China by Edward Rutherfurd (historical books to read TXT) 📕

The cutters, files, brushes, and little lacquer pots were jumbled in a shallow box as if they had been thrown there.

“Perhaps if we had some glue…” Shaking Leaf began.

“No glue,” she said sharply. “I hate glue.” She was quite right, by the way. Glue’s more trouble than it’s worth. Sometimes it’s poisonous. Worse, it’s often stronger than the nail, which means the nail may tear again.

So I gathered what I needed and knelt in front of her. Her hand was resting on the arm of the chair, with the fingers pointing downwards, level with my eyes. The fingernails were certainly long. The nail of the third finger was the longest, a good three inches, and curved. It was wonderfully decorated. I don’t just mean the red lacquer—which, I soon learned, only the royal women are allowed to wear—but the droplets of gold and the tiny diamonds embedded in the lacquer. I’d never seen such a fingernail before.

It was the index finger that had the broken nail. A nasty tear. No wonder she was angry. “Do we have the broken end?” I asked.

One of the ladies brought it to me on a little cushion. I put it back in place on the finger to see if it fitted cleanly. It did. The tear might help me, because there was some overhang between the broken-off bit and the rest. If I put a little lacquer between the top of the existing nail and the underside of the torn section, that would act as a glue to hold the two together. Then it would be a question of lacquering both the underside and the top of the nail.

“Your slave will need you to rest your hand on the arm of the chair and not move it, Highness,” I said to her. “I shall apply some coats of lacquer, but it will take time to dry.”

She said nothing, but put her hand where I wanted.

I must say, she was very good. I worked for an hour and she never moved at all. Not a flicker. She had wonderful control.

“Your slave thinks that is enough for today,” I said finally. While I was working, I’d noticed that as well as the diamond inlay on her index fingernail, she had a beautifully worked silver nail guard on her fourth. “Is there perhaps a nail guard Your Highness could wear to protect the broken nail for the night?” I asked. “The lacquer will continue to strengthen during that time.” She had a painted wooden one that I was able to fit nicely over my work.

I’d just put that in place when I heard Shaking Leaf’s soft voice. “We shall find a proper manicurist by the morning, Noble Consort,” he murmured, “and bring her to you.”

Well, that didn’t suit me at all. I knew exactly what he was thinking. He’d brought me there because she was throwing a tantrum and he was in a panic. But he also knew how furious head eunuch Liu would be when he discovered I’d got in there.

“May your slave speak?” I asked. She nodded. “What your slave has done will last until tomorrow,” I said, “but if I may bring my own lacquer and brushes in the morning, I can make something so strong it will last until the nail has grown at least another inch.”

Shaking Leaf started to object, but she cut him short. “Let him finish,” she said. “There’s no point in doing it otherwise.”

—

The next morning she had changed her gown. A pale cream color, with a softer pattern. She wore the same head comb as the day before, but this time she had dressed it with artificial flowers, peony and plum blossom, made of pearl and coral. I told myself she’d done it for me. Not that she had, of course.

I set to work straightaway. It felt so good, having my own brushes in my hand.

She didn’t say a word at first, but I could sense that she was watching me closely. “You really know what you’re doing,” she said finally.

“Yes, Highness,” I replied. “I do.”

Shaking Leaf had already told me that, as she wasn’t actually a princess, I shouldn’t address her as “Highness.” “You should say ‘Noble Consort’ instead,” he’d instructed. But I think she liked “Highness,” so I pretended I didn’t know any better and went on doing it.

She didn’t say anything more for a bit, but then she turned to Shaking Leaf, who was watching morosely. “What happened to that stupid girl I told you to beat?” she demanded.

“I’m afraid she died, Noble Consort,” he said softly.

“Really? They must have beaten her too hard.” She didn’t sound upset. But people with privilege and power are often cold. They have to be. A minute later, she tapped me on the head with one of the fingernails of her free hand. I looked up. “You like the finer things of life, don’t you?”

She’d seen that in me! I don’t know how, but she’d seen it. “Your slave does,” I murmured, and bowed my head.

And then she smiled at me. “Tell me about yourself,” she ordered. I don’t suppose she was truly interested, but it was a way of passing the time. “What age were you when you had the operation?”

“Just recently, Highness, a few months ago,” I told her.

“Recently? What do you mean?” Now she was really curious. “Explain.”

So while I worked on her nail, I told her my life story—well, some of it, anyway. And how I had the operation to become a palace person on account of my little boy.

“So you have a wife and family?”

“Your slave does.”

“How extraordinary.” Then she frowned. “When they did the operation, did they take everything off?” She was looking at me suspiciously now.

“Yes, Highness,” I assured her. “Everything. I promise.”

“It was all done according to the regulations,” Shaking Leaf said nervously.

“Show me,” she said.

It was one of the worst moments in my life. I know I blushed. It was