by Andre Norton
Both Damaris and Millie appeared fascinated by her explanations. And Damaris agreed that even dull seaming could be an acceptable morning's task as long as the sewing machine which Saranna operated with authority took care of the longer lengths. They went down to lunch well satisfied with their accomplishments. For the satin dress was near finished and the poplin one well advanced. Damaris was excited and pleased, because several of the suggestions she had made from knowledge gained by her dipping into the fashion magazine had been useful. And Saranna could not help but know that her wardrobe was soon to be in a better state than she had dared to hope for years.
But their satisfaction with the morning's labors and each other was rudely broken in upon by the sudden appearance of Mrs. Parton who advanced upon Damaris swiftly.
"Where are they, Miss, where are my keys!"
Damaris made no pretense of not understanding her. "I put them away," she returned.
"You—you wicked child! Give them to me instantly!” For the first time Saranna saw Mrs. Parton give vent to strong emotion. Her round face wore an expression of anger which matched the flush on her overfull cheeks.
"Mrs. Parton!" Saranna had foreseen this moment. Whether she was properly armed against it, she could not be sure until she tried.
The housekeeper glanced at her. "This is no matter of yours, Miss!"
"But it is," Saranna was frightened, though she knew she dare not allow this woman to see any such break in her defenses. The housekeeper's present naked rage was so apart from the front she had always presented that Saranna knew the woman was moved beyond all bounds. "Miss Damaris was alarmed over the disappearance of her grandfather's catalogue. Rather than have anything of perhaps greater value disappear, she has locked the rooms in which the collection is displayed, and prefers to retain the keys until such a time as we learn exactly what did happen to the catalogue." She was inwardly proud that she had been able to speak quietly and with an air of assurance which she certainly did not at this moment feel.
Mrs. Parton had regained control. Even the smolder of anger disappeared and the flush was gone from her face.
"You meddle in matters, Miss," she spoke to Saranna, "of which you have not understanding. But it is not my place to reason with you. However," now she spoke once more to the younger girl, "if you know what is good for you, Miss Damaris, you will prepare to show better manners to those in a natural state of authority over you—" She tolled the words as unctuously as might a pastor from his pulpit. "There will be a report of this made as soon as possible to Mrs. Whaley—"
Damaris tossed her head and did not even look at the housekeeper. Perhaps she was overconfident. Saranna thought so. She hoped she could talk the child into a better and more biddable state of manners before the younger girl faced up to Honora. Though now she hoped she had several days to do that.
“It’s clearing," Damaris announced as the housekeeper left the room. "I'm going to see Old Jane. The Poker's done her duty for the day and I won't have to worry about running into her down there a second time." She spoke decisively and Saranna guessed that she was not going to be turned from this purpose.
"May I go with you?" she asked quickly. The more she kept Damaris under her eye right now, the safer she felt somehow.
"Part way," Damaris answered. "But then you stay in the garden, because I'm going to slip in the back way. The Poker may have told Wiley to spy. I don't like Wiley. He always does what Rufus wants—"
Though the rain had stopped it was still damp outside and Saranna put on her stoutest shoes, took up her shawl. When she joined Damaris outside, the younger girl had a bundle of thick blanket under her arm.
"Jane always says her bones ache when it rains. I'm taking her an extra blanket," she explained. "We go this way."
They did not take what Saranna thought must be the straightest path—among the buildings around the back courtyard—but rather a garden way. When they reached a section bordering on the peach orchard, Damaris paused.
"You'll have to wait here. I can squeeze through the back fence, you can't."
"Don't be long—" But Damaris had not waited for that admonition, she had already disappeared to the other side of the hedge. There was a bench nearby, but that was too wet with rain to offer a resting place. So Saranna paced up and down impatiently.
She had a feeling, which grew more intense every moment, that she was being spied upon. By one of the roaming foxes? Though she peered along the hedges at ground level, she could not see any hint of red-brown fur nor sharp eyes.
