The Song of the Wild Geese

by India Millar

  Before long, Mama Simone tried to bully me into wearing Western dress.

  “You stand out like a sore thumb in a kimono,” she snapped. “Do you wonder people find it difficult to make conversation with you? They probably think you don’t even speak English!”

  “They must have short memories then,” I responded tartly. “They knew it well enough when Simon was here.”

  She stared at me, drawing in breath through her nostrils until I thought she might burst.

  “Everything was different before Simon left here.” Her voice rose to a whine. “If he hadn’t brought you back with him, he would have married a nice, high-class American lady. I would have had grandchildren by now! But no, you got your claws into him good and proper, didn’t you? You enchanted him with your heathenish ways. But it’ll all be different when he gets back. Once he’s away from you, he’ll come to his senses. Why can’t you understand that? Why don’t you just go away before he gets back? Save us all trouble?”

  “You’re wrong,” I spoke quietly. “We’re married, Mama. Or have you forgotten that? And when he comes back, we’ll be together again and we’ll have a family of our own.”

  I didn’t mention Kazhua to her. Obscurely, I felt if she knew it would somehow bring down bad luck on Simon’s efforts to find our dear daughter. I was glad I had not as I saw her glaring at me, her mouth working soundlessly. Too full of bile to speak, she turned away and I felt myself cursed silently.

  I was puzzled when Mama Simone insisted I attend the many functions she was invited to. I thought about refusing to go, but then saw the gloating look in her eyes and understood she enjoyed thinking I was uncomfortable in society. She was right. The balls and “soirees”—as she referred to the long, long list of events where everybody listened to below average performances on the piano by local belles and danced—would have been unbearable if it hadn’t been for Callum Niaish.

  Given Simon’s deep dislike of him, I was surprised to find he seemed to be much liked by the rest of Virginia society. He was invited to every event we attended. And sooner or later, I always found him by my side.

  “You don’t dance, Terue-chan?”

  “I don’t know the steps,” I said simply. The tuneless—to my ears, at least!—music still made my feet itch to dance. I watched the society girls swirling about in their partners’ arms with envy.

  “Would you like to try?”

  I accepted his offer eagerly and allowed myself to be clasped gently in his arms. I concentrated carefully on following his feet and found to my delight that all I had to do was follow those feet and the sway of his body. So easy! So very enjoyable.

  Nobody else invited me to dance. I thought, often, that one or other of the men was about to rise and ask me, but always they thought better of it when they were pinned by their women folks’ incredulous glance. It didn’t matter. Callum asked, frequently. And in between dances, he was at my side, chatting happily in Japanese.

  I was deeply hurt when suddenly he was no longer there. If he had gone away on business, I would have expected him to have at least mentioned it to me. I had thought Callum was my friend, but I had obviously been wrong. I was a fool. He was best forgotten. It didn’t matter. Soon, Simon would be back. With Kazhua.

  That mattered.

  I listened idly to Mama Sydney’s and Mama Simone’s gossip. My heart beat a little faster as I suddenly realized they were discussing Callum.

  “Did you know Mr. Niaish was back with us?” Mama Sydney asked. My mother-in-law shrugged.

  “That so? He’s been gone so long, I thought we’d seen the last of him.”

  “You know what happened to him?” Mama Sydney’s voice was so excited that Mama Simone stopped her vigorous fanning and raised her eyebrows in question. “Turns out he ain’t plain Mister Niaish at all. He’s really a titled aristocrat!”

  “No!” Even Mama Simone was clearly shocked. Johanna’s mother smirked, obviously delighted to be the first to pass on the news.

  I was completely confused. Hadn’t Callum told me himself that his uncle had inherited the title, and that if anything happened to him, yet another uncle would inherit? I pretended I wasn’t listening, knowing that if I showed even a glimmer of interest, Mrs. Sydney would save her gossip for when I was out of earshot.

  “You’re sure?” Mama Simone looked skeptical. “I thought he was a slave trader. And I know I heard gossip that he was only doing that to kick over the traces because his papa was a missionary someplace close to where she comes from.” She nodded meaningfully in my direction, but Mrs. Sydney was too full of gossip to contain herself.

