All the Tea in China Page 11

  “Mr. Gilpin has been kind enough to discuss ships with me,” I said. “I find them fascinating and would like to learn more.”

  “Then you are more interested in vessels than the cargo they carry?” He took a large sip of wine.

  In an awkward moment, all conversation at the table ceased, and I found myself the center of attention. I smiled. “In truth, I had not given much regard to what would return with the Dignity, for I shall disembark at Canton.”

  “Ah, yes. Your missionary duties. So you have no desire to follow your brother and his work?”

  The smile froze on my face. “Why, yes, of course. That is why I wish to serve in China. With, er, Phineas.”

  I could not see Snowe, blocked as he was by Captain Malfort’s large frame, but I could sense his discomfort two chairs away. I could not understand the silence at the table. Bewildered, I glanced from one person to another. Their benign expressions betrayed nothing.

  Except one. Julia Whipple looked at me with something akin to pity.

  Captain Malfort smiled indulgently. “How do you expect to serve as a missionary alongside your brother when he will be about the business of the East India Company?”

  My mouth went dry. “I beg your pardon?”

  Phineas Snowe leaned forward just enough so that I could see his eyes, which warned me into further silence. “I have told you all along that your plan was foolhardy, dear Isabella. We should not discuss it again . . . particularly in the presence of others.”

  For a moment I considered pressing the matter then quickly discarded the notion. Estimation must be preserved at all cost, though I longed to know the entire truth of the situation. Without delay. Now.

  What transpired the rest of the dinner is a blur in my memory. I am sure that I said the right things and responded with the correct remarks, particularly to Mr. Gilpin, who continued to be attentive throughout the meal. The plum pudding held no taste for me, however, and when Miss Whipple and I excused ourselves so that the gentlemen might indulge in glasses of port, I somehow made my way from the cuddy without, I hope, making a further fool of myself.

  Once on deck, I turned to Miss Whipple. “You have known all along, haven’t you?”

  “Yes,” she said, with no hint of pride in her voice. “I’m sorry.”

  I tried to gather my thoughts. What question did I want to ask first? Before I could speak, she leaned toward me. “I don’t feel it’s my place to say anything. You should speak to Phineas. He should be the one to explain himself.”

  “As well as your actions in Oxford? Both of you acting as missionaries for my benefit?”

  She flinched then straightened. “Yes,” she said firmly. “He should answer for even that. I admit to being a participant, but the deception was his idea.”

  I wanted to be angry at her. Her pretense reminded me of Cathy Ransom and every woman like her who presented one face to her acquaintances in private and another to society at large. As I studied Miss Whipple, though, I could see that she begged no forgiveness, yet she also took no joy in her deception. I could never have applied the latter sentiment to Cathy. Miss Whipple also had apparently not had the benefit of upbringing or society to correct her. At least that is what I had been led to believe. Who knew what was truth?

  “Is it true what Mr. Snowe says about your reason to travel to China?” I said.

  “What does he say about me?”

  Ah. Meeting directness with directness. None of the fawning or double-dealing to which I was accustomed from other women. “He says that you are a Cyprian and you seek new business in the Far East.”

  “That is true.”

  I had known it all along, of course, but I felt a sickness to my stomach. “Why?”

  “London held no charms for me,” she said. “It is a foul city. I thought perhaps that Canton might prove more advantageous for a woman in my position.”

  I wanted to know more, so much more, but delicacy prevented me from speaking further.

  She studied my face. “You have no comment?”

  “I hardly know what to say, Miss Whipple. I have much to digest this evening.” Certainly more than the meal I had gluttonously eaten in the cuddy.

  “Miss Goodrich, I understand if you don’t wish to speak to me further. We are of two different worlds, and—”

  “And yet we are both bound for a new one,” I said, noticing the surprise on her face at my words. “We each have much to think about on this ship for many months. I see no need to impose a restriction on our conversation. Within boundaries, of course.”

