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

him and play his hand as directed, which everyone agreed she did very competently.

And then there were the visitors: Charlie, Benjamin Odstock, other young men whom Charlie and Trader knew. It was all quite entertaining.

There was something else that Agnes noticed. They’d all come to cheer the patient up, and there were the usual jokes and banter. But, subtle though it was, she detected a hint of deference in their manner. When she asked her mother about it, Mrs. Lomond agreed. “He’s a coming man,” she said. “I was talking to Mr. Odstock about him, and he told me that Trader’s the best young merchant he’s ever seen.”

“So what do you think of John Trader?” her mother asked Agnes that same evening.

“He’s very handsome,” Agnes answered.

“Do you think he’s interested in you?”

“He says he likes Scotland.” Agnes’s face brightened.

When Agnes talked to young men about Scotland, it seemed to her that she was only being practical. It was just to let them know: Scotland was what she wanted. If a young man could get safely past the stern presence of Colonel Lomond—who wasn’t such a fool as to be forbidding to possible suitors, so long as he liked them—he still had to reckon with Scotland. Not everyone wanted to finish up on a big estate in the north, even in the event that they could afford it. As one young fellow remarked: “I’m not riding in that steeplechase. The jumps are too high.” Agnes realized this. But Scotland was what she wanted.

“Scotland isn’t everything, you know,” her mother said quietly, but she left it at that.

—

After a week, the doctor took some of the bandages off Trader’s face. “A few small cuts,” he remarked, “but give it a month and you’ll hardly see they were there.”

He pronounced himself satisfied with the damaged area around the lost eye and rebandaged it. As for Trader’s hands, he rebandaged them, too, and said he’d inspect them again in a few days.

Aunt Harriet went out that afternoon, leaving the two Lomonds in charge. Propped up on pillows, Trader talked with them for a while, but then he felt sleepy and decided to nap. So Mrs. Lomond went out to take a turn in the garden, leaving Agnes alone, with strict instructions to call her at once if there was any need.

While Trader slept, Agnes sat in a big armchair near the window and read a book. After a while she dozed off herself—she wasn’t sure for how long. She woke with a guilty start, went over to the bed, and gazed at Trader. He was still asleep.

His face was in repose, his dark hair falling over the bandage that covered his eye, his lips just open. He looked like a poet, she thought, contemplating some distant landscape in his mind. Scotland, perhaps. She moved a little closer.

His white shirt was partly open. She became aware of the wispy dark hairs on his chest and the scent of his skin. She knew that his body was slim and strong, yet lying in bed like this, hands encased in bandages, he looked strangely vulnerable. He was the patient and she, almost, the nurse. The idea gave her a curious sense of power. She didn’t know why.

A few moments later, her mother came back.

—

It had been a great surprise to John when the Lomonds had appeared at the bungalow. To have Agnes there, keeping him company each afternoon: He could hardly believe it had happened. And every day, it seemed to him, she became more lovely.

He noticed little details about the elegant way she moved or sat, or even how she spoke certain words. Sometimes he would feign sleep and then, through half-closed eyes, gaze at her wonderful hair, or the way the sunlight caught her silhouette against the window. Above all, he was struck by her patience, her kindness. It seemed to him she was an angel.

But why had she come? Of course her mother had brought her. But was there more to it than that? Though he’d fallen in love with Agnes at first sight, she’d given him enough encouragement to make him think he might have a chance. And now here she was, when he’d been knocked about quite badly and lost an eye, visiting him every day and looking after him. Was it an act of charity, like visiting the local hospital, or simply kindness to a friend? Or was she deliberately putting herself in his path—and with her mother’s permission? Were these visits a way of giving their friendship a chance to develop into something more? Might she truly care for him already?

Not that she’d show it too much. No girl wants to throw herself at a man. She’d wait for him to make the first move.

And he was ready to make it, but for one thing. It was only fair to her, he thought. He must get well first. Make sure he had the use of his hands. Make sure that, when all the bandages were off, she knew what she’d be getting.

“You are so good to me,” he said before she left that evening. “Dear Agnes, you’ve given me a reason to get well.” It was as good as a declaration.

She must have understood that he needed to get well.

—

When word came that the arrival of the monsoon was imminent, Colonel Lomond announced that they should go up to the hill station immediately.

“I need two days to prepare and pack,” Mrs. Lomond told him. In the meantime, at the particular request of Aunt Harriet, who needed to find a replacement, Agnes stayed at the bungalow to help. She arrived to take up her station at noon. Soon afterwards, Aunt Harriet went out to interview two sisters who might be able to take her place.

She read to John for half an hour or so, but he seemed out of sorts and closed his eye to rest. Having nothing else to do, she sat out on the veranda with