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

scrupulous care, and though it did not provide more than a decent private income for a bachelor, that was better than most fellows of his age were blessed with. Of his great-uncle’s fortune he received not a penny. Adalbert had left everything to his old Oxford college, with the injunction that a fellowship was to be endowed, in his name, for the study of law. He left, together with the accounts concerning his inheritance, a note informing John that his father had some distant cousins, named Whiteparish, resulting from an unfortunate marriage, with whom neither of his parents had wished to have any communication. He advised John to follow their example. That was all.

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As the months of July and August passed up at the hill station, Agnes Lomond decided that on the whole, she was excited.

Though the family lawyers were in Edinburgh, there was a highly respectable firm of solicitors in Calcutta who had connections with them, and whom her father used from time to time for local matters. As instructed, they had been discreet and assiduous in their inquiries about Trader. And so far at least, the results were promising.

“His bank references are sound. Odstocks gave him a glowing report,” her father told her. “Everything he told me about his circumstances turns out to be true. That’s what really matters.”

“So do you like him better now, Father?”

“You’re the one that’s got to like him,” he replied. But there was a trace of humor in his voice that told her that he was not totally opposed to the match.

And did she like him? Her father had indicated that Trader might visit once a week; and he’d done so, usually with Charlie.

They were happy afternoons. Trader was handsome. And now with his black eye patch he had a piratical look that was quite exciting. He was charming. Her father did his best to be civil. The cheerful presence of Charlie always made things easier, of course; but even when he wasn’t there, Trader made himself not only agreeable but interesting.

Once they talked about Canton and the dangers of the siege.

“The dangers were exaggerated, I’d say,” Trader said, “mainly to get support from Parliament. If you mean, ‘Could the Chinese have killed us all?’ the answer would be yes. Their numbers are huge. But the fact that we’re all alive shows they didn’t want to. The danger was from the crowd getting out of control. That could have been the end of us, certainly.”

On that occasion, after tea, her father had taken Trader into the library for a private talk about the military situation. And Agnes was pleased that after Trader had departed, her father had remarked: “Well, he’s no fool. I’ll say that for him.”

One day, having tea with Agnes and her mother, he talked about Macao and the pattern of life there. “It’s a pretty place and the climate is kind. But it’s small. No big clubs and racecourse like Calcutta. One needs to realize that,” he had said. And Agnes knew that he was gently warning her not to expect too much.

“I quite understand,” said Mrs. Lomond firmly. “Is the English community pleasant?”

“Yes, they are,” Trader replied. “There’s quite a mix: British, American, Portuguese, all sorts of people, really. The social life isn’t grand, but it’s very agreeable.” And he proceeded to tell some stories—nothing scandalous, but amusing—about the goings-on there.

“I know someone who lives at Macao,” Mrs. Lomond remarked suddenly. “Mrs. Barford. I write to her sometimes.” She watched him as she said it.

“Mrs. Barford?” His face broke into a smile, and he answered her easily. “I know her well. She was very kind to me when I first arrived. Please send her my greetings when you write.” He looked her straight in the eye. “She can tell you all about me, the good and the bad.”

“Will you write to her?” Agnes asked her mother after Trader left.

“I already did,” her mother replied with a smile. “Months ago, when Trader first returned.”

“Why?”

“One of the duties of a wife and mother is to discover everything she can about the people her family may encounter. You’ll do it yourself, if you’re wise.”

“Did she write back? What did she tell you?”

“That Trader had a reputation for being handsome, charming, a bit moody, but clever. He also had a mistress on Macao. Half Portuguese, half Chinese, something like that. Rather beautiful, apparently.”

“Oh. How should I feel about that?”

“If you’ve any sense, you should be glad,” her mother replied. “I should think your Mr. Trader is an accomplished lover—just as your dear father was when I married him, I’m happy to say.”

“You never told me things like that before.”

“I’m telling you now.”

“Is the woman still there?”

“Sensible question. No, she left the island and is not expected to return.”

In these private conversations with her mother, only one thing concerned Agnes a little. “I wish he were better born. After all, I am a Lomond. And your family’s old as the hills. I’d be marrying beneath me.”

“Trader’s a gentleman,” her mother said.

“Not the way Father is.”

“One can’t have everything, you know. A lot of girls in your position would be very pleased to secure Mr. Trader. If you want a big place in Scotland, he’s probably your best chance of getting it.” Her mother sighed. “You may just have to wait, that’s all.”

“What will I do in the meantime?”

“Have children,” her mother said firmly. “With luck you’ll have the place in Scotland while they’re still at school.”

“Paid for with trade.”

“That’s right.”

“The opium trade.”

“Do you want the place in Scotland or not?” her mother asked tartly.

“Oh yes,” Agnes murmured, “I do.”

She was never entirely alone with him, of course, but when they all went out walking, her mother and Charlie would sometimes go on a little ahead and not look back. And she and John Trader would talk softly of Scotland and the estate they would have one day, God willing. She sensed a gentleness in him and a love of the country that pleased