnes was given a special role. Trader could see perfectly well with his good, uncovered eye, but he had difficulty, fumbling with his thickly bandaged fingers. Her job was therefore to hold his cards for him and play his hand as directed, which everyone agreed she did very competently.

  And then there were the visitors: Charlie, Benjamin Odstock, other young men whom Charlie and Trader knew. It was all quite entertaining.

  There was something else that Agnes noticed. They’d all come to cheer the patient up, and there were the usual jokes and banter. But, subtle though it was, she detected a hint of deference in their manner. When she asked her mother about it, Mrs. Lomond agreed. “He’s a coming man,” she said. “I was talking to Mr. Odstock about him, and he told me that Trader’s the best young merchant he’s ever seen.”

  “So what do you think of John Trader?” her mother asked Agnes that same evening.

  “He’s very handsome,” Agnes answered.

  “Do you think he’s interested in you?”

  “He says he likes Scotland.” Agnes’s face brightened.

  When Agnes talked to young men about Scotland, it seemed to her that she was only being practical. It was just to let them know: Scotland was what she wanted. If a young man could get safely past the stern presence of Colonel Lomond—who wasn’t such a fool as to be forbidding to possible suitors, so long as he liked them—he still had to reckon with Scotland. Not everyone wanted to finish up on a big estate in the north, even in the event that they could afford it. As one young fellow remarked: “I’m not riding in that steeplechase. The jumps are too high.” Agnes realized this. But Scotland was what she wanted.

  “Scotland isn’t everything, you know,” her mother said quietly, but she left it at that.

  * * *

  —

  After a week, the doctor took some of the bandages off Trader’s face. “A few small cuts,” he remarked, “but give it a month and you’ll hardly see they were there.”

  He pronounced himself satisfied with the damaged area around the lost eye and rebandaged it. As for Trader’s hands, he rebandaged them, too, and said he’d inspect them again in a few days.

  Aunt Harriet went out that afternoon, leaving the two Lomonds in charge. Propped up on pillows, Trader talked with them for a while, but then he felt sleepy and decided to nap. So Mrs. Lomond went out to take a turn in the garden, leaving Agnes alone, with strict instructions to call her at once if there was any need.

  While Trader slept, Agnes sat in a big armchair near the window and read a book. After a while she dozed off herself—she wasn’t sure for how long. She woke with a guilty start, went over to the bed, and gazed at Trader. He was still asleep.

  His face was in repose, his dark hair falling over the bandage that covered his eye, his lips just open. He looked like a poet, she thought, contemplating some distant landscape in his mind. Scotland, perhaps. She moved a little closer.

  His white shirt was partly open. She became aware of the wispy dark hairs on his chest and the scent of his skin. She knew that his body was slim and strong, yet lying in bed like this, hands encased in bandages, he looked strangely vulnerable. He was the patient and she, almost, the nurse. The idea gave her a curious sense of power. She didn’t know why.

  A few moments later, her mother came back.

  * * *

  —

  It had been a great surprise to John when the Lomonds had appeared at the bungalow. To have Agnes there, keeping him company each afternoon: He could hardly believe it had happened. And every day, it seemed to him, she became more lovely.

  He noticed little details about the elegant way she moved or sat, or even how she spoke certain words. Sometimes he would feign sleep and then, through half-closed eyes, gaze at her wonderful hair, or the way the sunlight caught her silhouette against the window. Above all, he was struck by her patience, her kindness. It seemed to him she was an angel.

  But why had she come? Of course her mother had brought her. But was there more to it than that? Though he’d fallen in love with Agnes at first sight, she’d given him enough encouragement to make him think he might have a chance. And now here she was, when he’d been knocked about quite badly and lost an eye, visiting him every day and looking after him. Was it an act of charity, like visiting the local hospital, or simply kindness to a friend? Or was she deliberately putting herself in his path—and with her mother’s permission? Were these visits a way of giving their friendship a chance to develop into something more? Might she truly care for him already?

  Not that she’d show it too much. No girl wants to throw herself at a man. She’d wait for him to make the first move.

