Jane Orcutt - All the Tea in China

I could not see Snowe, blocked as he was by Captain Malfort’s large frame, but I could sense his discomfort two chairs away. I could not understand the silence at the table. Bewildered, I glanced from one person to another. Their benign expressions betrayed nothing.

Except one. Julia Whipple looked at me with something akin to pity.

Captain Malfort smiled indulgently. “How do you expect to serve as a missionary alongside your brother when he will be about the business of the East India Company?”

My mouth went dry. “I beg your pardon?”

Phineas Snowe leaned forward just enough so that I could see his eyes, which warned me into further silence. “I have told you all along that your plan was foolhardy, dear Isabella. We should not discuss it again… particularly in the presence of others.”

For a moment I considered pressing the matter then quickly discarded the notion. Estimation must be preserved at all cost, though I longed to know the entire truth of the situation. Without delay. Now.

What transpired the rest of the dinner is a blur in my memory. I am sure that I said the right things and responded with the correct remarks, particularly to Mr. Gilpin, who continued to be attentive throughout the meal. The plum pudding held no taste for me, however, and when Miss Whipple and I excused ourselves so that the gentlemen might indulge in glasses of port, I somehow made my way from the cuddy without, I hope, making a further fool of myself.

Once on deck, I turned to Miss Whipple. “You have known all along, haven’t you?”

“Yes,” she said, with no hint of pride in her voice. “I’m sorry.”

I tried to gather my thoughts. What question did I want to ask first? Before I could speak, she leaned toward me. “I don’t feel it’s my place to say anything. You should speak to Phineas. He should be the one to explain himself.”

“As well as your actions in Oxford? Both of you acting as missionaries for my benefit?”

She flinched then straightened. “Yes,” she said firmly. “He should answer for even that. I admit to being a participant, but the deception was his idea.”

I wanted to be angry at her. Her pretense reminded me of Cathy Ransom and every woman like her who presented one face to her acquaintances in private and another to society at large. As I studied Miss Whipple, though, I could see that she begged no forgiveness, yet she also took no joy in her deception. I could never have applied the latter sentiment to Cathy. Miss Whipple also had apparently not had the benefit of upbringing or society to correct her. At least that is what I had been led to believe. Who knew what was truth?

“Is it true what Mr. Snowe says about your reason to travel to China?” I said.

“What does he say about me?”

Ah. Meeting directness with directness. None of the fawning or double-dealing to which I was accustomed from other women. “He says that you are a Cyprian and you seek new business in the Far East.”

“That is true.”

I had known it all along, of course, but I felt a sickness to my stomach. “Why?”

“London held no charms for me,” she said. “It is a foul city. I thought perhaps that Canton might prove more advantageous for a woman in my position.”

I wanted to know more, so much more, but delicacy prevented me from speaking further.

She studied my face. “You have no comment?”

“I hardly know what to say, Miss Whipple. I have much to digest this evening.” Certainly more than the meal I had gluttonously eaten in the cuddy.

“Miss Goodrich, I understand if you don’t wish to speak to me further. We are of two different worlds, and-”

“And yet we are both bound for a new one,” I said, noticing the surprise on her face at my words. “We each have much to think about on this ship for many months. I see no need to impose a restriction on our conversation. Within boundaries, of course.”

“Of course,” she said gravely. Was that a smile I detected her trying to suppress?

Snowe avoided me the rest of the day. I strolled on deck with Miss Whipple, neither of us speaking of anything of particular consequence save our current environment. At six o’clock we took tea, and at nine o’clock a supper of soup, cheese, and cold meat. By regulation, candles in the cabins had to be extinguished by ten o’clock, so I was well abed soon after supper.

I had anguished over dressing back into the nightgown that Miss Whipple had procured. It was certainly preferable to sleeping in the cotton dress when I would only have to wear it again the next day. Modesty, however, prevented me from donning bedclothes. Though I knew Snowe would not be able to see me in the dark, I knew I would feel unclothed all the same.

I had hoped to fall asleep before he entered the cabin, preferring to save all my questions for the morning than to launch them in the privacy of our cabin. Yet curiosity prevented my falling into a deep sleep, and I lay awake swaying in my hammock, my heart beating a quickened rhythm.

The door to the cabin opened. Snowe entered, candle in hand. Before I had the presence of mind to feign sleep, I said, “It must be near ten o’clock. You should douse the flame.”

Snowe stood still. “I did not think I would find you awake. Can you not sleep? Is the hammock uncomfortable?”

I raised up on my elbows as best I could. “The hammock is a tolerable bed and not at fault for my restlessness.”

He shut the door behind him and set the candle on the trunk by his own hammock. “I suppose you want an accounting for the conversation at dinner.”

“Yes. Please explain why Captain Malfort and everyone else believes that you are working for the East India Company.”

He took a step closer to my hammock, and the candle cast his shadow against the far wall. “Because I do. I buy tea to import to England.”

I closed my eyes, almost losing my desire to learn anything further. What a fool I had been, starting with the Ransoms’ party and ending with dinner tonight. I had squandered my life on a dream that was not just smoke, but soot.

“You no doubt want to know why I misled you,” he prompted.

“Would you even tell me at this juncture? Could I believe you?”

The ship’s bells announced ten o’clock. Snowe sighed. “Miss Goodrich, allow me to provide a bit of modesty for our living arrangements. I have taken the liberty of rigging a torn sail between our beds, which we can raise and lower at our convenience.” He pulled a rope and, indeed, a sturdy length of canvas raised between our hammocks. In keeping with the lateness of the hour, he blew out his candle, and our room was plunged into darkness save for the sparse moonlight through the porthole.

I heard him undress, whether fully or partially I had no notion. I trembled with anxiety, however, remembering that I now no longer shared a cabin with a man of the cloth but a man of the purse. He was a merchant and therefore under no obligation to observe societal norms beyond that of his own class.

The rings securing his hammock clinked as he lay down. “The Dignity, like other East Indiamen, shortens its sails at night,” he said. “We should have calm waters and a good night’s sleep.”

“At least one of us will have such,” I said into the darkness. “You, no doubt, sleep with a clear conscience.”

“For the most part, yes,” he said. “But if I do not, it is because you are on board this ship.”

“Am I an impediment to your plans? The ones that included fleecing my uncle out of his money in the guise of bringing the gospel to the heathens?”

He said nothing for a moment. “I am more concerned with your welfare at this point. You will be put ashore at Cape Town and returned to your uncle on the next England-bound ship. If at all possible, I will even return your uncle’s money with you.”