The foxes— Those made her think of the pendant and she drew the jade out of hidmg, held it in her hand, marveling anew at the beautiful workmanship of the carving. As she turned it a little this way and then that, the gem eyes had their same appearance of life, as if knowingly they studied her in return even as she gazed upon them.
"Well, now, that there's a pretty trinket, ain't it?"
Saranna froze. In an instant, her hand closed about the pendant trying to slip it back out of sight. But somehow Rufus crept up on her. Now this hand moved around her upper arm, his fingers closed painfully around her wrist.
"Give us a look at your pretty," he drawled. "Seems like it's something maybe Missie gave you. Was that it? Better not take it for yours then. Missie ain't the right to give none of the Old Captain's stuff away. Let's have a look, I say!"
His painful hold tightened yet farther. Saranna bit her lip lest she cry out. She tried to jerk free, but his strength was far more than hers. Then came a growl, echoed by a second.
From out of the shadows two foxes advanced, stiff legged, their lips lifted in snarls to show their teeth. They were larger than their fellows, and they were whitel
Rufus dropped his hold of Saranna and she was able to pull free. The foxes did not even notice her. They were too intent upon the young man. He backed away one step and then two, his hearty high color fading.
"Get off, you vermm, get off!" He swung out with his riding crop. But this time, his prey was not netted, held fast for punishment. The nearer of the foxes sprang, caught the crop with ease between its jaws. Rufus aimed a kick which did not land.
Saranna wanted to see no more. She began to run. Since Rufus was between her and the house, she went through the orchard, holding her skirts as tightly to her as she could to keep from catching on any low growing thing. The fear of Rufus so possessed her that she clung despairingly to the rail fence she came to, hardly seeing the road beyond, striving feebly to pull herself up over those rails.
"Miss Stowell!"
She had neither heard nor seen the rider who was bending down toward her from his saddle, concern in his face.
"Please—oh, please—"
"What is it?" Gerrad Fowke's voice was sharp as he swung off his mount and was at her side on the other side of the fence. His hands, warm and soothing closed over hers where they grasped the rough wood of the top rail.
13
SUNG-CONFLICT
At that moment all her sensible prudence deserted her. She had difficulty controlling her voice but she was able to get out a strangled:
"Please—"
"What is it? Who has frightened you!" The sharp demand in his voice pierced through her wall of fear, brought her out of that terrible panic.
"I am sorry—" Her breath caught raggedly as she tried to regain control of herself as quickly as possible.
The weight of his gloved hand on hers continued to hold her palms imprisoned against the weatherworn wood of the rail.
"Tell me!" he commanded.
"I—" But how could she tell him? Only she could not get away from him either, though she was becoming more and more disturbed at the strange confusion which swallowed up her panic.
"Someone has frightened you," Mr. Fowke's face was stem and closed looking now. Saranna realized that he would be satisfied by nothing but the truth.
"I—" she tried to begm again. If she could only trust Gerrad Fowke, if she could only be sure that he was not so in sympath
y with Honora that any appeal to him would be worse than useless.
"So there you are, Miss!"
Saranna could not suppress her start. Her hands jerked in Mr. Fowke's grasp as Rufus spoke from behind her. And her eyes sought Mr. Fowke's with a plea she was hardly aware she expressed.
His lips tightened a fraction as he looked down at her. Then he loosed his grip and, deliberately setting hand on the rail, he vaulted easily over the fence, coming then to stand beside her. She had not yet turned to face Rufus, but somehow she could feel him. And her shoulders hunched as if he were physically threatening her with a blow.
"What are you doing, Parton?"
Saranna had heard that ring in a man's voice before, when her father had had some reason to bring a malingering seaman to attention. With one hand on the rail to support her, for she felt oddly faint and a little dizzy, Saranna edged around.
Rufus Parton, his face flushed, that same look in his eyes, that twist of the lips he had shown when he had been beating the trapped fox, faced them both. His eyes shifted under Mr. Fowke's deliberate measurement.