  “Of course,” she said gravely. Was that a smile I detected her trying to suppress?

  Snowe avoided me the rest of the day. I strolled on deck with Miss Whipple, neither of us speaking of anything of particular consequence save our current environment. At six o’clock we took tea, and at nine o’clock a supper of soup, cheese, and cold meat. By regulation, candles in the cabins had to be extinguished by ten o’clock, so I was well abed soon after supper.

  I had anguished over dressing back into the nightgown that Miss Whipple had procured. It was certainly preferable to sleeping in the cotton dress when I would only have to wear it again the next day. Modesty, however, prevented me from donning bedclothes. Though I knew Snowe would not be able to see me in the dark, I knew I would feel unclothed all the same.

  I had hoped to fall asleep before he entered the cabin, preferring to save all my questions for the morning than to launch them in the privacy of our cabin. Yet curiosity prevented my falling into a deep sleep, and I lay awake swaying in my hammock, my heart beating a quickened rhythm.

  The door to the cabin opened. Snowe entered, candle in hand. Before I had the presence of mind to feign sleep, I said, “It must be near ten o’clock. You should douse the flame.”

  Snowe stood still. “I did not think I would find you awake. Can you not sleep? Is the hammock uncomfortable?”

  I raised up on my elbows as best I could. “The hammock is a tolerable bed and not at fault for my restlessness.”

  He shut the door behind him and set the candle on the trunk by his own hammock. “I suppose you want an accounting for the conversation at dinner.”

  “Yes. Please explain why Captain Malfort and everyone else believes that you are working for the East India Company.”

  He took a step closer to my hammock, and the candle cast his shadow against the far wall. “Because I do. I buy tea to import to England.”

  I closed my eyes, almost losing my desire to learn anything further. What a fool I had been, starting with the Ransoms’ party and ending with dinner tonight. I had squandered my life on a dream that was not just smoke, but soot.

  “You no doubt want to know why I misled you,” he prompted.

  “Would you even tell me at this juncture? Could I believe you?”

  The ship’s bells announced ten o’clock. Snowe sighed. “Miss Goodrich, allow me to provide a bit of modesty for our living arrangements. I have taken the liberty of rigging a torn sail between our beds, which we can raise and lower at our convenience.” He pulled a rope and, indeed, a sturdy length of canvas raised between our hammocks. In keeping with the lateness of the hour, he blew out his candle, and our room was plunged into darkness save for the sparse moonlight through the porthole.

  I heard him undress, whether fully or partially I had no notion. I trembled with anxiety, however, remembering that I now no longer shared a cabin with a man of the cloth but a man of the purse. He was a merchant and therefore under no obligation to observe societal norms beyond that of his own class.

  The rings securing his hammock clinked as he lay down. “The Dignity, like other East Indiamen, shortens its sails at night,” he said. “We should have calm waters and a good night’s sleep.”

  “At least one of us will have such,” I said into the darkness. “You, no doubt, sleep with a clear conscience.”

  “For the most part, yes,” he said. “But if I do not, it is because you are on board this ship.�
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  “Am I an impediment to your plans? The ones that included fleecing my uncle out of his money in the guise of bringing the gospel to the heathens?”

  He said nothing for a moment. “I am more concerned with your welfare at this point. You will be put ashore at Cape Town and returned to your uncle on the next England-bound ship. If at all possible, I will even return your uncle’s money with you.”

  “Aren’t you afraid that I will sully your name when I relate around Oxford what you have done?” I paused, giving vent to the cry of my heart. “Why did you seek money from my uncle? Were you given funds by others as well?”

  “No,” he said quietly. “Only your uncle was charitable enough to contribute. Though I said as much, I truly did not seek funds, but he was so taken with my work that he insisted no matter how strong my protest. I had heard of his interest in missionary work, particularly among the Orient. I managed an invitation to Sir Ransom’s party with the express purpose of meeting your uncle, to spread the truth about China . . . I did not plan on meeting you.”

