by Andre Norton
The younger girl held on to one of Saranna's hands, hurrying her out into the hall, across that to the library. There the curtains pulled completely across the windows, the drooping drapes gave the room an austere gloom, which even the rows of richly bound books did nothing to lighten.
The desk stood in a commanding spot not far from the fireplace and indeed, one drawer stood open. Saranna saw, as she approached, that the drawer itself had been lined in velvet. As if it were meant to act as a jewel case to enshrine and guard some irreplaceable gem or gems. It would appear from the safe Captain Whaley had had fashioned to protect his book that he considered it also one of his treasures, equal to those others whose descriptions it contained.
Saranna knelt down by the desk as Damaris freed her hand. She pushed the drawer closed. It ran very easily and smoothly until the lock edge touched. Then she could see the marks there. Though she was no expert, she was sure that this had not been opened by any key such as the one Damaris had said was in her possession; no, plainly it had been forced.
Rising she went to the bell cord, gave a resolute pull. This was one matter concerning which she certainly could ask questions. And she intended to do just that right now.
11
K'UEI-OPPOSITION
When the houseman John came in answer to that summons, Saranna, rather than Damaris, was in command of the situation.
"John, please ask Mrs. Parton to come here. It is of the greatest importance."
His eyes dropped from meetmg her gaze. "She— Miss Saranna, she don't like never to be called on Sunday afternoon. She never likes—"
"I said it was important, John. I will take the responsibility. This is a grave matter. Please tell her that we must see her at once!"
He went reluctantly. Damaris gave a sudden laugh which was almost as sharp as a fox's bark.
"She's going to be very angry, you know. She takes a nap. What do you want with her, Saranna? Do you think she took the book?"
"Since Mrs. Parton is in charge of the staff, she must be informed before we question anyone," Saranna explained. "Who is responsible for cleaning the library, Damaris?" Though she was sure the theft was not the work of any of the servants. There was plainly a purpose in taking such a book, which in itself could have but little value, no matter what the Captain had thought about it.
"John, he does some, and Emily. But what would they want with the book, Saranna? They can't even read. And they know that they aren't ever to touch that drawer. Why would anyone want it—?" Damaris had calmed down from the agitation that had gripped her when she found the drawer empty.
"I don't believe any servant took it," Saranna returned frankly. "Not unless they were ordered to do so. As you say, such a book would have no meaning for them."
Once more she knelt to examine the drawer lock carefully. She believed from the gouges in the wood that some slender but strong instrument had been used to pry until the lock gave.
"Was it open when you found it?" She glanced up at Damaris.
"Just a little. I had the key and I put it in the lock before I really saw that it was pulled open just a little." Damaris plumped down beside her. "Then—when I pulled it all the way out—I saw that the drawer was empty."
"When was the last time you looked at it?" Saranna asked.
"Three days ago—I wanted to find out about something—" Damaris had leaned forward to stare down once again into the velvet-lined space. Her tone was evasive, but there was no need to demand from her why she had wanted the treasure list. Not now at least. "It was there. And I locked the drawer when I put it back—"
"What has happened?" Mrs. Parton had come into the library so quietly that Saranna was startled to find her standing beside the desk, observing them both with her usual unexpressive countenance.
"We have just discovered," Saranna arose to confront her, "that a book belonging to Captain Whaley, one which was always kept locked in this drawer, is missing. It was here three days ago, but when Miss Damaris came to get it this afternoon she found the lock broken and the book gone—"
There was no change in Mrs. Parton's expression. "I'm sure that there must be some mistake. A book is of no value. And there has been no stranger in this room. None of our people would touch that which did not belong to them."
"Nevertheless, the lock is clearly forced, as you can see for yourself." Saranna refused to be quelled by the housekeeper's manner. "Miss Damaris has the only key to the drawer, and the book was of concern only to her. She would not force this to steal from herself; there would be no need. Will you question the servants concerning who has been in this room, or shall I m your presence? This is not a matter of no import. And the book does have a value of its own. It is a complete listing of all the pieces of Captain Whaley's collection."
