Liza tried to be gay for the moment, but Brock could tell from her eyes that something was amiss. “Wot be the matter?”
She took out a handkerchief and wiped the perspiration off her forehead and sat down. “It’s, well, it be Tess.”
“She be sickly?”
“No. It’s, well—we be taking her to the ball!”
“Are thee out of head?”
“I’ve a dress done for her—oh, it be proper lovely—and done her hair and she be ready for thy approval afore—”
“Then tell her to get to bed, by God! She baint goin’ to no ball, by God! Thee knowed my mind on that! Thee’s made her a dress, have thee?” and he lifted his hand to strike her.
“Listen a moment,” Liza said, her strength dominating her fear. “First listen. Nagrek—and her.”
The blow stopped in midair. “Wot about Nagrek?”
“It be lucky he died that night. Tess, well, Tess she—” The tears welled. “I baint wanting to worry thee, but she—”
“She’s with child?”
“No. I be terrored this past month since thee beed in Canton. In case I were wrong. But her monthly start last week, bless the Lord, so that fear’s away.”
“But she baint virgin?” he asked horror-struck.
“She be virgin still.” The tears ran down her face.
“Then for the love of God, if she still be virgin, then wot the devil’s thy worry? There, there, Liza,” he said, patting her cheek.
Liza knew that she could never tell him that Tess was truly not a virgin. But she blessed the Lord for letting her convince the girl that it had been mostly her imagination and that she was still as pure as a girl must be.
“This past month be terrible,” she said. “Terrible. But it be a warning to us’n, Tyler. I be worried about thee and thy not seeing that she be growed up, and I’m afeared. Thee won’t see wot’s afore thy eyes.” He started to speak but she rushed on. “Please, Tyler. I’m beggin’ thee. Just look at her and if thee agrees she be growed up, then we takes her. If thee thinks otherwise, she doan go. I told her it were thy decision.”
“Where be Tess now?”
“In the main cabin.”
“Thee wait here.”
“Yes, luv.”
CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE
When night had firmly settled over Hong Kong, Culum walked to the edge of
Thunder Cloud’s poop deck and gave the signal. The cannon boomed and there was a moment’s hush around the fleet. He stared nervously toward the shore of Happy Valley. His excitement mounted as he saw a flicker of light, then another, and soon the whole of marine lot 8 was a sea of dancing lights.
The servants on the foreshore were hurrying to light the remaining lanterns. Hundreds had been placed around the huge circle of smoothed boards that formed the dance floor, and their light was warm and enticing. Tables and chairs were set in attractive groups, a lamp and flowers from Macao on each table. More lamps were strung on ropes between slender bamboos near the trestle tables and their weight of food. Others were draped over the barrels of Portuguese and French wines and rum and brandy and whisky and sack and beer. Forty cases of champagne were on ice and ready at hand.
Servants scurried everywhere, all neatly uniformed in black trousers and white tunics, their queues dancing. They were under the imperious supervision of Chen Sheng, compradore of The Noble House. He was a man of immense girth, his robes rich and his hat jewel-studded. A priceless piece of pure white jade formed his belt buckle, and his feet were encased in black silk boots with white soles. He sat like a huge spider on a seat in the center of the dance floor and played with the long hairs that sprouted from a small wart on his chin. A personal slave fanned him against the gentle night.
When all was ready to his satisfaction, he stood up ponderously and lifted his hand. The servants rushed for their positions and stood like graven images while he made a last inspection. Another wave of his hand and a servant hurried out of the circle of light into the foreshore darkness, a taper in his hand.
There was a monstrous cannonade of firecrackers which lasted for several minutes, and everyone in the fleet and on shore rushed to look. Next were fireballs and colored lights and more noise and smoke and thundering, and more firecrackers. And fire wheels and volcanoes of colored fire. The thundering continued for several minutes more, and there was a sound like a fleet’s broadside and a hundred rockets exploded into the sky. Their trails soared and vanished. After a moment’s silence the whole sky burst into feathers of scarlet and green and white and gold. The feathers dipped majestically and fell into the sea.
The servant lit the final taper and raced away. Red and green fire snaked up the huge bamboo scaffolding which soon was aflame with the Lion and the Dragon. The flag blazed for minutes, and died with a vast explosion, as suddenly as it had begun.
There was blackness for a moment, broken only by a mighty cheer that reverberated around the enclosing hills. As eyes adjusted to the darkness, the inviting lights of the dance floor glowed once more. And an expectant joy settled over Hong Kong.
Shevaun was whimpering with agony. “No more,” she begged.
Her maidservant took a firmer grip on the corset laces and put her knee into Shevaun’s rump. “Let your breath out,” she ordered. And as Shevaun obeyed, she gave the laces a final pull and knotted them. Shevaun gasped.
“There, me darlin’,” the bonneted maid said. “That’s done.” She was a small, neat Irishwoman with wrists of steel, and her name was Kathleen O’Rourke. She had been nurse and maidservant to Shevaun ever since Shevaun had been in swaddling clothes and she adored her. Her dark brown hair framed a nice face with laughing eyes and dimpled chin. She was thirty-eight.
Shevaun steadied herself against a chair in the cabin and groaned, hardly able to breathe. “I’ll faint before the evening’s over.”
Kathleen found the tape and measured Shevaun’s waist. “Seventeen and a half inches, by the Blessed St. Mary! And when you faint, me darlin’, be sure you’re as graceful as a cloud and that everyone’s watching.”
Shevaun was dressed in frilled pantaloons, her legs encased in silk stockings. The whaleboned corset gripped her hips, violently squeezed her waist and rose to cushion her breasts and force them up. “I’ve got to sit down for a moment,” she said weakly.
Kathleen found the smelling salts and brandished them under Shevaun’s nose. “There, me darlin’ heart. As soon as those doxies see you, you won’t feel faint at all at all. By the B’essed St. Mary, Mother and Joseph, you’ll be the belle of the ball.”
There was a sharp knock on the door. “Aren’t you ready yet, Shevaun?” Tillman called out.
“No, Uncle. I won’t be long.”
“Well, hurry it up, dear. We’ve got to be there before His Excellency!” He stamped away.
Kathleen chuckled softly. “Silly man, me darlin’ heart. He doesn’t realize a body’s got to make an entrance.”
Quance put his paints away. “There!”
“Excellent, Aristotle,” Robb said, and he held little Karen up to look at her portrait. “Isn’t it, Karen?”
“Do I look like that?” Karen said disappointedly. “It’s awful.”
“It’s immortal, Karen,” Quance said, shocked. He took her out of Robb’s arms and held her tight. “Look at the superb glow to your cheeks, the light to your beautiful eyes, the happiness that surrounds you like a halo. By the beard of Alcazabedabra, it’s marvelous good like you are.”