Mary Putney - The China Bride

Making a mental note to get someone to explain it to him later, Kyle silently approached Jin. "How is your ankle, Jin Kang?"

Jin gave a swift, startled glance before dropping his gaze to the abacus again. His eyes were indeed a warm brown rather than black. "It is well, sir." His voice was so soft it was almost inaudible.

Kyle drew up an empty chair and sat beside the desk. "Mr. Elliott gave me a letter that he'd like you to write for him."

"Of course, sir." Jin set the abacus aside and pulled paper and other writing equipment from a desk drawer. Kyle watched with interest as the young man ground part of a black cake on a stone, then mixed in water to make black ink.

When Jin was ready, Kyle slowly read the letter aloud. Using a brush instead of a quill or a pen, the young man painted a column of complex symbols down the page, starting on the right side of the paper and working toward the left. Occasionally he would pause and ask for clarification of a word or phrase. Though his English was slow and awkward, he was conscientious.

When the letter was finished, Kyle remarked, "Chinese writing is very different from European writing. Elegant."

"Calligraphy is a great art. My writing is crude. Fit only for trade."

"It looks fine to me. So many different letters. Can you teach me the alphabet?"

"It is forbidden to teach Chinese to a Fan-qui.'" Jin kept his head down. He was capable of carrying on an entire conversation without looking up.

"Good Lord, why?"

"It is not for me to try to guess the reasons of the Celestial Emperor."

No doubt the prohibition was based on the general distaste of the Chinese for foreigners. Three days in Canton had taught Kyle that even the poorest Chinese looked down on the foreign devils. It was amusing to imagine how enraged a stiff-necked, bigoted English aristocrat would be to realize that a shabby Chinese boatman considered himself superior.

Paradoxically, the Chinese Kyle had dealt with personally were the soul of courtesy, and he'd seen what seemed like genuine respect between Cantonese merchants and the Fan-qui with whom they did business. This was a nation of contrasts. "Surely teaching me the alphabet would not be the same as teaching me the language."

Jin shook his head, his thick queue swaying. "We have no alphabet."

"No alphabet? Then what does this mean?" Kyle pointed at a character.

"It begs the honor of the merchant's attention." Jin set his brush on a porcelain rest, his brow furrowing as he sought the words to explain. "In your language, each letter stands for a sound. Putting them together shows the sounds for a whole word. In Chinese each character is an… an idea. Combining them produces a new idea. It is… subtle."

"Fascinating, and very different. How many characters are there?"

"Many, many." Jin touched the abacus. "Tens of thousands."

Kyle whistled softly. "It seems like a clumsy system. Surely it takes years of study to learn how to read and write."

"It is not to be expected that everyone would excel at such a high art," Jin said stiffly. "Writing, poetry, and painting are the Three Perfections. Skill in all three is the mark of scholars and poets."

"Since you can write, does that make you a scholar?"

"Oh, no. My learning is not fit to take a scholar exam. I have only the skill of a clerk." His tone implied that Kyle's question had been absurd.

"Can you show me how to write a single character? Surely that is not the same as teaching me how to write."

The corner of Jin's mouth twitched slightly. A repressed smile? "You are very persistent, sir."

"Indeed." Kyle examined the ink cake. It was octagonal, with a dragon embossed on one side. " Better to yield now, since I will pester you until you show me."

Yes, Jin was definitely trying not to smile. "A humble clerk cannot resist such force, my lord." He placed a blank sheet of paper on the table. "Watch as I draw the character for fire . The strokes must be made in the correct order." Twice he drew the same simple, star-shaped character, working slowly so that the strokes were clear. Then he freshened the ink on the brush and handed it to Kyle. "Try."

Even to the most casual eye, Kyle's attempt was not a success. "This is harder than it looks." He tried again, getting closer to the shape of the character but creating nothing like the elegance of Jin's writing.

"You hold the brush wrong. Not like an English pen. More straight. Like this." Jin put his hand over Kyle's, changing the angle of the brush.

A strange tingle went through Kyle. What the devil ? Jin felt something, too, because he quickly pulled his hand away.

Could this boy be a holy man like the one in India? Sri Anshu's gaze could melt lead, and perhaps Jin Kang concealed similar inner fires. Or was the basis of that inexplicable reaction rooted in something that didn't bear thinking about?

Though disturbed, Kyle forced himself to act as if nothing had happened. "The brush should be more upright?"

"Yes." Jin swallowed. "And held more loosely."

Kyle painted the character several more times. Holding the brush differently did produce a more delicate stroke, but he still had a long way to go.

And he had made no progress toward understanding his baffling response to Jin Kang. Quite the contrary.

« ^ »

England

December 1832

Troth awoke in a soft bed with lavender-scented linens. It was night, but flames crackled cozily in the fireplace to her right. She felt warm for the first time in what seemed like months.

A quiet, familiar voice asked, "How are you feeling?"

She turned her head to the left and saw the man whose appearance had caused her to faint when she arrived at Warfield Park. Kyle . Yet now that she saw him more closely, he was not Kyle, despite the uncanny resemblance. "You are Lord Grahame?"

He nodded. "And you are Lady Maxwell, my brother's wife. Before we start talking seriously, do you need food or drink? Water?"

She realized that she hadn't had anything since early that morning. "Water… would be nice."

He poured a glass from a pitcher on the bedside table, then piled pillows behind her so she could sit up and drink. His hands were kind, but they were not Kyle's hands.

She swallowed thirstily, emptying the glass. Her dizziness faded. "He didn't tell me that you and he were twins, Lord Grahame."

"No wonder you were startled at the sight of me." Grahame seated himself again. "Identical twins learn early that people become so fascinated by the idea that there are two of us that they forget we are individuals. Easier not to mention being a twin unless there's a good reason."

And there had really never been a reason for Kyle to mention the subject. At the end, everything had happened so quickly.

She studied her host's face. It was a little thinner than Kyle's and his eyes were perhaps a deeper blue, but even so… "The resemblance is remarkable, Lord Grahame."

He gave her a painfully familiar smile. "Since I am your brother-in-law, you must call me Dominic."

"My name is Troth." She plucked restlessly at the coverlet, reluctant to tell him her news. "You accept without question that I am your brother's wife?"

"You have his ring." His gaze went to her hand, where firelight picked out the Celtic knotwork. "And you look like someone he would marry. Where is he- delayed in London?"

Troth realized that despite Dominic's casual attitude, he was tense with nerves. That was why he had sat with her until she awoke. Perhaps he sensed that something was wrong, but hoped she would say his twin was fine and would be along soon. Aching, she said, "I'm sorry to be the bearer of bad tidings, my lord. Kyle died in China."