The lips of Mrs. Parton's too small mouth twitched.
"You have no authority in this house, Miss," she returned with a boldness which approached insolence. "I shall inform Mrs. Whaley when she returns. Then, if she thinks it right and proper, questions can be asked."
''She has no authority here!" Damaris pushed from behind the desk to stand before the housekeeper. "This isn't her house! It is mine. And if Saranna wants to ask questions, then I say she can."
That twitch of the lips had become a malicious smile. "You do not give orders here either, Miss Damaris, not until you come of age. Mrs. Whaley, she's in charge until her father returns. And you had better not forget that if you know what's good for you. Also, you had better not go accusing people of taking things. How do we know that you have not hid this book yourself and made up a tale—like all those other wild ones—just to get someone into trouble? The Captain, maybe he would stand for your stories, but Mrs. Whaley won't. I warn both of you to keep quiet if you don't want trouble—"
With that she moved out of the room, leaving Damaris flushed of face, and Saranna, shaken at this display of the woman's assurance, speechless for the moment. Mrs. Parton would never have dared answer so, the older girl thought, unless she were certain that her own position was entirely secure. And her warning meant that indeed Honora had taken the reins at Tiensin and intended to hold them.
"I know—" Damaris burst out. "I know now who took it!"
"Mrs. Parton? But why?"
"No—not Poker. She did! She must have! But I don't know why—unless," Damaris' thin shoulders hunched as if fearing a whiplash across them in a punishing blow, "unless, she wants someone to know—to know all about the collection! I won't let her! I will never let her take any of it! Never, never, never!"
"But you have no proof of this," Saranna felt bound to say, though Damaris' suggestion made logical sense.
"Who else would want it?" demanded Damaris bitterly. "It would be of no use to anyone except a person who wanted to know all about Grandfather's treasure. I think she took it to Baltimore with her to show to someone there. If she has—" her hands doubled into fists and she beat on the top of the desk, her agitation increasing again, "I'll—I'll—"
"Damaris," Saranna moved quickly to the child's side, put an arm around her shoulders. "Listen to me very carefully. This is so important—did your grandfather have any friend, any man of business beside those two of whom you spoke to me—someone he trusted very much?"
For a moment it seemed she was not getting through the cloud of Damaris' impotent anger. Then the child's scowl became thoughtful.
"Grandfather didn't visit anyone. The Judge—Squire, they used to come here to see him. There's his daybook, unless she has that, too."
"Daybook?" Saranna repeated.
"He kept account of his letters in it—who he wrote to and when." Damaris freed herself from the other girl's hold and went around the desk, this time openmg another drawer. "Here it is!"
She took out a book not unlike a merchant's ledger, though not quite so large. "Why do you want to know about Grandfather's friends?" she asked, as she laid it flat on the desk top.
"I want to know if my brother is your only guardian, or if
there is someone else in Baltimore who knows about you and Tiensin."
Damaris shrugged. "It wouldn't matter much, would it really? They'd only talk to her, and then they would believe what she told them. No—there's only one way—" She stopped abruptly as if her thoughts now outran her words in speed, or else they were such that she had no intention of sharing. Then, suddenly, she smiled.
"I think I know—" she said. "If you will help me, Saranna. Then let her plan all she wants to! She won't find what she's after!"
"What do you mean?”
"We'll hide the treasure!" Damaris' eyes were alight. "If she comes back—and has some plan to take it—well, it just won't be here!"
"But how can we—" Saranna was again disturbed. She could understand Damaris' distress, her desire to put the collection beyond the reach of anyone who might sell all or part of it. But she had no intention of supporting the child in the belief that this could be done.
