All the Tea in China Read online

  “Perhaps,” I said, but I knew that Flora was wrong. She had to be.

  I packed a few things but was not overly concerned about weighting myself with possessions, including too much money. I took what few coins I had in my possession, but I wanted to rely on God to meet all of my needs. After all, I would start a new life in China. I did take the Gospel According to St. Luke, knowing that it would be useful in that foreign land.

  I glanced around the room where I had grown up—my neatly made four-poster bed, the gently worn Aubusson carpet, my writing desk, the cases of my neatly arranged, beloved books . . . My heart seemed to expand then constrict. I could not imagine living anywhere else but here, but I would meet this challenge with determination, just as I had successfully studied fencing so diligently all these years.

  The one possession I almost could not bear to leave was my sword. Signor Antonio had purchased it for me years ago, a sword forged by the finest craftsmen in Toledo. A fencer’s skill is determined not only by talent but also by the capability of his weapon. I daresay mine was one of the finest in England. Yet by leaving it, I acknowledged that I intended to abandon selfish desire and anything short of my calling. So be it.

  I penned a note to Uncle Toby, explaining my situation. I asked his forgiveness for leaving so abruptly and begged him to pursue the academic studies and travel he had once hoped to undertake. He should consider me as a newly married woman now, for though I had no husband or family, I was determined to wed myself to helping others.

  I left the note on my bed, knowing that I would not be missed until after dinner. Uncle Toby would be teaching students all day, and he knew Flora would take care of me when needed. Yet I did not like to think of the look on his face when he learned I had left . . .

  Flora and I carried our bundles to the Angel, an inn from which coaches left during the day. Oxford was quite the traveling town, a stop between many routes—London, naturally, a primary destination or origination.

  “Maybe we should look for Mr. Snowe,” Flora said. “If we are lucky enough to spot him, it will save us a trip to London.”

  She spoke a certain amount of logic, so we proceeded inside the inn. When I was finally able to secure someone’s attention, I inquired whether they had seen Snowe. His was an easy description to relay, but unfortunately, no one had seen him. I was not surprised. There were so many coaches going in and out of Oxford that there were several stops. Perhaps he had even left the day before . . .

  We secured our seats in the mail coach. Only four people were allowed to sit inside, even though the seats were abominably small. It was unladylike of me, but I had to elbow a rather ghastly man of corpulent stature to gain seats for Flora and me. I could not imagine that someone would refuse to give up a seat for ladies, but there is no accounting for manners—or lack thereof. Unfortunately, Mr. Corpulent was forced to sit atop the coach, and as we drove off at breakneck speed, I prayed that we would not topple over.

  I had no illusions that the drivers or the guard would accommodate passengers. We were secondary to the mail and only allowed to ride with it, Uncle Toby had told me long ago, to help allay the expense of its travel. Passengers on their maiden ride might believe that the nattily scarlet-clothed guard was there for their protection, but I knew better. His presence was strictly to oversee the mail safely stowed in the boot underneath his post at the rear of the coach. He carried a yard-long tin horn to signal innkeepers of the mail’s arrival, as well as to call passengers back to the coach and blow at the toll keepers, who rushed to open the gates.

  By the time we reached London some six hours later, I was quite pleased to be rid of the whole traveling arrangement. I thought I might never rid myself of the seemingly constant blare of that tin horn, nor the guard’s continual hastening and corralling of us passengers from each stop back to our seats. The ride itself was no bargain either. Flora and I both felt as jostled as potatoes in a poor man’s sack. I believe Mr. Corpulent fared poorly during his ride atop the stage. His fingers seemed curled into a permanent state from clinging to his seat.

  When we had collected our baggage, we found ourselves at loose ends. Flora, of course, had been to London as often as I, yet she could not stop gawking at the ladies who passed us by.

  “Look at that darling shawl,” she said. “And the stitching on the hem of that skirt. Why, I could accomplish that with a little work, as well.”

  “Flora, we are not here to study the latest fashion,” I reminded her. “We must find our way to the docks. It would be dreadful if we missed Mr. Snowe.”

