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

never been caned before. But he made up his mind that no matter how much it hurt, he would not cry. And he was just gritting his teeth in preparation when he was told to sit down.

The headmaster was a comfortable man in his fifties. He’d risen to the rank of major in the army of the East India Company, and he’d seen plenty of the world before he’d returned to England, started a family, and bought the school.

“Got yourself into a fight with a bigger boy, eh, Trader?” he said peaceably as he observed the little fellow. “Now, are you calm enough to listen to me like a sensible fellow?”

“Yes, sir.”

“You have a terrible temper. I saw it. Takes you over. One day it could destroy you. I’ve seen good men have their careers broken, lose everything, because they couldn’t control their tempers. Makes you do things that you wish you hadn’t afterwards. But by then it may be too late. Can you understand that?”

“I think so, sir.”

“It’s not easy losing your parents. I lost mine years ago. But there’s nothing we can do about it.” He paused and saw the boy bow his head. “All right now. For their sake, young Trader, I want you to make a success of your life. So I want you to promise me that no matter what happens, from this day to the end of your life, you will never lose your temper again. Will you do that?” He paused. “Well?”

“Yes, sir.”

“Shake my hand. This is a pact between us, Trader, that may never be broken.” He held out his hand, and John shook it.

—

John Trader had been five when his parents were drowned, returning from a visit to France. His father had no family except the descendants of an aunt who had made an unfortunate marriage, and whom he had never met, nor even corresponded with. Nor was there anyone on his mother’s side to take the little boy in, except his mother’s widowed uncle.

Uncle Adalbert was a retired lawyer without children of his own. He’d never much cared for Archie Trader, the stockjobber his niece had married.

The stone-gabled house in the west of England to which Uncle Adalbert had retired lay under a bare chalk ridge on its northern side, with miles of dark woodland, into which he never walked, to the west. Along the narrow lane to the east lay a small village, into which he seldom went, either.

Uncle Adalbert had done his best. He’d hired a governess to teach the little boy to read and write and look after him generally—a cheerful, ginger-haired young Scotswoman whose name, which Uncle Adalbert sometimes forgot, was Miss Grant. He’d tried not to show that John’s presence in his house was a severe inconvenience to him. Obviously the child was far too young to eat his meals in the dining room, but he’d take him for short walks and talk to him a little, however stiffly; and he began to make inquiries in the neighborhood to discover if there were any other children of John’s age with whom, he supposed, his great-nephew might like to spend some time.

Occasionally, passing along the passage outside the boy’s bedroom, he would hear the little fellow softly crying. He did not venture in to comfort the child. Men didn’t do that sort of thing, so far as he knew. Tears were natural enough, of course, considering the boy had lost both his parents. But after a time—he couldn’t help it—he became somewhat resentful of the fact that the boy did not seem happy in his house.

Once a week Miss Grant would bring John into Uncle Adalbert’s small library, where he could show the old man the progress he was making. On the whole these performances went well, and though it wouldn’t have been appropriate to spoil the boy with praise, Adalbert would give him an approving nod and thank Miss Grant for her good work. But if occasionally John stumbled on some word or answered his great-uncle’s simple questions incorrectly, requiring his guardian to reprove him, Adalbert sometimes noticed a trace of sulkiness or even hostility in the child, which, if he were not so young and orphaned so recently, might have called for severity. Miss Grant had a pleasant way of coaxing John along, however, and rather than risk losing such a good governess and have the trouble of finding another, Adalbert kept his thoughts to himself. He did once ask Miss Grant if she thought the boy might be a little moody, but she assured him that John gave her no trouble at all.

“You may be strict with him, should it be necessary,” he said to her kindly, and left the business in her hands.

He was rather proud of himself when in due course some other children were found with whom, under the eye of the governess, John could play, as children liked to do. And he soon found that these visits could be timed to coincide with one of the long walks he took on the nearby ridges or upon a day when he had to be away.

One of his duties as guardian was to look after the boy’s inheritance until he should come of age. This he did assiduously, going up to London every few months to interview the men of business who invested the capital and to inspect the two houses, let to tenants, that the estate also owned. When he first took the inheritance in hand, he had observed that the late Archie Trader had already doubled his niece’s dowry and invested very successfully himself as well, so that, given another twenty years, he might have built up quite a handsome fortune for his family—a circumstance that only confirmed the old lawyer in his poor opinion of the stockjobber, that he should have put all this at risk for an unnecessary journey to France.

It was after one of these visits to London, where a tenant in arrears had already