"We'll have to do it at night—" Damaris' voice quickened. "There are all those hampers stored in the cellar—the ones that most of the treasures came in. Grandfather never got rid of those. Perhaps he thought someday the collection might have to be moved. We can get those and pack, and then hide it Yes, in the one place she would never dare to look! Oh, Saranna, it will work—it will!"
"But we can't—" Saranna's protest was silenced as Damaris leaned forward across the desk and caught her arm. The fingers of the younger girl's other hand were raised to her lips; her attention was centered beyond Saranna at the hall door.
Saranna took the hint. She picked up the ledger, being sure she would keep a hand on that. Damaris might be correct in believing that Honora's word would be taken over any complaints from them, yet there was a chance that someone would listen to them. Her own idea—to hide the treasure, Saranna took as a wild fancy.
Damaris spoke again, more calmly, and a little loudly, as if she wished her words to be overheard.
"That is what Grandfather always said, you know—" She might have been ending some speech, and the words had no connection, or little, with what they had been discussing.
Saranna was quick-witted enough to play her game. "Very wise, Damaris."
"Yes, 'Fishes see the worm, but not the hook.' He knew a lot of those. Like, 'To talk goodness is not good—only to do it is.'"
Her attitude was still one of listening. Then she nodded, and added m the faintest of whispers—pushing close to Saranna as she did so:
"If you stand straight, do not fear a crooked shadow. We can do what I want—you will see! Tonight! Promise you will help, Saranna!"
"But—it is impossible, Damaris—" Saranna, too, dropped to the lowest of voices.
The younger girl shook her head firmly. Her hand was tight now on Saranna's arm, drawing her to the far end of the room. Even there she continued to whisper. "No, I have been thinking. We can do it! You don't know, you see. It will not be easy, but we can do it. If you won't help, then I'll have to try by myself. There is a very safe place waiting.
We have only to pack the pieces and put the hampers in a certam place—then there're others—“
"The servants? But they won't disobey Mrs. Parton—" Saranna protested.
"No—not John, or Rose, or Millie, or any like them. The other ones—from the garden. I—I should not tell you this, Saranna—'cause I promised. But Grandfather would say to now, if he knew. There are those in the garden—they'll help us." She gestured through the window in the direction of the hedge-walled, forbidden territory.
If this was only a fancy, Damaris was so deeply immured in it that it seemed real to her. And her voice carried conviction. There was only one small shred of proof that Saranna had—that jade pendant. Somehow the thought of that was bolstering her dawning belief that Damaris indeed knew much more than she told and that there might well be some source of aid in Tiensin itself. Though that did not quiet Saranna's uneasiness nor her decision to try to find some friend of Captain Whaley's who might be interested enough to stand as Damaris' advocate against any overt move of Honora's.
"I will do what I can," she promised.
Again in her own room, Saranna put the ledger down on the table and began to turn its pages. Apparently it had not been opened for some time, because some of those pages stuck together. And most of the entries were concerned with items of business which had no use or meaning for her. She found frequent references to the Judge, to Squire Barkley, and then to Mr. Sanders. Mr. Sanders! Why had she not thought of him before?
As a man of law, an attorney for her brother, one trusted enough to be asked to escort her to Baltimore, surely he knew something of the situation here at Tiensin. Had Saranna made impression enough on him of her own good sense that he might believe what she said if she spoke to him? She could not get to Baltimore, of course. But suppose she wrote him a letter, asked him to come to Tiensin? Would he heed such a request from her? Or would he speak of it to Honora and so immediately defeat any chance she had?
There were so many "ifs," yet if she found no other reference in this book, then Mr. Sanders must be her resource. Saranna sat with her chin propped on her hand, her elbow planted on the ledger to keep it open. She could write guardedly to Mr. Sanders. After all, she had a small excuse.
The funds which Pastor Willis had promised to forward to her after the sale of the contents of their cottage in Sussex —Mr. Sanders was to collect those for her. She had every right now to enquire if he had received any such, or heard from Sussex. She would write such a letter tomorrow and it could be taken down to Baltimore with the weekly supply boat which was to sail the next day.