  After much inquiry, we found another coach, this one public, to take us to the East India Docks. It seemed no time at all before we were on the main street outside the entrance to the docks. We watched in awe as carts conveyed loads and loads of spices and tea up the Commercial Road.

  “Where are they headed?” Flora said.

  “The East India Company has warehouses in the City,” I said. “I believe they sell their wares at auction there.”

  Flora gripped my arm and pressed so close to the coach window that I half feared she would hang her head outside like a hunting dog spying its prey. “Look,” she said, her eyes wide.

  The street was thronged with vendors, sailors, and people of both dubious and reputable natures. I could not imagine that such sights should provoke her curiosity. “What is it?”

  “There,” she whispered, pointing beyond the dock walls.

  “Where? I don’t—”

  Then I saw where she gestured, above the dock walls, for I, too, could see the masts of many ships. The thought that they conveyed people and cargo beyond our native soil made my flesh tingle. Oh, adventure! Surely it was meant to be mine at last.

  When the carriage arrived, we scrambled to disembark, find our luggage, and avoid the crowds that pressed against us, milling to and fro with much more purpose than we seemed to possess. We spent much time gawking until we had the presence of mind to begin inquiries as to the location of Phineas Snowe’s ship.

  A kind sailor tipped an imaginary cap. “Sorry, miss, but this here are the West India docks. Ships headed to India. You must be wanting the East India docks, where the East Indiamen sail to China.”

  “Yes, of course,” I answered stupidly, grateful that the pleasant worker pointed out the direction where we should be. Normally, the distance—a good half mile, I estimated—might have necessitated that we find another means of conveyance. Our prospects did not look good, so—grateful that we had brought only one bag each— Flora and I hefted our baggage and walked. By the time we had passed between the proper dock walls, Flora was panting with exertion. Sailors and dockhands and even the occasional well-dressed man of commerce jostled us without thought.

  I pulled Flora to the side of a vendor hawking food to the workers. She clutched her chest, and I worried that her heart was amiss. I searched her face. “Are you all right?”

  “I just . . . need to . . . catch my breath.”

  “Poor Flora.” I smiled. “I forget that you are unaccustomed to such exertion.”

  She leaned against the wall, closing her eyes momentarily. “I will be to rights in a moment,” she said.

  I stood on tiptoes and craned my neck, anxious, I must admit, to proceed with our mission. Suppose we missed Mr. Snowe? I was certain that I could convince him of my earnestness—as well as my suitability—for mission work in the Far East.

  Flora must have sensed my anxiety, for she patted my arm, smiling wanly. “If you want to go look for the proper ship, I will wait right here. You can come back for me. Perhaps you will even get a chance to talk to Mr. Snowe, and this foolishness will soon be over.”

  “Thank you, Flora,” I said, relieved that she had given me permission to leave her. It was uncharacteristic of her, to say the least. Yet no one seemed to frequent this area, so I felt certain that she would be safe long enough for me to investigate the various ships and find Snowe. I would be safe as well, for I did not intend to waste time or risk m
y welfare by asking questions of anyone other than a ship’s officer. “May I leave my bag in your care so that it will not impede my progress?”

  “Of course,” she said. “I will keep them both safe right here and not twitch a whisker until you have returned.”

  “Will you be all right?”

  Flora straightened. “I had three older brothers, Miss Isabella Goodrich, who taught me to care for myself. Now off with you!”

  I gave her a final grateful smile, then headed toward the ships. Oh, what glorious works of man! Each one taller and larger than the rest. My head grew dizzy trying to look up at the top mast. Men scurried to and fro like ants on a hill, loading cargo. I knew that the East Indiamen often took on passengers such as Snowe and his group, so I was not surprised to see women, as well as men who were obviously not sailors.

  More ships than I could count weighed anchor at the docks. I would never find Snowe this way. Scanning the crowds for someone who seemed trustworthy, I finally spied someone in uniform. A captain, perhaps? I knew nothing about naval dress or insignia.