  “Yes, that’s so.” She dropped her voice to a hoarse whisper. “But I heard that the relative who inherited the title not long ago dropped dead suddenly, and it was only after he was buried that it was found that the next in line had actually been killed in battle just before the elder son died. There! What do you think of that! That’s why Mr. Niaish—or I suppose I should call him Lord Niaish now—” She tittered in her excitement. “—had to leave us for a good while. His papa refused to come back from being a missionary to sort things out, so it was down to Lord Niaish to do the right thing and go sort things out in England or wherever.”

  Callum had been my special friend. I had tried to forget my disappointment when he had disappeared without warning. And now it appeared that everybody except me knew what had happened. I was deeply hurt all over again. But of course, now that Callum was a member of the aristocracy, could I really expect him to be interested in a foreign nobody? My hurt deepened until it was a bitter taste in my mouth.

  I could see the dawning interest on Mama Simone’s face.

  “You don’t say? Well, I always did think Simon was a mite hasty in telling him off that time. If the man’s a true gentleman, I think I can say on behalf of Simon that he’s welcome in our house. She won’t mind.” Mama Simone spoke as if I didn’t understand a word she said. “Mr. Niaish—I mean, Lord Niaish—must be very clever, as I know he speaks her language.”

  “Really?” Mrs. Sydney looked at me with interest. “You think maybe his parents are missionaries where she comes from?”

  “His parents are missionaries in China.” I spoke quietly, but from the way Mrs. Sydney goggled at me, I might as well have burst into song. “But I believe his nursemaid was Japanese, which is how he comes to speak my language. And he isn’t English. He’s Scottish.”

  She stared at me with avid interest. For a moment, I felt just as I had in Japan when Auntie had paraded me before the patrons.

  The thought made me shiver.

  Thirty-Three

  Cold tea and cold rice

  Are bearable, but cold words

  And cold looks are not

  “Are you still hoping to make an offer for some of my slaves, Lord Niaish?” I sighed as I realized I had said “my” slaves. Had I spent so long with Mama Simone I was beginning to think like her? He smiled at me, but said nothing. “It’s been so long since I’ve welcomed you to this house, I imagine that’s the only reason you’re here today.”

  In spite of my stinging words, his smile widened. “I’m sorry I had to leave so suddenly, Terue-chan. I promise you, I had no option. I would much prefer it if you would call me Callum, but if you are intent on being formal, my title is actually Lord Kyle.”

  I was angry with him. My anger deepened as I listened to his amused voice. I understood he had had to go back home to sort out his family business. But was it right that I should have heard about it secondhand, and from Mrs. Sydney of all people? He should have told me himself! My angry thoughts trembled in the still air of the uncomfortable best parlor. With canine intuition, Oscar cleared his throat and raised his head from my visitor’s foot, looking at me appealingly. I refused to bend.

  “I was surprised that you didn’t tell me you were going back to Scotland, Lord Kyle,” I said coldly.

  “I did try. I came to tell you, but you were out visiting with Mrs. Beaumont. It was too complica
ted to leave a message. I guessed word would soon circulate on the grapevine. Besides, I was gone for far longer than I expected. You missed me, then?”

  “No,” I snapped. “I was just angry you had gone without saying anything to me. I thought you were my friend.”

  “I am your friend, Terue-chan. And I want to be—in fact, I promise you, I’m going to be—the only man who matters in your life.”

  I stared at him. I should have told him to go at that second. I knew that, but for some reason, entirely different words came from my lips.

  “Really? You’re overlooking the inconvenient fact that I have a husband?”

  “Not for one second. You asked me if I had come to make you an offer. Indeed I have. An offer of sorts, anyway. There’s only one slave on High Grove Plantation that I want to set free. And I think you know who that is.”

  I shook my head. “My husband told me after your last visit that you were never to be admitted to this house again, Lord Kyle.” I put as much emphasis as I could on his title. “I should have heeded his words.” My voice trembled and I was angry with myself.