"Nothing out of the way—sir—" He added that term of respect as if it were wrung from him against his will. "We was just walkin' when this here mad fox, foam in' mad he was, sprang out. Miss Saranna—she ran—"
"No!" Saranna's denial had been forced out of her, but she wished the minute it had left her lips that she had not said that.
"No?" repeated Mr. Fowke. "There was no mad fox, Miss Stowell?"
She was caught. Having gone so far she must now go all the way.
"There were two foxes—white ones. Mr.—Mr. Parton was holding my arm. They—they came out of nowhere and flew at him—"
Rufus Parton's flush deepened. "And why was I a-holdin' you. Miss Saranna?" he demanded. "Because you had somethin' what belongs to Mrs. Whaley. I was asking where you got it, connin' it out of a poor, little weak-minded Miss like Miss Damaris. I was telling you she had no right to give it to you. That I was doin' for your own good, Miss Saranna. If you know what's best for you—"
"I know what's best for you, Parton!" Again the quarterdeck voice of Captain Fowke cut clearly across his babble of words. "You will be on your way, man, and that speedily."
Saranna saw Rufus' hand ball into a fist, half-raised. His face was near scarlet with wrath. But, after a long meeting of stares with Mr. Fowke, he turned and slouched off.
"Can you tell me now what this is all about?" Mr. Fowke's tone was quite changed. He spoke, Saranna thought, as he might to someone who had been hurt and needed his aid.
She drew a long breath. Honora's betrothed—but still he seemed ready to aid her. Maybe she could trust him in a little.
"I fear," she began shakily, "that this may be a foolish and perhaps foundationless dislike, Mr. Fowke. But I do not care to be alone with Rufus Parton. He surprised me while I was waiting for Damaris who had gone on an errand—to see her mother's old nurse who is ill in the quarters. I was examining this—" Reluctantly, only because Rufus had mentioned it, she brought out the jade pendant. "I found it on the dressing table in my bedchamber several mornings ago. But Damaris assured me she did not put it there."
He did not offer to touch the fox head, only surveyed it.
"I am no authority on such pieces. But I would say that it is old and perhaps quite valuable. But Damaris disowned it?"
"Yes. And I cannot be sure because the catalogue of her grandfather's collection has disappeared. Otherwise, I might be able to find it listed. But also, I cannot see any reason why Damaris would lie about such a matter. She quite openly urged upon me a yellow ceramic cat which she is sure was once a night lamp m the Imperial Palace."
"No," he agreed readily, "Damaris would not lie. When she is generous, she gives her gifts openly and makes no secret of the act. But if it is not from the Whaley collection, then from whence did it come?"
Saranna twisted her hands together. "I wish I knew!" she burst out. "I was afraid to leave it in my room before I learned. If it was seen by one of the maids, by Mrs. Parton —well, I have no explanation. And now when Damaris has—"
She stopped short. In spite of his sympathy at this moment, she could not share Damaris' secret with him. That the collection had gone into hiding might be discovered soon enough, but she was too uncertain of friend or foe to take him any farther into her confidence.
There was a lengthening moment of silence between them. She looked straight ahead into the orchard where Rufus had disappeared, waiting for Mr. Fowke's questions. But those did not come. Instead, he said at last, slowly and deliberately:
"Am I to take it, Miss Stowell, that you do not indeed welcome the attentions of young Parton?"
That was a subject now so removed from her mind that she answered again without taking any thought, blurting out the truth:
"Yes!"
"I see. You did not know him before you came to Tiensin?"
Now she did swing her head, indignation rising warmly in her.
"Certainly not! I never saw him before in my life."
Then she realized what she had done. If Damaris' eavesdropping had not been at fault, Saranna had given the lie direct to all Honora had told this man. And she had no reason to believe that he would accept an assertion which ran so counter to the confidences of his betrothed.