  “Excuse me, sir,” I said, feeling uneasy about speaking to a man without formal introduction. “I’m looking for a ship sailing to China.”

  He smiled. “You have come to the right location, but as you can see there are many ships.”

  I tried to keep the shock from my expression. Were all these ships embarking at the same time? “I am looking for an East Indiaman that is leaving today and—”

  “Most likely you want Dignity, ma’am.”

  Dignity? I knew it was not propitious to approach a stranger, but he was an officer. I hoped. “I . . . I beg your pardon?”

  He pointed down the lane of ships. “The HMS Dignity. See the East Indiaman with the three masts in between the smaller vessels? She is the only ship sailing for China today that I am aware of.”

  Good heavens. “Thank you,” I said. “You are most kind.”

  “Not at all, miss.” He touched his cap then turned away. I looked back at where I had left Flora, wavering. Should I return for her or press on? Perhaps it would be best to make certain that this Dignity was, indeed, Snowe’s ship.

  I pressed on.

  The crowds grew thicker as I made my way down the dock. I heard language that made my ears pinken, but I held my head high and lifted my skirts just enough to keep them from being splashed by the standing water. Thankfully my adorable pink slippers were stowed safely in the bag with Flora.

  Wouldn’t it be wonderful if I ran into Phineas Snowe without having to locate the ship and go aboard? I scanned the crowd for him, or at least another fellow missionary, but saw no one who looked likely.

  Never did I imagine that ships could convey such grandeur and importance. Why, they were veritable countries unto themselves, it seemed, with sailors climbing the ropes to the dizzying height of the tallest masts, polishing and mopping the decks and their features, touching up the prows of the ships with a bit of fresh paint.

  Why on earth were they dragging lowing cattle aboard? Poor Bossy. I should not like to be towed in such manner either, and I would put up just as much of a fuss were I an unwilling passenger!

  I reached the gangplank and encountered someone who I felt certain was an officer, though perhaps a trifle young. He was decidedly not a captain! He gave commands in a voice that was still breaking with the change of youth, and I could see his resolve to act as a man in this role. “Excuse me, sir,” I ventured, hoping that the mature title would flatter him into helping me.

  “Yes, what is it?” he barked, then, when he saw me, had the good grace to flush. “I beg your pardon, miss, but I am in a bit of a hurry. We are about to cast off.”

  “Indeed?” I tried to quell the rising panic. Where was Phineas Snowe? “I am sorry to detain you, then, but I am looking for a . . . friend. I was supposed to meet him at the ship. Can you help me . . . Captain?” I blinked my eyes a little in what I hoped was a small bit of flirtation and flattery.

  He reddened again, particularly when a nearby sailor stifled a hearty guffaw into a cough. “Miss, I regret for your sake that I am most certainly not the captain. Midshipman Bates at your service. Regarding your dilemma, however, I can tell you that most passengers do not board until Graves–end,” he said. “It saves them some time aboard ship, though with our long voyage, I can’t see that twenty miles makes much difference.” He tipped his hat again. “Begging your pardon again. Most likely your friend will be boarding there, or even at Deal, where we’ll await a good wind.”

  “I see,” I said. “Thank you so much. I am quite sorry about the mistaken identity.”

  He tipped his hat again, then, obviously suffering from civility’s restraint on my account, he snapped out another order to a sailor hefting a huge burlap bag.

  Gravesend! How would Flora and I get there? We were rapidly running short of coinage. Why hadn’t I foreseen the need for a great deal of money? Flora and I would have to pool our intelligence and come up with a way to—

  “That’s the last of the stock, sir,” a sailor said, saluting the midshipman.

  “Very well, then, thank you, Mr. Green. I shall inform the captain that we are ready to shove off.”

  Shove off? I had best remove myself from the ship before—

  Oh, Providence, you are the answer to my bumble-bath! I did not stop to think of Flora’s reaction, for my only thought was in getting to Gravesend as easily as possible. The best way to find Phineas Snowe would be to meet him aboard ship, of course! When I did think of Flora a few fleeting moments later, I realized that her worry would only be for a short period. If necessary, I could retrace my steps from Gravesend to London (by carriage this time, naturally) and rejoin her and Uncle Toby.