  “Yes, I know he did. But it’s far too late for that now. We both know that. And by the way, if you call me Lord Kyle once more, I shall put you across my knee and spank you until you remember that my name is Callum.”

  “Please go.” I ignored his words and spoke coldly. I sat straight and looked past him. I was shaking slightly, although whether it was with excitement or anger, I didn’t know myself. Did he really think he could leave me for months, disappear without so much as a farewell, only to walk back and talk to me as if there was some sort of bond between us?

  “Do you really want me to go, Terue-chan?”

  “My name is Mrs. Beaumont,” I reminded him.

  “So it is. For the moment, anyway. But you must know, Mrs. Beaumont, that I intend to steal you away from your husband. That’s why he forbade me to come back here. I told him I was going to take you. And he knew I meant it. He didn’t tell you?”

  I glanced at his face and saw he was smiling. For no reason I could think of, I began to smile myself.

  “Of course Simon didn’t tell me. He must have thought you were mad. For myself, I think perhaps your profession has gone to your head.” He frowned and I raised my eyebrows in question. “Is it that the slave trader thinks he can buy anything he fancies? In this case, I’m afraid not. I’m not for sale, Lord Kyle. Not to you or anybody else.”

  “Is that because you already have an owner?” My head rocked back as if he had slapped me. “I found myself wondering from the first time I saw you with Simon Beaumont if you truly loved him. Oh, I could see he was besotted with you. Everybody could see that. But as to whether you loved him, or you were just grateful to him, I wasn’t at all sure. But I think I know the answer now. If you truly loved him, you would have made him take you back to Japan with him. You wouldn’t have been able to bear being away from him all this time. I’m right, aren’t I?”

  I shook my head. He had no right to know my past. I was not about to tell him.

  “You’re talking nonsense. Please leave, Lord Kyle.” I stood to make my point. Callum stood with me, but he did not go. He moved, but not toward the door. A heartbeat later he had picked me up and carried me—hooked under his arms as if I were a parcel—back to the sofa. He sat down, pulled me over his knee and, true to his word, gave me three firm smacks on my bottom.

  It was too much. The blows hurt not at all, but the indignity flooded me with fury. I kicked and wriggled until I was free of him and on my feet.

  How dare you?” I thrust my face toward him. I could barely get the words out, I was so angry. “You may be a lord now, but you’re nothing in this house. Get out. Now,” I said thickly. “Get out of my house and don’t ever come back.”

  “You really want me to go? I don’t believe you. I suppose I should apologize for the spanking, but I did warn you I was going to do it, and you should know I’m a man of my word. Now tell me the truth. You missed me as much as I missed you, I know you did.”

  “I missed the man I thought was my friend. I told you that. Now go away, Mr. Niaish. Or Lord Kyle. Whatever your name is, I don’t want you here. Simon will come back to me, and when he does, he will bring my—our—daughter with him.” The sound of Kazhua’s name in my thoughts made me long to talk about her. I spoke without thinking about it. “She was newly born as we had to flee from Japan. She would never have survived the journey. If we had stayed, it was likely that all three of us would have been executed for our crime of being lovers. You understand?”

  “Yes,” he said reluctantly. “It would have been much the same in China. My parents are barely tolerated. I speak much better Chinese than they do, and I understood how they are mocked and laughed at behind their backs. Worse than that, it was made obvious to me that if they put a foot wrong, the authorities would have taken great pleasure in having them executed as an example to all the other stupid foreigners. Is that why you stay with Simon? Because of your daughter? You don’t love him. I know you don’t. How could you, given the way he treats you? You’re just as much a slave to him as the rest of them on the plantation.”

  “How dare you say that to me?” I flared. “Simon is my husband. He loves me and I love him. And I suppose you know all about slavery, seeing as that’s how you make your money? How do you live with yourself when you trade in human flesh?”

  There. It was out, finally. How could he buy and sell people as if they were nothing? Did he ever think about the misery he was causing when he wrenched mother from child and husband from wife? How could he do it, day after day, without remorse? And why did he do it, for that matter? He was an aristocrat. Surely he had no need of the money.