But to her surprise, he was not frowning, had not withdrawn again behind that front of command he had shown to Rufus. Instead he nodded as if he had no more questions.
"It seems that you have had some annoyances to face. But that can be easily remedied. Now, if I did not have this confounded beast to hand—" He glanced at the horse standing with dropped reins in the road.
Then he laughed. "But that need not matter. Hurricane is lazy; loop his reins on the nearest bush and he'll stand patient enough. There was never an animal who so belied his name."
Once more Gerrad Fowke nimbly vaulted the rails, brought his mount close enough to the fence to drop the reins over one of the jutting stake ends. Then he quickly returned to Saranna.
"Miss Stowell," he bowed a little, the smile lighting his face and suddenly chiseling years away from his rugged features. "You perceive in me," he continued extending his arm a little in invitation, "a most devoted escort to see you safely to your door, reports of rabid foxes or no."
"The foxes—" She felt herself unable to maintain the proper distance with this masterful man. Perhaps he now considered himself as one of the family, and she did not want to offend by not accepting his company. Though she thought that there would be eyes to watch their arrival at the house.
"The foxes," she began again. "I do not believe they were rabid. They might have a good reason to attack Rufus Parton—"
"So?" he encouraged. "And what would that be?"
She told him of the captured fox whose ill-treatment she had interrupted.
"I do not know whether animals are able to resent what happens to their fellows and avenge it," she ended. "But if such a sympathy exists among them, this might be the reason for their attack. And they were strange foxes—"
"White you said?"
"Yes. I have not seen their like—" Again Saranna hesitated, for she had. Among those of her "dream" were the white-coated ones standing out in vivid lack of color under the moon. Luckily Gerrad Fowke did not appear bent on following up her hesitancy.
"Albinos occur among many animal species. Though to find two together may indeed be a very unusual event. But I shall have a word with Collis Parton and with Mrs. Whaley. There have always been rules about any mistreatment of foxes here at Tiensin. The Captain had some which were quite tame. I remember, during my momentous visit here, that we chanced upon a quite large one sitting on a chair in the library, eyeing us as gravely as any judge from the bench. The Captain even nodded to the beast as he might nod to a good acquaintance he chanced upon in an inn parlor. He left strict orders in his will, you know, that the foxes were not in any way to be disturbed. I believe that Collis Parton and his wife were given
a legacy with that condition attached. And I do not think that Parton would take kindly to his son's endangering that. I shall have a word with him before I leave."
They had passed through the orchard back to where Damaris had left Saranna. As they approached that small roomlike expanse between the hedges, the younger girl herself appeared. She surveyed them both questioningly, then smiled eagerly at Mr. Fowke.
"Did Saranna tell you?" she demanded.
“Tell me what?" he asked.
Saranna had quickly slipped her hand from his arm, wanted to warn Damaris, more than a little concerned that the child might blurt out something of what had happened. Though his kindness to her in the past few minutes had been very reassuring, and she knew he meant his promise of trying to curb Rufus' cruelty, yet there was no reason to tell him anything which might be repeated to Honora.
Damaris put her head a little to one side, watching him mischievously.
"Perhaps," she appeared to weigh the question carefully, "we had better not say—"
"Now you tease me, Miss Damaris, perhaps to the point where I must discover your secret in order to satisfy my own honor," he laughed. "Does that sound pompous enough?"
Damaris giggled. "You are trying to be Mr. Swain, aren't you? He is a silly, I think."
"Lady, you wound me deeply!" Mr. Fowke now struck such a pose that Damaris' giggles became laughter.
"I did hear him say that once, you know," she nodded. "He likes her, quite a lot. You don't have to worry though, he's not important."
"But you know something which may be." Now he swooped upon her. Though his words were lightly spoken, there was determination enough behind them. Damaris' face sobered. She stood tugging at her apron. Suddenly blank of expression, as if her attention were turned inward to study some problem.