  “Nor I, you,” I said, refusing to squelch the bitterness in my voice. “I had been forewarned that there would be an eligible man in attendance, but I had no notion . . .”

  I trailed off, thinking back. Flora had labored so diligently on my new dress. She had been so pleased to find the perfect pink slippers to match. Slippers with Chinese writing. I had been so certain . . .

  “Why?” I said in a low voice.

  “Why did I pose as a missionary?”

  My eyes filled with tears. Uncle Toby and I had both been duped. Dear Uncle Toby . . .

  Snowe let out a long sigh. “Do you remember that I was to attend the party with a husband and wife who sought to become missionaries? The Tippetts?”

  I nodded.

  “In truth, they are interested in further tea exploration, as am I. I believed that posing as missionaries would ameliorate our acquaintanceship. Mr. Tippett does not work for the East India Company, and I did not want to appear to be in collusion with any competition.”

  “But you are! You work for Britain’s finest trading company, Mr. Snowe!”

  “I have not forgotten,” he said in a low voice. “But I seek new tea to sell and new methods of its purchase. The East India Company needs silver for trade. The Chinese are not interested in anything else.” He paused. “Not much, anyway.”

  “Tea! You would deceive a lovely old Oxford dean, me, and all the people at the Ransoms’ party for tea?”

  “It is the lifeblood of the English,” he said quietly. “Can you deny it? Do you know how much tea is imported on a yearly basis? The latest figures I have seen are over two hundred million pounds.”

  I pictured Uncle Toby’s dear face. Did he linger, heartbroken, in his study at night? It was one thing to know that I had left him for a great calling, quite another when I realized what a sham it had all been. “You said you were with the London Missionary Society. You asked me if I had heard of Robert Morrison, the famous missionary to China.”

  “And you said that you had. I did not say that I knew nor worked with him or the Society directly. You believed only what you wanted to hear, Isabella Goodrich. For that, do not fault me.”

  “I can fault you for deception. I can fault you for playing the part only too well,” I said. “I have not noticed you wearing your spectacles since we have been aboard ship. I suppose they were part of your charade?”

  “Yes, I borrowed them from a friend. They were devilishly difficult to see through.”

  I could not believe what I heard. Not only did he seem to have no remorse for his scheme, but he was letting me in on his secrets as though I should be sympathetic. Or worse yet, impressed!

  “Miss Goodrich, I will do everything within my power to make your stay aboard ship as pleasant as possible until we reach the Cape. That is all I can offer at this point.”

  Why was he being so congenial? Oh foolish girl, he had selfish motive indeed. His smooth talk had slowed me from realization, but I could comprehend it now. “You are afraid I will tell Captain Malfort about your deception, aren’t you?”

  “The thought had occurred to me, yes.”

  I shifted in my hammock, feeling a strange sense of power. “He could have you dismissed from the Company, I suppose, or at least send word to the proper persons in authority.”

  Snowe hesitated. “Yes.”

  I crossed my arms over my stomach, pleased. I could not believe my good fortune. “What, exactly, do you think you can do for me?”

  “I have promised to see to your safety and comfort. Is that not enough?”

  “And I have already informed you that I can care for myself.”

  He laughed. “With a sword, I suppose.”

  “If need be. I should like to have one, since that is the one possession I had the most difficulty leaving in England.”

  “Where would you find one here at sea?”

  “Oh, come, Mr. Snowe, you are a man of many designs and persuasions. Surely you could procure such an insignificant item.”

  “Insignificant?” I heard him raise up in his hammock. He sighed then lay back down. “Very well. It is certainly an odd request from a woman, but I will try. If I find you a sword, will it barter your silence?”

  “That and your assistance in proceeding to China beyond the Cape.” I smiled into the darkness.

  “What? No! It is unconscionable. Why do you desire to travel that far when you know that I work with no mission?”

  “I have every confidence that I can find one. Robert Morrison himself is there with the London Missionary Society. They must need assistance.”