  His position in life made no difference to how I felt about him, though. Even as I spoke, I admitted the truth to myself. In other circumstances, had he been anything but a slave trader, I could have loved him. Probably would have loved him.

  The knowledge made me furious with myself. I raised my head and stared at him.

  “Well? You say Simon treats me like a slave? Do you want to buy me, to own me as well as all the other slaves you’ve bought?”

  I had hurt him. His eyes were full of pain. But I was right, and I would not apologize.

  “I can’t explain now, but you’re wrong about me, please believe that. I don’t want to own you, I promise you. I’ll go now, if that’s what you want. But I won’t be far away. If—when—you decide you want me, I’ll be here.” He bent to pat Oscar on the head, his expression hidden from me. “Don’t bother disturbing Suzanna. I’ll see myself out.”

  I almost called out to him, asked him to come back and explain his curious words to me, but I did not. I folded my arms across my chest and wished it were his arms that were wound around me. I stared into space and tried to be angry with him. Tried and failed.

  I closed my eyes and kept them closed for a long time as I realized that I wasn’t in the least surprised by his visit. Nor by anything he had said. I began to smile reluctantly when I admitted to myself that the mild spanking had been not only surprising, but arousing. I pushed the knowledge away firmly.

  Thirty-Four

  My tears are salty

  As the sea. Are the oceans

  Then composed of tears?

  Mama Simone was sobbing. She was only upstairs, but it seemed to come from a great distance. I nodded politely at the well-dressed gentleman who had brought us the news.

  “Thank you for coming all this way to tell us.” He grimaced and I smiled at him, trying to set him at his ease. Odd that. Wasn’t it me who needed reassurance, not him? “Could I get you some tea or coffee? Something to eat, perhaps?”

  “Thank you, Mrs. Beaumont. That’s very kind. But I must be on my way. I have a train to catch.”

  He shuffled his way out, leaving a trail of condolences behind him. I wondered if I should go up to Mama Simone, but even as the thought crossed my mind I heard her shout hoarsely for Suzanna to
bring her cordial and I knew she would take far greater comfort in her laudanum.

  I stared at the letter. The handwriting was, I thought, truly awful. I had problems reading it. Then I realized it was not the fault of the words, but rather that I was shaking so much the paper trembled in my hands.

  Why hadn’t I known? Why hadn’t I sensed that my husband had been taken from me? Surely, at the moment of his death, I should have felt his pain. But I had not. My life had gone as usual. The daily round of discussing business with Tom, talking to Mama, even though she rarely replied to me. Slipping out for a chat with William, taking Oscar for a walk when I felt I had to get out of the house. Lately, spending far too much time thinking about Callum Niaish.

  I wept now, but whether my tears were for Simon or Kazhua or myself, I had no idea. I concentrated fiercely on the letter in my hands.

  It was brief to the point of abruptness. Had the unknown government official who had penned it struggled to find the words? Perhaps he had composed draft after draft, finally giving up and resorting to giving me the bare facts with the minimum of polite regret. What did it matter anyway? Simon was dead, killed the day before he was due to sail back to America, his body left on the harbor for the early rising sailors to discover. I tried to take comfort from the bald statement that he had been killed by a single stab wound to the heart, and that his death must have been instant. The letter informed me curtly that it had been impossible to bring his body back to America, so arrangements had been made to have Simon interred in the Catholic churchyard in the Dutch colony. It didn’t matter. The body was no longer Simon, no more than the discarded skin of a snake carried any trace of its former inhabitant. Although I thought that Mama Simone would probably be comforted by the fact that he had been given a Christian burial.

  Who had done it? Had he been robbed? Did he fight back and lose? Or—and I knew it was far more likely—had our enemies found him and taken their terrible revenge? Not Auntie, I knew instinctively. Had it been Auntie, Simon would simply have disappeared. Forever. She would have taken pleasure in knowing that I would have been left wondering what had happened to him until the day of my own death. Perhaps Lord Dai or one of his important friends had been responsible. That was more likely, I thought. The loss of face would have been a constant shadow for them. They would have wanted Simon’s body to be found so everybody would know that revenge had finally been taken. The whole of the Floating World would have respected them for their actions.