Cheered by the thought of this definite action, Saranna descended the stairs in a better frame of mind than she had had since Damaris had come to her with the report of the loss of the book. It would seem that the younger girl in turn had also decided to set that behind her. She spoke cheerfully at the table of their visit to Queen's Pleasure.
That Damaris had at all forgotten her own plans for that night, Saranna was sure was not so. She was even more convinced when the younger girl went quite willingly to bed at an early hour. So she sat up herself, uneasily writing, still unsure what she must do if and when Damaris came to demand her participation in the wild scheme.
Fan: as the day had been, the night brought clouds and distant flashes of lightning, though as yet no storm hit Tiensin. Saranna had turned out her lamp, lit the cat lantern, and partially undressed, laying aside her weight of petticoats for a wrapper which was far less cumbersome.
She was not disappointed. There was the faintest of creaks from the door, then a small figure came into the very dim light. Damaris stood there, not wearing the skirts of a young lady, but trousers and a tight jacket not unlike those Saranna had seen in her dream on the old woman who served the Fox Lady.
"Come—"
"Damaris—this can't be done!" Saranna protested.
"It can—you'll see! I've asked for help. It'll be here. Come—now! We'll have to hurry or we'll never get it all put away!"
Saranna had no way, short of locking the child in her room, to prevent her attempting this. It was best that she did go and prove that this certainly could not be accomplished. Help? What help? What servant within these walls would dare to brave the Partons and help a mistress who was without any power?
Girding her wrapper tightly about her, Saranna crept along behind Damaris. The child seemed to have cat's eyes in the dark. Or else she had flitted on other similar expeditions enough times so that such adventures in the dark were familiar.
They descended the stairs and Damans sped straight for the front door. She slid back the latch and opened it, her small figure hardly distinguishable in the heavy gloom. There was movement in that slit which gave on the outer world; two figures slipped through.
Who—?
Maybe if Damans had no allies within the house, she did have among the field hands. But that was even more surprising—
"Come!" Damaris caught at Saranna's hand, drew her t
o the parlor. The other figures padded on down the hall, apparently on some errand of their own.
Damaris left her just inside the door, went to the table. A moment later, there was a flare of light from the lamp. The child turned quickly from that, hurried to open display cases. There was no doubt that she meant exactly what she said; she intended to see that none of the collection remained within Honora's reach.
There was a faint scratching from the door. Damaris, already lifting pieces of jade from their accustomed settings to stand them on table tops, pointed with her chin. Her voice was the lowest of whispers, barely reaching Saranna's ears—
"Open!"
Saranna, completely bewildered, obeyed.
Two men entered noiselessly, carrying between them two hampers of wickerwork, one placed upon the other. They set those down without a word and turned to go out again. Saranna caught sight of their faces—
Chinese! They were as alien as the elderly maid of the moon-doored house had been.
Neither glanced at Saranna, but were swiftly gone once more into the hall.
"Come on!” Damaris whispered impatiently. "You've got to help me pack." She flung back the lid of one of the wicker hampers and lifted out two inner trays, to clear the bottom portion of the container. Saranna, completely fascinated, saw that the inner part of the hamper was heavily padded, as was each tray in turn. And in that padding, were depressions of various sizes and shapes, each plainly intended to contain safely a certain one of the precious objects.
She found herself on her knees, carefully fitting into its proper place the pieces Damaris passed to her. They had not quite finished the bottom section when the Chinese returned—this time with three more hampers.
Back and forth trotted Damaris, pointing out to Saranna just where each piece must go. They filled the first hamper and Damaris knotted its cords. Saranna found that she fell into the rhythm of the work as if her whole life had been concerned with such packing. They finished with all in the parlor save the tall screen, moved on to the library, where another pile of hampers appeared as soundlessly, and with the same efficiency.