Jane Orcutt: All the Tea in China

“I-”

“Excuse me, dear.” Catherine patted my arm as though she were my elder, and since she had wed, I suppose she was. “Lady Ransom has asked me to stay particularly close to her tonight. For protection, I suppose, since I am in charge of the family heir.” She giggled in what I knew she hoped was a light manner, but which sounded more like a donkey’s bray. When we were younger, she had confessed that she pursued all manner of different laughter, but there was no getting around the horrible sound.

“Yes, of course,” I said with a curtsy, but she was already sailing across the room like a stately maternal ship. I had neglected to ask about the unattached gentleman who was supposed to be in attendance tonight, but if Catherine Ransom entertained the notion that I would beg for a man…!

Sighing, I surveyed the room to see who was available for conversation, but at the moment everyone seemed to be paired off. I retreated to the Ransoms’ inner hallway, where I studied Flora’s beautiful handiwork in the giltedged mirror.

Oh dear! Was that a smudge along the neckline? I leaned closer for further inspection, studying the offending spot. What a pity that-

“Unless your vision is poor, you will not find your image improved by pressing against the mirror. Though I’ll not gainsay that many ladies oft believe it otherwise.”

“Oh!” I whirled about with a start, finding myself face-to-face, nay, nearly nose to nose with the most unusual-looking man. He appeared to be but five years my senior, yet he wore thick spectacles, which magnified his eyes most alarmingly. His dark hair was pulled back in a queue, though such style had been out of favor for many years. He also wore an ill-fitting, odd sort of faded silk jacket, along with near threadbare inexpressibles.

In short, I felt sorry for someone so out of tune with simple fashion. Surely it was my Christian duty to be kind to such a person, no matter his manners. How he had snuck up on me so silently, without my knowledge, was beyond all reason. Why he had spoken to me without introduction was beyond all propriety.

“Sir, I confess not to vanity but to a wish not to offend others with any displeasing physical display,” I said, attempting a light tone. Surely he would understand a lady’s dismay at seeing her new dress soiled, no matter how slightly.

“Perhaps what you desire, if you so truly wish not to offend, is the raiment of a monastic, complete with cowl. Then every displeasing aspect of yourself would be truly hidden.”

With great effort, I kept my mouth from dropping open. Christian duty forgotten, I willed myself to stand straighter and attempted to brush past him. “Excuse me, sir. You forget yourself.” The man thought I was preening! Moreover, he inferred I was unattractive! I did not like to give anyone the cut, but his behavior was inexcusable.

He moved in front of me, impeding my progress. “Did I offend?”

“To ask the question is to answer.”

He smiled knowingly. “Ah, but if you answer the question, it will admit the need for a deeper reflection than any mirror can provide. But perhaps you disagree? Or are you merely… disagreeable?”

I opened my mouth but was checked by a hand on my elbow. “There you are, Isabella.” My hostess had impeccable timing.

“Lady Ransom,” I said with a curtsy. “I had the pleasure of seeing Sir Henry at the doorway, but you were detained elsewhere.”

“Yes, and for that I beg your forgiveness.” She pointed her fan at the strange man and smiled. “I see you have met our distinguished guest.”

He bowed slightly in our direction. “I confess that we have not, Lady Ransom. We were merely commenting on your mirror here.”

She tutted. “What a ghastly piece of work it is. But if you two admire it, then I shall consider it fine enough. Mr. Snowe, Miss Isabella Goodrich. Isabella, Mr. Phineas Snowe.”

I curtsied, and somewhat to my surprise, he followed decorum by bowing.

“Mr. Snowe is visiting us from China, Isabella. He is with the uh, the uh… what was the name of your organization, Mr. Snowe?”

“No doubt you have heard of the London Missionary Society,” he said somberly.

I could feel the blood rush from my face. I had no idea he was one of God’s workers. Uncle Toby held such men in high regard and had taught me the same. “Why, yes.”

He smiled, bowing low. “I am traveling with a husband and wife who seek to become missionaries themselves.”

“Unfortunately, the Tippetts were called away to London and could not join us tonight. And now I shall leave you two alone,” Lady Ransom said, tapping me lightly with her fan. “I am never one to meddle in discussions of the heart or religion, and something tells me that one or the other is about to transpire. If you will excuse me.”

Left alone with Mr. Snowe, I felt the obligation, if not quite the desire, to apologize. And yet he was, I reminded myself, practically a foreigner, which explained his lack of fashion sense. I should at least be forgiving in that regard.

Meanwhile, he said nothing but stared at me until I felt irritation rise anew. “I suppose your travels have kept you away from England for a good many years?” I ventured.

“A great many,” he corrected, as though I had made another grievous error.

“In China alone?”

“Among other places.”

This was certainly awkward. One had to wonder how he could minister to the masses when he could barely speak to a fellow countrywoman except in innuendo or insult. “And these other places are…?” I asked, resisting the urge to tap my foot.

“Miss… Goodrich, was it?” he said. “You need not feel you must entertain me. Sir Henry invited me tonight not for social, but financial reasons. I am here to raise money for my work. Is there a Mr. Goodrich with whom I should speak-your father? Or perhaps your betrothed?”

At least we had lack of forbearance in common! “I fear not, Mr. Snowe. You might, however, find favor with my uncle, Mr. Fitzwater, that white-haired gentleman conversing with Sir Henry.”

“Not Tobias Fitzwater?” His eyes gleamed. “The Oxford dean?”

“He is a dean, yes. You have heard of Uncle Toby?”

“Indeed I had hoped to speak with him, as he was a major reason for my visit to Oxford. I understand that he has an interest in Oriental studies.”

Perhaps that explained why Uncle Toby had recognized the language on my slippers, if not its meaning. “I did not know that about my uncle,” I said, vexed that Mr. Snowe knew anything about Uncle Toby. “Have you perhaps mistaken him for someone else?”

He pursed his lips. “Tobias Fitzwater is the dean of Christ Church, is he not?”

I nodded. How did he know this?

“And he has been at Oxford for, oh, thirty years now, yes?”

I nodded again.

Mr. Snowe shifted. “What I fail to understand, however, is how you fit into the picture.”

“And which picture is that?” I replied, blinking in what I hoped was the manner of all innocence.

For a moment it seemed that his face darkened, then inexplicably brightened. “Forgive me for nattering on so, Miss Goodrich. Would you be so kind as to introduce me to your uncle?”

“I should be quite at a loss without your company,” I said. “But follow me.”

I did not wait for a reply but sallied forth across the room. I could not be rid of Phineas Snowe any too soon. I was only sorry that I would be handing him over to Uncle Toby, who was far too kind.

Be kind yourself, Isabella. He is a missionary. Be charitable.

I drew a deep breath as we approached Uncle Toby, who was just finishing a conversation with Sir Henry. Our host bowed, excused himself, and left us alone.

“And who is this?” Uncle Toby smiled in the stranger’s direction.