  And he was ready to make it, but for one thing. It was only fair to her, he thought. He must get well first. Make sure he had the use of his hands. Make sure that, when all the bandages were off, she knew what she’d be getting.

  “You are so good to me,” he said before she left that evening. “Dear Agnes, you’ve given me a reason to get well.” It was as good as a declaration.

  She must have understood that he needed to get well.

  * * *

  —

  When word came that the arrival of the monsoon was imminent, Colonel Lomond announced that they should go up to the hill station immediately.

  “I need two days to prepare and pack,” Mrs. Lomond told him. In the meantime, at the particular request of Aunt Harriet, who needed to find a replacement, Agnes stayed at the bungalow to help. She arrived to take up her station at noon. Soon afterwards, Aunt Harriet went out to interview two sisters who might be able to take her place.

  She read to John for half an hour or so, but he seemed out of sorts and closed his eye to rest. Having nothing else to do, she sat out on the veranda with a book.

  It grew hotter during the afternoon. The air felt heavy and humid. Twice Agnes looked in on John and sat with him for a while. The second time he seemed uncomfortable, fretting the bedsheets as he slept; but she put this down to the weather. A little before teatime, a wind arose. It shook the fronds of the trees, but did nothing to cool the garden. She looked up at the sky. It was still blue. The clouds passing swiftly overhead were white.

  Aunt Harriet returned. And they were all sitting down to tea when the doctor arrived. Offered tea, he declared that he’d like to see the patient first and disappeared into the bedroom. After a little while, he asked Aunt Harriet to come to help him change the hand bandages and dressing.

  When they came down to tea, they both looked grave.

  “Infection, I’m afraid.” The doctor pursed his lips. “You must keep him cool, as far as possible. He may become feverish. If he’s really burning up, apply cold compresses. That’s really all we can do. I’ll return first thing in the morning.”

  * * *

  —

  The monsoon rain arrived with a roar that evening. It beat upon the ground in such a deluge that it turned
the garden into a pond within minutes and drummed upon the roof with fury, as if it meant to hammer its way through and drown all the inhabitants within.

  Agnes sat in a chair with her shoulders hunched. Aunt Harriet said, “Just what we need. It’ll cool things down.”

  Then they both got up and went into the bedroom where John lay. How he could be dozing with the rain making such a mighty din, Agnes didn’t know. They agreed that Agnes would watch John that night and Aunt Harriet would take over in the morning.

  The rain continued until dawn, when Aunt Harriet relieved her. But Agnes was still awake when the doctor came to dress John’s wounds. He had brought an ointment with him. “It’s a remedy against infection,” he announced. “Iodine and potassium. I developed it myself. Nearly always does the trick.” He smiled. “Once the fever breaks, he’ll be on the mend.”

  Agnes slept fitfully that morning. When she finally rose, the wind had died down and the heat was worse. A sickly, humid torpor seemed to have enveloped the house. Aunt Harriet had installed a servant to work the fan in the sickroom.

  When Agnes woke late in the afternoon, the doctor had already visited again and gone. A light breeze had arisen, so Aunt Harriet had stopped the servant from working the fan, opened the windows, and allowed the air to circulate through the sickroom.

  John was lying quite still. He was awake, but he didn’t seem to want to talk. As the evening set in and Agnes lit a small lamp on a table in the corner, his face looked gaunt in the soft light it cast. Standing by the window, she could smell the scent of the pale jasmine in the garden. “Do you smell the jasmine?” she asked, but he did not reply.

  It was half an hour later that he gave a little shiver. She went to the bed and felt his brow. It was burning.

  Her first thought was to call Aunt Harriet. But she stopped herself. Aunt Harriet had looked so tired when she handed over John’s care to her. There was a pitcher of water, still cold from the well, in the corner. She poured some water into a basin and soaked two cloths. Raising John’s head, she put one cloth behind the back of his neck. The second she laid on as much of his forehead as she could and held it in place there. It seemed to do some good. But a quarter of an hour later, she had to do it again.