  There was, however, the small matter of the success of my journey from these docks to Gravesend. I had no ticket, and I did not think it likely that they would allow me to work my keep for the twenty-mile journey. I was confident that I could pull and coil rope as quickly and neatly as the sailors doing so at the moment, because fencing had made my arms and legs much stronger than was reputable for a young lady. But it would behoove me to find a hiding place until Gravesend. Surely there I could reveal my presence and be forgiven for my unlawful means of passage. I was, after all, on a mission.

  Where to hide? Why, the last place anyone would expect to find a lady.

  I headed in the direction I had seen the sailor take the last cow.

  Thinking that I would have to skulk to be undetected, I crept behind all manner of woodwork and iron mongery, but the seamen were so busy at casting off that no one seemed to pay me any mind as I made my way to the lower deck.

  Until someone clapped a meaty hand about my wrist. My alarm grew as I stared up into the visage of a most unsavory sailor, surely worthy of any pirate novel. “What are you doing, missy?” he said, jagged yellow teeth prominent behind his bared lips.

  I forced myself to avert a swoon. “I spoke with Midshipman Bates just a moment ago.” There. That was not a lie.

  He narrowed his eyes. “So you know where you’re to go?”

  I nodded, fearing that any further words would betray my purpose.

  He unhanded me. “Off with you, then. I’ve work to do.”

  Alone again, I relieved myself of a sigh and continued my path. Where were those stairs?

  At last I reached the lower deck, and aided by the sound of more than one poor bovine bellow, I found the stable area, if that is what it can be called. Cows were separated from hogs like some religious gathering, no, that was sheep separated from goats. No matter. The hogs grunted at me dubiously, but as I had no fear of cattle, I entered their stall and made myself at home.

  No doubt it would be a while before anyone bothered to check on the poor creatures, so I settled in. I had no fear of the great beasts, as I had often insisted on helping the dairy man with his chores when I was a girl—much to his delight. Of course I had been forced to cease the practice once I attained the age of young lady, but I coul
d not forget the warmth of a bovine flank nor the gratefulness of expression when the milking had concluded.

  “Here now,” I said soothingly, rubbing the shoulder of one overly frightened Guernsey. “You will be cooped up for quite a while before you see true land again, I am sure, but you will be fed regularly and milked. Would you not like to be a Chinese cow? For that is where you are headed.”

  Bossy stared at me with large brown eyes as if she understood. The other cows quieted too, but the pigs squealed uproariously.

  “Traitors,” I mumbled. “Cowards.” I had never liked pigs. Loathsome, dirty brutes.

  After I had tired of admiring the cows, which took all of twenty minutes, I found a tidy corner to sit in and began to consider my present predicament. Poor Flora must be watching and waiting for me. How could I leave her stranded at the dock that way?

  Remorse set in with a vengeance. I braced my hand against the wooden rail to rise and was suddenly thrown back to the straw. The ship moved!

  “In for a penny, in for a pound,” I muttered. “My decision is made. Again, Providence, I am sure.”

  Though my heart felt resolved, I mourned Flora. In the unlikely event that my plan failed, our reunion would be all the sweeter and our laughter all the heartier. She would scold me for being impetuous, then we would be on good footing once again.

  But surely my mission would not be deterred.

  As the hours wore on, boredom sank in. I had the Chinese Gospel According to St. Luke tucked in my pocket to keep me company, and from my memory of some of the verses, I studied the characters as though deciphering a code. I was pleased to find several symbols repeated in several places. I could learn this language!

  When I tired of this, I realized my stomach was rumbling. I had no notion of the time of day nor how I would ease my hunger pains. I weighed the prospect of venturing above deck in search of food, then realized that if I were found, I would no doubt be smartly put ashore at Gravesend, perhaps without ever seeing Snowe. I could not bear the thought of all my efforts ending in vain, so I ignored the rumblings and sang softly to myself.