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

the men were in white tie or military evening dress, but this dance was a friendly affair, where military men, government families, and the better sort of merchants mixed together.

They’d no sooner arrived than Charlie caught sight of Mrs. Lomond and Agnes sitting on one of the many sofas and chairs around the edge of the ballroom. Colonel Lomond was standing behind them. Charlie hadn’t known they’d be there, and he certainly wasn’t going to be pushy—a greeting later in the evening would have done perfectly well—but Mrs. Lomond, seeing not one but two young men who could dance with her daughter, signaled that he should approach at once. The colonel, at the sight of Charlie, gave him a friendly nod. As for Trader, Lomond might have nodded to him, or he might not have. It was impossible to say.

And so they all danced. Charlie and Trader took turns to lead Agnes out. There was a quadrille, then a cotillion. When a waltz began, Colonel Lomond remarked that when he was a young man, no decent man would ask a respectable woman to dance such a thing.

“Not even if she were his wife?” Mrs. Lomond asked, giving him the gentlest tap with her fan.

The colonel took the hint and led her out. Trader noticed with amusement that Colonel Lomond actually danced the waltz rather well.

But above all, Trader had to admire Charlie. His friend knew the form, and he was assiduous. He brought a constant stream of young fellows over to be greeted by or introduced to the Lomonds, so that Agnes had fresh partners for almost every dance.

As they all went in to dinner in excellent humor, he heard Colonel Lomond murmur, “Thank you, Charlie. Well done.”

—

Halfway through dinner, Charlie decided that, delightful as the evening had been so far, he wasn’t quite happy. It was Colonel Lomond’s fault. Not that he’d done anything so bad. It was what Lomond hadn’t done that irked him.

He hadn’t addressed a single word to John Trader.

It wasn’t obvious. If Trader said something, Colonel Lomond listened politely. If Lomond in turn said anything to the table in general, it could certainly be assumed that Trader was a recipient of the remarks along with everyone else. It was just that he had also addressed particular remarks to his wife, Agnes, and to Charlie himself. But not to John. Towards John Trader, Colonel Lomond maintained an air of coldness that was only just within the bounds of good manners.

Of course, it was partly Trader’s fault. He’d deliberately irritated the colonel that first time they’d met at the Bengal Military Club, when, after all, Lomond had been kind enough to give him lunch. He’d behaved badly. But it seemed to Charlie that it was time that there was at least some thaw in their frosty relationship. He owed it to his friend.

So turning to Mrs. Lomond, and fully in the hearing of both Agnes and the colonel, he brightly inquired: “Did I ever tell you how Trader here saved my life?”

“Really?” Mrs. Lomond smiled at both the young men. “You didn’t, and you must tell me at once.”

Trader looked embarrassed, and Agnes looked intrigued. The colonel didn’t look in the least intrigued, but there was nothing he could do except listen.

“Well,” said Charlie, “it’s how we first met. In London. I’d been dining with my father at his club and stayed quite late. To get to my lodgings, I had to cross Soho. Instead of hailing a cab, like a fool I decided to walk…And I was strolling down a street, quite alone, when all of a sudden, out of the shadows step two men, one with a cudgel, the other with a knife. And they demand my money. I hadn’t much on me, but I did have my father’s watch, a gold hunter that he’d given me when I was twenty-one. I didn’t want to part with that.”

“So what did you do?” asked Agnes.

“Shouted for help at the top of my lungs,” said Charlie. “I thought, if I can just hold them off for a minute, and help comes, I might have a chance. Stupid idea, really. But it was my lucky night. Around the corner a hundred yards ahead, at a run, enters our hero!” He laughed. “To be precise, a young dandy in evening clothes, including a tall opera hat…which fell off as he ran. And carrying an ebony walking cane. Nor,” Charlie continued with delight, “did our hero hesitate, not for an instant, at the sight of the two armed men. In fact, I’d say it spurred him on.” He turned to Trader. “There’s a rather fierce warrior hiding inside you,” he said. “Don’t think I never noticed.”

“What next?” Agnes wanted to know.

“The men turn to meet the assault. I got my arms around the fellow with the cudgel. And the man with a knife comes at our hero.” He smiled at them all. “What the villain with a knife doesn’t know is that Trader here is a first-rate swordsman. It took only a moment before the brute I was trying to hold threw me off. But by that time, the knife had gone flying through the air and its owner was backing away from Trader. As he saw his friend shake me off, however, he made a great mistake. He made a rush at Trader.”

“Did Mr. Trader hit him on the head with his stick?” asked Agnes.

“No, he did something cleverer, though more difficult,” Charlie replied. “He executed a perfect thrust. It was so fast, I couldn’t even see it. The tip of his stick caught the villain precisely between the eyes. It made a crack like a rifle. Next instant, the man was down. Lucky not to be dead, actually. The brute with the cudgel took one more look at Trader and fled. Incidentally,” he added, “it turned out these same two fellows had robbed and killed another chap like me, just the month before. So I was more