  Snowe sputtered. “China is not the size of Oxfordshire nor even the whole of England, for that matter, Miss Goodrich. We could not find him.”

  “You are no doubt a man of influence and intelligence. I am certain that you can help me.”

  He groaned. “I should never have taken Tobias Fitzwater’s money,” he muttered.

  “But you did, Mr. Snowe. That is my offer.”

  There was silence on the other side of the canvas. Surely he could not have fallen asleep!

  “I will match your offer with one of my own,” he said at last.

  “Proceed. I am listening.”

  “I will find you a sword. I will protect you for this leg of the journey. When we reach the Cape, we will revisit our agreement. Frankly, I am of the opinion that a few months at sea may change your mind.”

  “I do not think so,” I said cheerfully, “but I can as easily inform the captain of your treachery in Cape Town as I can in the middle of the Atlantic.”

  “Then we have a pact?”

  I settled into my hammock, suddenly weary. I had no choice. He had no choice. We were bound to each other’s word to fulfill our individual plans.

  “We have a pact, Mr. Snowe,” I said grimly, wondering if I had just bound myself to the devil himself.

  7

  Our canvas divider was still in place when I awoke in the morning. I thought perhaps Snowe might have already left the cabin, but I could hear a gentle snore from the other side. It occurred to me that my wedding night anticipation of sleeping in the same room as a man had now been dashed. The snores persuaded me that I had probably not missed anything.

  I was grateful that I did not have to change clothes but supposed that I would be forced to spend every day and night in the same dress. No, that was unthinkable. It was not even a question of fashion but of nasal condition. A lady must consider such things.

  I tiptoed from our room to the deck. The air was brisk, the sun not yet on the horizon, though traces of pink and orange lit the sky. I stood transfixed at the rail, out of the way, wrapping my arms around myself against the chill.

  “Good morning, Miss Goodrich.”

  “Mr. Gilpin!” I turned, smiling at the first mate.

  He touched his cap. “I trust you slept well?”

  “Very much so,” I said. “The sea has a peculiar lulling qualit
y that I find most conducive to sleep.”

  He smiled. “You may not say such when you have experienced a storm. It will make your early voyage seasickness seem quite mild by comparison.”

  “I have no doubt. I felt certain I was near death’s door. But I suppose you have no difficulties with illness at sea anymore?”

  “None to speak of. It is my life now. I find myself more sick when I am on land.”

  “Heartsick for the sea, I suppose?”

  He smiled. “You are perceptive, Miss Goodrich. But here, you are trembling. Let me find you a jacket.”

  He disappeared and returned with a short blue sailor’s jacket. “I apologize for its unfashionable nature, but it serves our seamen well,” he said, holding it out to help me put it on.

  “Oh dear.” I shrugged into the sleeves. “I hope I am not depriving someone else of their own warmth.”

  “Not at all. And please keep this . . . I know you do not have any other clothes.”

  The jacket now warm around me, I leaned against the rail and studied the horizon. Fingers of pink and orange reached into the sky and reflected over the blue of the ocean. Then a sliver of the sun itself appeared, like a shy actor showing only one foot, then a leg, then a torso on stage. At last he appeared, his presence filling the theater, and I wanted to applaud.

  As I watched the display, I felt alone with nothing between me and the edge of the world. Indeed, all things seemed possible in the beauty of such light and plane. I did not intend it, but a sigh slipped past my lips.

  “The sunrise is beautiful,” Gilpin said. “That is why I am usually on deck before my watch begins. I never tire of seeing a new day dawn.”

  I inhaled the chill air, the smell of salt tickling my nose. “It is all very new to me,” I confessed. “I am certain I appear like a child.”

  “Never,” he said, smiling. “I think it admirable that you embrace a new life. Most of our passengers complain the entire trip until we are once again on land. Speaking of passengers, I believe I heard the captain say that some of them are stirring today and feel up to partaking of meals in the cuddy.”