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- Author: Edward Rutherfurd
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“Well,” said Mrs. Lomond, “that was very exciting, I must say.”
“Have you ever fought a duel, Mr. Trader?” asked Agnes hopefully.
“No, Miss Lomond,” Trader answered. “Farley calls me a swordsman, but all I really do—or used to do in London—was a bit of fencing. Just for sport and exercise, you know.”
“Well, time to go back to the dancing,” said Colonel Lomond.
“We’re still eating, Papa,” said Agnes.
“So we are.” Colonel Lomond turned and addressed Trader at last. “You’re not one of those fellows who carries a sword stick, are you?”
“No, sir. Never owned one.”
“I have always been of the opinion,” Colonel Lomond continued, “that deceitfully concealing a weapon is one of the vilest things a man can do. No gentleman would ever walk the streets with a sword stick.”
“He hasn’t got a sword stick,” said Mrs. Lomond with a trace of irritation.
“Glad to hear it,” said the colonel.
—
Agnes had just started to dance a waltz with Trader when she suddenly said she felt tired and asked if they might sit the dance out. As the others were all dancing, they had a sofa to themselves. Having sat down, she seemed to recover quite quickly. “Have you ever been to Scotland, Mr. Trader?” she asked.
“Only once, in the summer, while I was up at Oxford. I liked it very much.”
“I love Scotland, Mr. Trader. I suppose the nearest I can imagine Heaven would be the family’s estate in Scotland. My uncle has it, of course.”
“That’s easy for me to understand,” Trader said. “Several of the merchants in the China trade have acquired estates in Scotland. Both Jardine and Matheson, for a start.”
“And should you like to do that, do you think, Mr. Trader?”
“Yes. In fact, I hope to very much.” He smiled. “But I must sound a note of caution. The prospect may be in my mind, but it is not imminent. I’m really in no position to do more than dream, at present.”
“But you’d like to.”
“I can’t think of anything better in the world,” he said in all honesty. “What is it that you love yourself about Scotland, may I ask, as someone who really knows it well?”
“Oh, the heather, in a way, I suppose. At home—for I do think of it as home—when I walk up onto the wild moors and look back at the old castle set in the trees…And there’s a stream, a burn, as we say in Scotland—the water’s brown, you know, from the peat, and it has a soft tangy taste that goes so well with the sweet scent of the heather…” And Miss Lomond, to his great surprise, continued on in this vein for nearly five minutes without stopping. He felt the soft breeze; he saw the reddish-brown stone of the old Galloway castle, the sheep and the shaggy little cattle on the high ground; he fished in the Lomond water, as they called the little river; and he talked quietly to the old gillie as her ancestors had talked to his forefathers for centuries…And by the time she was done, he was not only in love with Agnes Lomond, but with her home and her land and all the vast, settled security she represented—everything he lacked and all that he desired.
As he thought of his wretched financial condition, he couldn’t help looking a little sad. “Even in the China trade, Miss Lomond, gaining such a fortune takes many years. In the meantime, one lives in places like Macao, and so forth, you know.”
“I understand that.” Her wonderful brown eyes gazed with deep meaning over her fan. “None of us can have everything at once. But the best things are worth waiting for.”
“I daresay,” he said absently.
“One must never give up hope, Mr. Trader. Now that I know you’re such a valiant fellow, I don’t need to remind you.”
“You think I shouldn’t give up hope?” He looked at her earnestly.
“No, Mr. Trader.” Again, she looked soulfully at him. “Please do not give up hope.”
And whether she meant this as a signal to him or just as general encouragement, or whether perhaps she was practicing to see what effect she could have upon a young man, it would have been impossible to say. Perhaps she wasn’t sure herself. Trader took it as a signal.
“Ah, there you are,” said Mrs. Lomond with a smile as she returned.
—
Charlie and John went back together in the carriage.
“So what did you and Miss Lomond find to talk about?” Charlie asked.
“Scotland,” said John.
“She does like to talk about Scotland,” said Charlie. “The only thing Agnes Lomond wants,” he continued sleepily, “is to find a man like her father. With an estate, of course.”
“Is that why she isn’t engaged already?” asked Trader.
“Not sure there have been any offers,” Charlie answered. “The fellows here, you know, they don’t really want a wife who thinks she’s better than they are. And the wife’s got to be able to take to colonial life. Share the rough with the smooth. Roll with the punches. That sort of thing.” He opened his eyes. “A fellow can be in love and all that. But at the end of the day, if he’s thinking about a wife, he needs a pal.”
“I see what you mean,” said Trader.
“Do you know why they say Agnes Lomond is like a Scottish moor?” asked Charlie.
“No,” said John.
“Because she is cold and empty.”
“Oh,” said Trader, and laughed. “I’m duly warned.”
But he thought he knew better.
â—¦
Shi-Rong stared. It had happened so unexpectedly, he couldn’t be sure what he’d seen. Reaching for his spyglass, as they started to give chase, he peered through the small brass telescope for several seconds before he suddenly cried out, at the top of his voice: “Row faster, faster! As quick as you can.”
Behind him, the round eyes painted on the warship gazed lugubriously after him as though to say, “You’ll never catch them.”
—
Governor Lin had been
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